Day 8
The Crocodile, Seattle, 30 January 2005
The cough is getting worse. Tonight's gig is a proper gig, you know, a back room, black, smelly and slightly rock. In the dressing room the walls have been given over to band graffiti, which is a special genre of modern art. There are three main schools of note; 1. The Tribalists. These write "are cunts" (or, equally valid, "are gay") after the band names. 2. The Revisionists. They like to amend the obscenities until they are something nice instead (eg. "Fuck America" becomes "Thank America"). 3. The Freudians, who like to draw penises everywhere. They are also fond of the figure known as "the shitting arse". I've never really taken part in this activity so I don't know which camp I'd fall into. I suspect it would be 3.
We go out for dinner so very late that by the time we get back to the venue, it is completely full and we have to fight our way to the dressing room. Once we get there we both discover we need to wee and have to fight our way to the far end of the venue and then all the way back, all the while listening to the audience growing increasingly impatient.
Matt is not feeling good, but despite the rock-ness of the venue and the fact it is over-full the wonderful attentiveness of the audience helps him through.
Last time I was in Seattle was the day Kofi was born.
