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Jared puts the wire under his sweater, clips the mic beneath his wrist, and attaches the earpeice.

He is now wired. He puts his wrist to his mouth and pushes down a button.

“Testing, testing.. can you hear me?” A pause. “Okay, yeah, let’s set a frequency.”

He is dressed monochromatically. Fancy but hip.

He looks at me.

“They should be here. Let’s go.”

We walk through a back hallway as Jared leads, navigating down stairwells and through control rooms.

So used to being asked to slow down, today I am trying to keep up.

This is my first day back out in the world after surgery. Three days ago Jared picked me up at the hospital. I can’t even button my pants over the wound. The hospital lost my shoes, so I’m wearing boots.

Every step we take, people pass by saying hello to Jared, asking him questions, or giving him answers.

We get to a service entrance.

Click open the oversized door.

Sunlight.

57th Street.

Standing right there, in walk two tall giants and a music box doll.

There is an energy about them. Marke just became a father and Nathan an uncle (just a few days ago!). This is Marke’s his first time ‘out’. Katie is quietly casting ambient light.

This is also their first time here, backstage, and though amongst friends, there is an heir— focused. All business.

Congrats are exchanged, “how-is-she-feeling”s, “are you feeling better”s, welcomes, but already we’re walking.

“Let’s go,” says Jared, and we return up the stairs, past everyone scurrying about getting ready.

He leads us to a ready-room and goes to take care of something. Everything has to go smoothly.

Now we’re alone, in a room with no security cameras.

Click. Click.

Marke walked in carrying a small case, looking like a doctor making a housecall.

Or a safecracker.

He snaps open his bag and begins to work.

Whenever I feel like a criminal, I know something is going right.

Jared returns, we march back downstairs.

We turn left where previously we turned right and find ourselves passing through a control room. Someone is working a deck, prepping. There are security and display monitors visible, an open door, and through the door a stage, and center stage a lone microphone facing a sea of red chairs.

No photography is permitted. Self-control, Ronen. Self-control.

The conversation continues, all business, as we walk out onto the stage.

“Now, most of the house light is coming from the stage. It bounces there. There’s a separate light for the balcony. We generally use that one spot on the wall for projections, but the whole space is available.”

From the audience is looks regal, epic, but standing on stage Carnegie Hall feels intimate. Like a living room. Despite the elaborate pillars, less intimidating than most bars.

Even then, we never stop walking. Pacing, turning around. Looking.

Questions are asked, details offered. A lot of thought has occurred before this moment, and a lot of energy, a lot of work will result from it, so a lot must be covered. Everyone’s mind is racing, covering months of conceptual work in moments.

Marke looks up, and whispers in a way that even though I know he’s talking to me I wonder if he wouldn’t be whispering it even if I wasn’t in earshot, in his overstatement-understated way he whispers, his eyes twinkling:

“…pretty nice canvas..”

People often say something to me, the same thing, each in their own fashion. One of my favorite variations came from someone I’m not in touch with anymore:

“I want to cut open your head,” she said, “so I can look at your brain.”

Marke’s brain shows on his eyes. We finish the tour, they make some notes, and Jared goes back to running things as we head outside to pick up our tickets and go to the show.

Outside we run into Pete Knox, on line (the line has gone past the door) and Jon Swerdloff, who’s now also working with Jared on a project.

I love heist movies. But the secret thing about heist movies is they aren’t about criminals at all, they’re about artists.

(Stephen Soderbergh knows this.)

Movies about criminals are movies about rockstars, just as movies about rockstars are movies about criminals.

I love a good heist.

RFV