The evening of September 1st graced London with the kind of heat that clings to one even after the sun has plunged below the horizon. The sky dulled to grey, offering nothing but a lingering warmth that made the air feel thick.
As I entered Bush Hall for the Emma Ruth Rundle gig, the energy of the crowd was palpable – a mass of people, all slightly damp with sweat, ever so gently pushing forward closer to the stage. Brothers in discomfort, bonded by shared anticipation and humidity, we patiently waited for Berlin?s Jon Samuel Ardron to open the evening. As their first notes filled the air, the discomfort melted away, replaced instead by collective catharsis.