Having shed his guitar and black jacket a few songs deep, the only thing left for Rønnenfelt to take-off is somebody’s head, as he drops from the stage and shoves a good chunk of the front row, before hooking his arm around the neck of the fella next to me and hurtling him to the ground to the bewilderment of a young guy nearby in a Black Flag T-Shirt. Not knowing his name at the time, Rønnenfelt, cherubic but menacing, lurching his boyish frame around at right-angles in non-descript white shirt and black pants, earns from me the spontaneous nickname ‘VampiRimbaud’. Unfortunately a whole swathe of disaffected teens are probably at the Printworks watching ‘Breaking Dawn: Part 2’ tonight, rather than writing maudlin poetry or getting the shit kicked out of them by teenage Danes in the basement of a vegetarian cafeteria…


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