In July 2010, I was one of the 30,000 people gathered to see British band Florence + The Machine play at Splendour in the Grass, an annual music festival now located in the hinterlands of southern Queensland. Through a combination of faux innocence (‘I have to find my friend’) and sheer elbow power, I forced my way to the mosh pit. Fifteen metres from the stage, I found myself squashed between other festival-goers in the kind of sweaty, en mass physical intimacy people usually only experience at orgies or Spencer Tunick installations. Sound like fun? It wasn’t. It was pain and hyperventilation and body odour. But I would endure. After all, it wasn’t every day that I had an opportunity to experience Florence Welch live, and after a taste of her theatrics at Melbourne’s Laneway Festival earlier that year, I was determined not to miss out on a gig to remember.
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