But I wanted to tell you two things: I went to great lengths to see Roger Waters and his performance of the whole Dark Side of the Moon, and then seeing Massive Attack in a small club in DC. The former was predictable, boring, classic perhaps but just not musically inventive compared to, say, Muse, and all I could think of was all the new bands that would blow these cats away. Still, this is the first music I smoked and shagged and stole to, so the nostalgia clawed at my brain for purchase; I resisted, but how can you forget sitting in a smoky dive with Ginger Baker in Torremolinos as he offers you a crumbling joint, and growls, "First time?" while Floyd is playing. Roger himself, still with his sexy shovel-shaped face, strutted around as only bass players do, accidentally included, and I guess the electricity he managed could be measured by the attention he got from the teenagers half as old as his work: which was total. If I was 16 watching Waters I would have been hustling and bustling for romance or cash, but these kids were hooked, nodding along to every predictable guitar riff. And then five days later, Massive Attack, and a worse joke, except I learned something about opportunity. Muddy mix, horrible sound, and unimaginative rhythms in oil-based smoke hell, but Brian L. of Toolbox graphics sees my Floyd pajama bottoms and asks "Is that Sean?" since we're in the VIP section together, and before you know it I'm gabbing with Dan Levine, underground artist supreme, who interrupts the action to give me a hug, and then Simone Sandinero, Brazilian roadie who collaborated on projects with me a decade ago but now we're on the outs over money, and she's moving to LA, and then weirdly it is just me and Rob G., the energetic half of Thievery, and he's Mexican from Nuevo Laredo and I lay a trip on him about the world's only matriarchy in the Isthmus, where the youngest boys are raised as girls, and I go on about the ethereal beauty of the Zapotecan singing which NOBODY has recorded for english-speakers, and his eyes are popping since of course he is doing something other than the X-drivel for Thievery, and just like that I'm yanked out of the proceedings by my producer Gary and we saunter off for Ethiopian and a review of my publishing schedule (ha ha) and I'm thinking, Why have I become a hermit?