Indistinct memories fade in and out, flashbacks to a time of pure physical release. A dark room, packed with people, all thrashing and flailing about in the waves of aural stimulus that bathe them in its vibration. Standing on a level only a couple feet above the floor, the perpatrators of this cacophony abuse their instruments for all they're worth, seemingly unaware that they hold a mob of people in their thrall. Impossibly, the noise grows even louder, the dials go up to 11, and everyone in the room finds their escape. Release. Joy.

Once again, I give tribute to Nick Hornby.

"It's no wonder we're all in such a mess, is it? We're like Tom Hanks in Big. Little boys and girls trapped in adult bodies and forced to get on with it. And it's much worse in real life, because it's not just snogging and bunk beds, is it? There's all this as well."
High Fidelity

The man's a genius.