The following passages can be read in one of two ways. Either as a standalone account of Level5’s performance of Psychopomp at Leytonstone in early August, or as the concluding stanza of David Milliband’s epic poem ‘Tariq and Barney Do It Their Way’. If the latter it is recommended that the reader consumes between 12-15 ml of liquid paraffin and waits for the weather to improve before continuing.
Before we arrived to do this thing, we knew the venue well. Some better than others. It had been on my mind from the day Level5 was delivered by caesarean section in the bathroom at Watford Gap service station and we’d realised that we weren’t the father (on account of its gorgeous high cheek bones (we had always suffered with pug-like features) and it’s undeniably oriental complexion). The people that you would find in this place, the décor, the atmosphere, the philosophy in the air; there was something going on here. We were chilled by now, we knew this drill. Get in, make friends, make a mess, live, love, leave. But the experience today was a humbling one. We’d squabbled a lot in the build-up and we squabbled more on the day. We agreed on nothing. The group cracked. We became 6 individuals. But we’re adaptable. We retreated to our own head spaces and we learned to work as 6 individuals. This was a defining moment in the company’s childhood because it opened our eyes to everything that had been wrong with us until now; we’d been idealising the collaborative ethic. We’d forgotten that we were grown-ups who could do whatever the fuck we wanted. If we wanted to invent as individuals and then glue shit together then that’s what we’d do. And that’s what we’ve been doing ever since. So thanks, Leytonstone.
The show itself was tricky. Embarrassing technical errors were made and the price of an unprofessional build-up was paid, by us and by our audience. We had talked all along about tailoring our work for an audience on narcotics and tonight we failed to make allowances for the vulnerability of people when they’re under the influence. One poor boy was absolutely terrified. He ran away. That wasn’t a nice feeling. Once we start scaring away our audience we really are performing for our own pleasure. Which wouldn’t be much of a pleasure at all.
At the end of it all I took a few minutes for myself to look around me and think. I sat next to a stolen bus stop and watched a man painted blue try and put out a fire. It was tough to watch. Who do you support when a man painted blue battles with a fire? I don’t really have an answer. I guess I was just in it for the sport.