"I'm the new fucking wave of kids clogging up the dancefloor, and a circle skank pit at a show is pure, unadulterated bliss. There's an electricity in the air that jostles every fiber in your body until you're one of the flailing, but somehow stylish members of the pit. The few times you make eye contact with someone else in a lull, you realize they're feeling what you are, and it's like an orgasmic outpour of raw power flooding through the venue. When Molotov Compromise plays at Southmore House, the resident squat house in houston, there's not a soul that comes out of there unbruised, unbloodied, or unshaken to their core, but that's exactly how everyone wants it and we wouldn't change it for anything. If you want to stand and watch a band like a bore, then go see the Evens, they're pretty fucking cool and yet make you sit down before they play. Hell, I'm going to see Tom Waits soon, and it's a suit and tie event. But the second that muted downstroke graces my ears, and nineteen year old fuckups with buzzed hair and steel-toed boots start calling out 'pickitup', I'm going to be in the middle of it with everything I've got."