You can draw the lines
Don’t it make you feel alive
The bass line crunches along at an alarming rate. I can’t move my feet in time because I’m dancing in syrup. The cameras zoom in on James, onto his 20 foot high mouth as he snarls out the words, it’s like he’s trying to eat us.
The disco ball on stage reflects ten thousand tiny revellers capturing us at our best – mouths open, lyrics pouring out, flecks of mud shaken off by our moving bodies. It spins and spins and spins and I wonder what lives inside such a thing, some small funky creature with kaleidoscopic vision. The LCD spider.
I’m prone in the half light
I’m late to my real life
I am longing for a way into the gold rush right now, it’s been 5 days and my body is a physical wreck, blistered feet and chewed up gums and greasy hair and chapped lips. My insides churn under the weight of the booze and the drugs and the fast food.
The sirens blare and the synths hiss and fizz along with the rolling, crunching bass, lifting me out of this English field and into the NYC 00s disco scene, I suddenly feel great again and I’m grooving with David Byrne and Albert Hammond Jr when the bomb goes off and Nancy starts shrieking in my ears about normalizing and the two worlds flood into each other, sticky brown mud oozing over DB’s giant suit while ABHjr spills his bourbon and cigarette ash over the crowd.
The giant red LED clock ticks down to the opening bars of Someone Great which is when I completely fucking lose it.