Choose Life. Choose a song. Choose an album. Choose a band. Choose a fucking big playlist, choose iPods, mp3s, compact disc players and battery powered strobe lights. Choose good headphones, high volume, and getting on the guest list. Choose monthly Spotify payments. Choose a special edition copy of NME. Choose your band mates. Choose gig tickets and getting crushed at the front of the barriers, drenched in sweat and covered head-to-toe in piss. Choose a Bowie inspired jumpsuit in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose starting a band in your mate’s uncle’s garage and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose standing at that bar downing Strongbow Darkfruits, stuffing fucking peanuts into your mouth.