Supply Your Own Nipple Clamps.
Electric Gardens is an inexplicable event. You will stand, in the midst of a crowd, smelling body odour and alcohol and a general staleness. It is a wonder why you’re there. Then…suddenly…there is something that happens somewhere in the space between your larynx and your colon. Your entire being begins to pulsate with some kind of addictive sound. Your optic nerves tell you that they don’t know you at all. Some entity has entered the stage and you feel the need to expel as well as swallow that which is currently occurring.
After getting over the first moments of the experience, the fierceness of the crowd does shock you. All at once you are assaulted by an electro-anthem. If you’ve ever wanted to hear C-3PO take a syphilitic piss, welcome to Electric Gardens.
Drink. Dance. Drink more. Forget everything including your auditory canals in the sounds of The Hangout, Fatboy Slim, Armand, Van Helden, Gorgon City, MK, Doorly and Robbie Lowe.