Such a P.Y.T.

Right? Right? RIGHT?
Last night at the Justice concert (not a DJ act, thank you) Miss Yours Truly (M.Y.T.?) was dancing relentlessly. Not dancing, actually... jumping, headbanging, chanting... wait, is this an Iron Maiden concert?
Yeah pretty much it was, minus the guitars but including the booze. I was ecstatic like if I were some Detroit piece of trash doing donuts on my way to a Kiss concert. Right? Right? Right. I wanted to ask questions, analyze, but Troy was way too wasted and was babbling away with that coarse drunken trannie voice he pulls when he's past his limit. He still managed to take pics with his iPhone: they nice, right? Should I get it? Should I get it? Hey should I get it? ...Er.. back to the topic.
No, really it was weird. This is what we were looking at.

Or maybe I should say NOT looking at, since all the visuals consisted of a couple of strobe lights and a flashing cross.
Yet, the crescendos were irresistible. The filter-disco moments are the new guitar solos, 'cause when the thumping resumes to regular unmuddled sound quality level, the crowd explodes in a unison roar.
Truly fascinating stuff. More from an cultural-anthropological standpoint than a musical one. I was smiling and scratching my head in puzzlement: why am I enjoying this non-show so much? Why this string of dance-rock music clichés resonate so highly with me? Why the lack of surprise pleases me? Why, when what I'm expecting is eventually delivered, does it feels so good?

Boh. It just does.