They kicked up clouds of dust that I happily lapped out of the air, and let line my lungs, and come to rest in my heart. Sweat dripped from their brows and fire danced in their eyes. Together they jumped and pulsed, thrashing their heads and gnashing their teeth. We moved our bodies like predatory animals, pouncing on our worthy prey and proving that the bass had no mercy. The crowd erupted and stayed there, demonstrating why the Bass Pod was more than just a stage, it was where you could experience what it feels like to live inside the music. Its fire licked the sky and it’s sound hugged the voracious crowd. Lasers streaked the blackness and sliced the heavens; while pyrotechnics burst and crackled in the background igniting the furthest galaxies. The only hush to the mob of awaiting Excision fans, was the low rumble of their thumping hearts as he made his way to the stage.
He dropped the beat and set a wildfire through our bodies. We screamed and threw our arms up to fashion an “X”, in submittance to his filthy music. I wanted his sound all over my body, pushing my face into the dirt and forcing me to swallow every bass latent drop of his set. Unrelenting and savage in delivery, women bounced their sweaty bodies and rubbed the dirt into their skin; hoping the stench of Excision would seep into their souls and linger upon their hair. It was like taking the walk of shame for an hour, but instead of ducking behind bushes and crouching around cars, you pranced naked to your doorstep and waived your lovers’ t-shirt in the air from side to side. Our hair was wild and our make-up mangled, our clothes were drenched, and we let the sticky-icky of every gooey song act as a lubricant for our raw and aggressive dance moves. Every wide eye ogled the stage, while we watched Excision take Bass Pod by the balls, only relinquishing them after having his fill.