Coming to the club just past eleven and Louded are already playing. Not really my cup of tea, but deserving of a few words. Very much a local act, quite generic metalcore and a birthday party. That means its more for drinking and hanging around than for your ears to bleed, but still a fine beginning.
But then the evening of small guys and moustaches (understand – portuguese) started. Suchi Rukara, three guys, three moustaches, either tearing your heart out with screamo parts or making your legs move with catchy math-rock schemes.

First signs of what is to come show up. Blood warms up in the veins, heart starts beating faster, hands doesn’t really obey you, small needles penetrate your brain and leave a mark...
If Lucy Fell - bottle shatters, first, second, third, then more and more. Shoes let go. Suddenly you find yourself dancing over glass shards, over burning coals with bare feet, knowing the pain but enjoying it, letting the blood flow, letting the random events shape your behavour, replacing your brain with your heart while the microphone cable is tightening around your neck and squeezing. Hysteric, nervous, hardcore, indie, in one moment straightforward, in another a jagged heap of complex rhythms, weird dances, weird faces, cock touching and

vagina interviews, that‘s basically what If Lucy Fell is about, that‘s what life is basically about, if you haven’t noticed yet. And then the last song comes. Slow, apocalyptic, growing, Suchi Rukara returns on the stage, seven guys making noise, seven moustaches supporting, it grows, grows and grows, leaves all behind, slow and slower, mean and meaner, loud and louder, just a force you have to bow to, just an end you have to acknowledge, no more fun, no more balls caressing, no more vagina talking, just an end. End.