Take the perenially eating fat chick your friend is friends with. Taste doesn't matter much to her, her out of shape boobs and ass have both given up on her, and all that matters is she gets to eat. Under this category fall the dudes who've heard a couple of songs from their college days, and all they want is to have a good time holding their wives' hands and generally try and make their shitty marriages more interesting. Then there's the guy who's still into the band, is a tone deaf homo, and hasn't seen them so many times, and/or is completely shit-faced - the actual quality of the show just won't matter to him either. These are the different kinds in the audience who can enjoy a show like this (or any show put up by DNA for that matter). The other side has us, with a lot less tolerance and living with this curse called sobreity. The dudes with generally good pairs of ears, and are critical (often borderline anal) when it comes to live concerts and music in general. So unless this is something flawlessly executed and is worth our money, you're going to see us complaining even if it's our musical heroes that we go to see.

This is where DNA comes in. A show by them is guaranteed to be an expensive cock-sniffing extravaganza with a bunch of shitty opening bands so they can call it a festival ('Rock in India' - haha, for real?), terribly set-up venue and incredibly bad sound, but even the latter kind usually has enough love for music to turn up wherever this happens in spite of all this lameness. But when it boiled down to a band playing for the third time in three years, and the second time with nearly the same setlist as this one, interest and enthusiasm was already waning days before the event. We got various excuses including "spondilitis", "oh I have freelance work" and the most popular, "man, I'm so broke". A select few landed up eventually, and after the customary comparisons of our latest mobile handsets and mp3 players, the usual book-buying, lunch-eating and opinion exchanging, we went to the venue and got our tickets sorted out.

Judging by what we heard from the outside, De Profundis sounded like an incredibly bad extreme metal band from India, only they were from the UK. We heard the most tedious riffs, progressions, melodies, trebly guitar sound, bum notes and a vocalist who sounded like he was in the middle of his 17^th birthday and in the process of breaking his voice.

Lauren Harris and her brand of shrill teenybopping rock hasn't gotten any better with her boobjob.

The songs are shit, she still can't sing and the young Zakk-Wylde-wannabe guitarist hasn't improved one bit since we saw him first two years ago.

The Silver Bugs were up next. Take a bunch of riffs Insane Clown Posse and Rob Zombie rejected as not good enough for them and give them to a bunch of 15 year olds with no talent whatsoever, and you'll have this outfit. The overwhelming gay from the stage must have rubbed off on the audience, because even a hot cheerleader they had with pompoms, short skirt and generous cleavage prancing around didn't seem to have helped. I expect an official apology from Italy for putting out such toxic levels of terrible. This is the country that gave us bad-asses like Sergio Leone fergodssake. Then came Parikrama to prove that India isn't too far behind in the suckage department. They seem to have stopped playing covers of the same ten bands over and over, and instead are writing shitty, boring, plodding songs ripping off said ten bands. Make them stop, please.