It’s 11pm at The Foundry on a Friday night and I’m perishing fast. Coaxed out of the comfort of my home to Control Zine’s Darker Party and the promise of Sydney’s Mere Women, I trudge to The Valley. Upon entry, I’m greeted by the kind of lowlights and hanging décor that echo the deepest, gloomiest part of the ocean. Before double-parking myself on a bar stool, I make a bee-line for the bar, chasing something “cheap and nasty with a twist”. Eyelids heavy, tinnie in hand, I’m snapped out of my...