... when the singer, Alex Kapranos, finally came onstage by himself and the rest of the band followed in the sequence of their entries in the song being played. Everyone went slightly nuts from that point on.

Everyone except the hipsters, that is. Even when Crazy Man From Newfoundland came and put his arms on either side of Blond Hipster Vulture-man to force his way into the front row, BHV just stood still, occasionally turning around to say languidly, "f*ck off, man." When Crazy Man professed his love for the band ("I have bled for this band, man! I know all the lyrics! Do you wanna fight?"), BHV just turned around silently and continued non-dancing. Crazy Man, on the other hand, found this an excellent time to begin moshing furiously, putting his sweaty elbow in my ear in the process, and singing one line ahead as if Franz Ferdinand needed prompts. It takes a lot to set me off, and when even I am saying "Shut up! I didn't come here to listen to you!", then you know it is time to lay off. And then there were fangirls to my left. Greer and Katherine got washed away to the rear, about six rows back, but still along that weird frat boy-fangirl fault line that had developed in the crowd. The fangirls were, naturally, situated between the lead guitarist and the lead singer, because those two are, like, such babes. So yeah, that was the scene in the pit.