The music that’s been blaring from the PA between the bands cuts out and four figures begin wandering around the room, clanging bells. “Are they making us join a cult?” an audience member whispers as the bells crash into a din that’s swiftly overwhelmed by a thick, bassy squelch from the stage and a feral howl. No, this is no cult initiation ceremony – this is your standard Islet gig.
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