Saturday night the rain couldn't decide what it wanted to be. Not enough to send anyone running for cover, just enough to make the walk to Bowery Ballroom feel slightly inconvenient. The kind of weather that leaves everyone checking the sky every few minutes hoping it'll finally commit to something. I hadn't planned on documenting anything that day. My camera bag was sitting at home. All I had was a point and shoot and a children's video camera that somehow made perfect sense when I grabbed it walking out the door.
By the time I found Olivia, the room had settled into the familiar rhythm of soundcheck. Drums. Guitar. Vocals. More Vocals. Bass. The same language spoken in every venue, regardless of the city. Between songs we talked about the road. They had just finished driving the same route I'd done a few weeks earlier, only in reverse, comparing cities like people comparing dreams they weren't entirely sure had happened.
At some point I realized the stage was framed by these absurd lime green curtains I'd somehow never noticed before. Maybe they'd always been there just like that.
The hours before doors are always my favorite. Olivia disappeared into makeup before an interview, which gave me just enough time to make the mandatory Red Bull run. Back at the venue, Avsha and I dug through the van for a jacket while he showed me tattoo flash and photos taped to the van walls. Dinner was at Fiat, where almost everyone ordered salmon, not because anyone was craving salmon but because after weeks on the road a real plate of food starts to really mean something. The waitress asked if they were in a band. They invited her to the show, and she pulled out her phone to save their Instagram so she could show her boyfriend later.
Backstage, a friend of theirs wandered into the green room wearing a black eye and immediately began explaining how he'd gotten it. Every new detail somehow raised more questions than it answered. I kept looking across the room at their booking agent hoping she understood what had actually happened. Every time we made eye contact it became increasingly obvious neither of us had any idea. Across the room, Avsha quietly scribbled the night's set list onto a paper plate.
Once the lights went down, Bowery became a completely different place. I tucked myself behind those impossible lime green curtains to stay mostly hidden while I shot. From there I watched one girl at the barricade completely surrender herself to the night. One minute she was resting her head against Olivia's monitor staring up toward the band, the next she was throwing herself around without a trace of self-consciousness, as if she'd forgotten anyone else was in the room. Near the end of the set, Olivia turned to the crowd, trusted them without hesitation, and let them carry her away from the stage.
