About fifty or sixty rock n’ rollers, kids with sunglasses and dirty tennis shoes, are packed into a nervous coffee shop or the swarming living room of a crumbling Provo party house. They’re dancing like animals, twisting and kicking, whipped into a vicious frenzy by sloppy surf riffs, vicious primal howls and the brutish beat of floor tom and snare. Great God Almighty, it’s the heat of the beat.