I walked out of a Kings of Leon gig in their earlier days when the crowd was so full of turds. Tucked-in and ironed check shirts into neat dark-grey trousers and bottles in hand to toss at a front-stage meshing that didn't exist and made out they knew of Texas. I sat on a bench in the bar and ended up getting off with a giant-nawked woman who'd wet herself downstairs. An evening of disppointment followed by embarrassment.