about
Starting at age fifteen, I worked at restaurants and coffeehouses, and then mostly at bars, for two decades. Shifts at the coffeehouses and bars were usually one-person deals, but restaurants take a crew to get open each day. Restaurants have a team working in unison to prepare for the daily traffic they'll have: silverware gets polished, racks of glasses get stacked, coffee and iced tea gets made, the bar is set up, garnishes get prepped, salt and pepper are filled, plates are organized, tables set, furniture straightened, etc. The routine becomes subconscious and there's a rhythm that everyone falls into and people develop a unique grace in moving with urgency while anticipating others' moves and swinging around one another - there's a dance to it all. If you've worked in a restaurant, you can probably spot strangers who've also learned the dance just by seeing how they fluidly move through a crowd and can always drift through the obstacles along the path of least resistance. Occasionally, there's a stumble and the dance can get jammed up as people fall out of sync, but there's usually little time needed for them to get back into the rhythm. The processes can be monotonous and uninteresting, but there's also a contentment to seeing all the parts efficiently working together. For this piece, I sampled a bunch of utensils around my own kitchen (I've long since forgotten which), loaded them into a drum machine, and set out to reinterpret a restaurant opening as if it were a drumline performed by a mechanized factory that repeats multiple operations in tandem, getting jammed up sometimes, shooting gears and screws out now and again, and then falling back into sync. Like the work needed to open a restaurant each day, it also goes on for way too long.
credits
from
ISOS,
released October 4, 2017
license