Front 242, Front Line Assembly, Clock DVA and Young Gods are all examples of bands that still bleed when you scratch their surfaces. Industrial is white-hot funky dance music, squeezed out of everyday white noise. The sound fragments and fluffed up news of our lives provide the back beat, over which are added lyrics of domination, control, and disaffection, usually sung by a demonic-sounding narrator singing from a distance. There is something totally sublime about thrashing to industrial music on an urban dance floor, populated by punks and goths and nerds and rastas and other outcasts. Lasers, placed at his feet, slice through the smoke that's being pumped out from below.
People scream and howl, beating their arms against their bodies.
From the balcony, you have to squint to see through the sympathetic pollution of smoke, heat, and light. The dancers writhe and jerk and stomp, bashing into each other - true friendly fire. I throw my arthritic body into the fray along with the rest. I go nuts, put the pedal to the metal, and spin around in Dervish circles. I awaken the next morning to a call from a friend.