Sorry Bullet for my Valentine, not your kind of riot. Or you Kaiser Chiefs. Not the kind of 'riot' that has been name-dropped by the aforementioned, the resulting depiction was about as anarchistic as a particularly sharp prod in the post office. No, these are the riots that defined the times. The times when fans went too far, artists maybe didn't go far enough, and all round there was a crossing of wires, the mashing together of which spilled out into the surrounding environment, laying waste to all and sundry who got in the way. They say 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'? I say thee nay, 'Hell hath no fury like people who have been waiting for their favourite band to come on for three hours, only for them to cancel'. Now that is a phrase worth remembering. A seething mass of fans takes on something of a collective hivemind given the appropriate motivation, and with strength in numbers it can be put to many a car-toppling effect, producing some of the catastrophes you're about to see across the next few pages. Thus in the month of good times and gift-giving, familial embrace and remembrance, we remember some of the many times over the years when a collective group of people lost their goddamned minds.
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