It's safe to say that my Turbonegro cherry was well and truly popped last night.
While some played the Hank and the Duke comparison game after the show, my ignorance of what a Turbonegro gig was like with Hank at the helm allowed me to wallow in just how fuckin' good the band are in the here and now.
Turbonegro are the sleazy ambASSadors of fist pumping, foot stomping, rabid head banging rock and roll.
A band who have a mission to spread the word of fun filled debauchery to the masses, and while their tongues are firmly in the cheeks, they are still taking that mission very seriously indeed.
From stadium stages to club sized holes in the wall they have played them all, but the surroundings of King Tuts was pretty much the perfect receptacle to hold all the overflowing adulation for the band in.
A venue that can hold a few hundred people in a tight embrace is were the real shit goes down, and it would be roughly accurate to say that just about every square metre of the floor had the foot of a member of the turbojugend laying claim to it.
The amount of denim on display would have some assuming that they were at a Status Quo gig, but those hoary old rockers never attracted such a fucked up, but still stylishly decadent, crowd of malcontents, and they never will.
Back patches showed that the pilgrimage to Glasgow had been made from all over England and Ireland, and some of the accents I heard were definitely from the European mainland.
That a band can draw so many people from different walks of life together under a roof to celebrate something that is so joyously barking mad is for me somewhat magical.
I doubt that anyone wandered off into the night harbouring any sort of disappointment as the band delivered everything that was promised with a set that had a good grip of Sexual Harassment, but also held all the classics from the past close to its chests.
Every song was blasted out with a kiloton of energy behind it, and the fans of the band reciprocated by thrashing around in an orgy of lost abandon to every move that their heroes made.
Self control was evidently something that isn't required at the gig, and everyone in attendance freely gives themselves over to letting go of all the shit in their lives in exchange for a free pass to party with no constraints.
From the outside looking in some would say that the lunatics had maybe taken over the asylum, but with no negativity being given any attention on a night that played out to a backdrop of zero drunken incidents, or arsehole behaviour of any type, I could argue that the real lunatics were safely being held outside in the wider world allowing us to just get on with our celebration of raw rock and roll.
It doesn't get much better than that.