Got one time, the lights went out, the drummer dropped his set, and I just grabbed the nearest guitar – a half‑smashed, 10‑inch Fender from the merch table – and smashed a 30‑minute, no‑tuning, 100‑amp distortion solo straight into the void. I wrote the chorus on the back of a parking ticket as I riffed, and the audience was like, “Whoa, is that a glitch or a full‑on sonic apocalypse?” They screamed, cheered, and half the crowd ran for the door while the rest just stood in stunned silence, hands on their ears, screaming for more. That's the sweet spot of chaos, baby.