A TOTALLY REAL IMAGINARY CONVERSATION:
MATT & KIM MID-SHOW, BOWERY BALLROOM, MARCH 9, 2007

MATT: Okay, calm down. We're used to playing weird-ass lofts in Bushwick, Brooklyn, where kids with questionable hygiene pump their fists and ROCK ON in a very democratic manner. Yet here we are at Bowery Ballroom, which is probably owned by Rupert Murdoch.

KIM: Dude, we forced them to make it a 16-and-up show. We strong-armed them into only charging $8 a ticket, which is like how much a plastic cup of flat Brooklyn Lager costs.

MATT: Oh Jesus, Kim—the thing is, it's okay. It's okay here! There's a shitload of people but somehow they've overcome that invisible, intangible moat that normally crops up when a band like us plays on stage.

KIM: It's my teeth, Matt. My wide, smiling mouth. It's the way my drum play suggests there's nothing more beautiful in the world than playing the drums. Whacking them with my dented and chewed drumsticks!

AUDIENCE: We also like your mullet, Kim. And your tattoos, etched on surprisingly buff arms. And the ambiguous relationship that exists between you and Matt—are you brother and sister? Is this some White Stripes thing? Are you lovers? Whatever you are, we'll just call you adorable.

KIM: Thank you, audience. I shall continue to beat my rudimentary drum kit, evincing a joy that borders on psychotic violence.

MATT: Kim, I have to tell you, and this is something that's hard to admit, but this is somewhat okay. Playing this major league venue and all.

AUDIENCE: Later, after the show, we will stagger half-drunk to SoHo and order Wild Turkey shots in a subterranean bar. We will adopt expressions as somber and glum as Andy Warhol. You can only lighten our spirits for so long, Matt & Kim.

KIM: I'm still smiling—we're the musical equivalent of Skittles ... taste the rainbow, bitches!—Scott Indrisek