Columbus or We Got Power, JimmyOn stage, I'm about to fall asleep.
Not while I'm playing, however. Later...around 3am. In the basement of the house affectionately known as the Legion of Doom. The basement has a small, raised stage with a dingy, well-tread carpet and for no good reason that's where I've set up camp by laying down my sleeping bag in front of the drums belonging to The Schande (an interview), an Ohio band that closed tonight's show.
The Legion of Doom maintains its structural integrity through sheer force of will alone. In order to defray costs and keep rent low an agreement's been in place there for years that no repairs of any sort will be performed. The floor is covered in kitty litter. The sinks in the bathroom don't work and there are paper signs everywhere with jokes, art, and warnings ("the last person who unplugged this was nearly electrocuted") and disarray, dirt, and years of abuse from sweaty, hardcore bands.
It's pretty awesome.
The drywall of the Legion is 40% gypsum, 60% chaos. Just as The Schande started, the power went out. Not because of the fuses, but because 10+ instruments, chaser lights, and heaters were plugged into one power strip that someone stepped on. "Jimmy" went to the fuse box anyway ... like most people here, he was ready and willing to help. My favorite moment? He didn't notice when the lights and power were flipped back on only 5 feet from where he was standing.
"Jimmy..." someone said, "We got power, Jimmy. No, seriously, it's, like, on."
Oh. Jimmy looked around. It took a second. Right.
We put our musical mark somewhere in the rope-lighted, furnace-housing basement that held a bunch of us as we swayed and screamed and sang. I believe there's a chance that some form of electricity would've been generated on sheer full-throated creativity alone. Watching The Schande, I kept thinking ... yeah, we got power.