Lord Feral cannot be contained

Lord Feral cannot be contained. He is an army of hyenas marching undetected into your daughter's pre-school. He is nine megatons of explosives aboard a runaway freight train crashing full speed into your grand-daughter's preschool. He is an inharmonious whale abusing all the other whales with his gargantuan, pelvic songs. Nothing can contain Lord Feral

His fans come by train to the city to see him perform, while passersby stand in the audience, incognito.

He has no rhythm. 

He has no backup singer. 

He plays five songs for a total of twelve minutes.

The applause is deafening.

Then, during the encore, a fan interrupts the performance. She makes herself known by standing at the front, hands at her sides, and staring directly at Lord Feral. On stage, grab-assing his microphone, Lord Feral is torn from his music. The drummer continues percussing, poorly. Lord Feral is caught in the stare of a rogue concert-goer. No one makes eye contact with Lord Feral.

Afterwards, standing at the merch table, I ask him what had happened. He seems distracted. I press. "What happened up there?" but he cannot reply. He looks around, at the as though suddenly in danger, and scampers off.

No one startles Lord Feral.