Abe Birch has been a drummer all his life, but he's never been successful. Things changed when, after a chance encounter with a bar buddy, he was recruited into Chylok and The Actual Movers--one of the biggest and most unique bands in the world.
Bu...
I have personally seen Chylok eject members from both the band and the crew for this transgression. As best as I could ever understand it, it means that while a performance is underway, no member of the inner-circle is allowed to present themselves to onlookers (or to ghosts, spirits, angels, demons, extra-dimensional beings, etc) in any manner that does not precisely correspond to their present emotional landscape. So, for instance, when DeLean (rhythm guitar) was going through his divorce, he came on stage every night for two weeks in a drunken stupor, crying his eyes out and smashing his gear over the course of the set, occasionally picking a few notes or chords that rarely had anything to do with the song the rest of us were playing. But he showed up on stage. And if he would have comported himself in any other way, it didn't matter how long he had been with Chylok or how integral he was to Chylok's songwriting process, Chylok would not have thought twice about replacing him. Or too, there was the time that Bad Maggie (lead guitar) became so enamored with Meat Crime (고기범 (Go Gi-bum), sound manipulation, engineering, DJ) that she spent an entire show attentive only of him, whispering in his ear during songs, massaging his neck between songs, before finally disappearing behind his DJ booth and blowing him then and there. When the rest of us realized what was happening we went into a sultry, although short, rendition of Prince's 'Kiss', while an obscene proportion of the audience joined in with their own lewd acts. We finished the show not long after, but the entire audience remained because Bad Maggie wasn't finished yet. She went behind the DJ booth again, stripped Meat Crime of his clothes, and fucked him right there on the stage. Chylok placed his microphone above the DJ booth and we all went backstage while the crowd cheered along to the sounds of Bad Maggie rocking Meat Crime's world.
Meat Crime lasted much longer that round.
As we were leaving the venue that evening, we were, all of us, served with fines for lewd and disorderly conduct. Collectively the fines totaled something like $10,000. But Chylok paid it all himself. A few months later he showed up at the court date, on his own, and he didn't fight the charges. He wanted to prove that he both knew and agreed with what had occurred, and he also wanted to see the reactions of the authorities charging him. In the end, the judge had to make quick business of the proceedings because fans had flooded the streets surrounding the courthouse, wearing next to nothing and on the verge of a mass public orgy.
That was the near the beginning of the tour I did with The Actual Movers. Countless countries, worldwide. Large venues, tiny venues. Raucous crowds, intimate gatherings. Days without sleep, sleep without waking. At a certain point, after playing a certain number of shows, they all begin to blend together, the memory of them becomes a compounded memory of one big show that lasts and lasts, always seeking the momentum of the perfect concert. The one thing I have a clear memory of, however, is how, near the end, the band members began to quietly duck out of the remaining dates. We would leave a city—Taipei, Sydney, Buenos Aires—and nobody would notice, or if they did they wouldn't say anything, but by the time we were in another country setting up at another venue, there would be this empty spot on the stage.
What happened to Riles?
He was with us in Wellington, wasn't he?
I saw him go into a pub. Never came out.
Where the hell is Camus?
He said he was going to the hospital in Santiago.
We don't have a bass player...? Where's KO?
Shrug.
Shrug.
Shrug.
Jesus.
And that's how it went, until the last show in San Juan when Chylok himself didn't turn up. It was only me and Carter. Drums and sax. Could've been worse. We did the gig, just the two of us, and afterwards a few of the people who had stuck around for the show told me they had seen The Chameleon, but I never saw him The Chameleon. I thought we'd lost The Chameleon in Tokyo.
The thing is, while all this was happening around me, I was still the new guy and nobody ever explained how the band operates or what's expected. I had to pick these things up along the way. The only real advice I was ever given was that if I failed to apprehend these sorts of things, then I would be replaced, just as I replaced the former drummer. Indeed, by the end of that first tour, I was all but certain that my role with The Actual Movers had come to a sorry anticlimax. And as anyone who has ever lost a job knows, especially a job they love, it can take you to a dark, dark place. Only, as I was to find out, the dark places that Chylok and The Actual Movers can take you to are even darker.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
***Thank you, gracias, 감사합니다 if you've made it this far!
***The structure of this story will be staggered between the present action and exposition from the tour. I think that works with the first person narration. Let me know what you think!
***Next week is a long holiday for us, we've got Buddha's Birthday, Children's Day, and a shotgun presidential election coming up. So I'll plan to post the next chapter in a few days before I head out of town.
