Illustrated by guest artist Emily Conlon of Disaster Drawings.
I never understood this. I come to make work when I’m seeing a show live. Especially if it’s music meant for dancing. I recall being at Gnarls Barkley show where folks were standing stock still and stankfaced at the idea of doing more than a gentle sway. Cee-lo was wearing a Unitard twentyeleven sizes too small and an electric colored Mohawk wig.
Fuck You and your too cool to be here constantly checking your phone even though we all know that the Bowery Ballroom/Webster Hall/Terminal 5/Public Assembly has shit reception self.
Stay at home and put the damn album on repeat if that’s the case. A few years ago at a M.I.A. show a security guard came over two separate times. Once to ask Fancy Bitch and I to see our press credentials again because according to him “Press don’t be dancing and shit”. The second time was to compliment the synchronized Bogle we were doing during a particularly frenzied portion of our routine.
The next M.I.A. show resulted in Cole, Matt Bray, Emmy and I duplicating an African Dance number….Skillfully. I was proud of us.
A few weeks ago Cole and I danced for 6 hours straight despite rain, drunk folks and having only fried food and beer as fuel. That’s how you attend a show. Dance like it’s the 3rd and rent is late.
