June 25th of this year, we played in a semi re-done warehouse space in NY. The sort of place that straddles my own fantasy of shadowy neglect, and a future oriented occupation of a modern ruin. Cracks within the cracks. The heat outdoors had finally receded to a tolerable perspiration. People lined up and poured inside with immediate convection of any and all humidity available. You can imagine that the set was equally as damp and airless. Not a suffocating sensation, but more of a race to see who could breathe the first last and only particles of oxygen left in this box of human precipitation. I speak for myself in saying that while performing a physical feat like playing drums at high speeds for an hour in such a challenging climate, the mind slows and lags while limbs move on their own at the appropriate pace. The heat is a laggardly nemesis to any efficiency your body can produce. The only way to suffer with dignity is to simplify and concentrate so that you don't pass out or vomit (ps i threw up the next night in Philly mid song)
After the set, there was a mercifully cool hallway behind the stage to stand in. I rushed out of the gig-room to breath any kind of cooler air, and burst through the door, rudely interrupting two people slyly making out in otherwise off-limits area. The hallway had about four directions to go in and some sharp corners to hide behind. I made myself scarce, not so much out of courtesy but because I needed to change into dry clothes which requires a temporary moment of bare assed-ness.
TOUR TIP: never play drums in your underwear/jeans in summer. They just won't last a full tour and they will stink forever.
I emerged from my own private corner of NY architectural shadow clothed, dryer, and comfortable only to find my only exit blocked! The couple that were sweetly pecking on a summer night were now up to something else. Shoes and socks exposed bare legs. A nude lower half obscured by a crouching partner. I turned around and walked back to my impromptu change room, out of sight. Instead of taking a minute to think on the nature of interstitial space and shady cracks and othering of industrial spaces (more than enough of that), I did my best to figure out a discreet escape. Didn't have the courage to walk through them and say "excuse me" nor did I want to hang around waiting for them to finish or proceed. So I took to my heels and to the halls and dodged out the back door, and left the shadows to cast themselves in the dark on bended knee.
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