When I was in college, when someone wanted to kick everyone out of their house after a party, after they'd tried everything to push the mass of drunk 20-year-olds out of their home, they'd put on "Konstantine". The phases of recognition were always the same every time.

The opening riff would start, and hypnotically lock the revelers in place. The sense of something foreboding would creep across their drunk faces and smiles would melt. Loud conversations would die down. People would lean across tables, rest on fireplace mantelpieces, sit on the damn floor.

But by the time the song would wind around to the four minute mark, there would be groans of "not this song," while other people would quietly mutter along with the lyrics. There was this weird sense of everyone being abruptly ripped from the present and sent immediately back to some high school bedroom where they were learning some very harsh private lesson about life.