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EMMA BARNES

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Sigourney Weaver Knows Me in Another Life Where I Am a Drummer

 

You should see my thighs. In this life I am always doing a double

kick. Heel down. Heel down.  I’ve been lifting weights and the

definition in my forearms is off the charts. I used to be a bass player,

but now I’m a drummer. I’ve transitioned through the rhythm section

and come out the other side where I belong as the hammer and tongs

 

in the fire. Sigourney Weaver has always had a soft spot for Josh

Freese. She liked him best when he was in Christchurch in 2004. She

sat with me in the gallery right above him as he made the drums

sound inside our chest cavities. This guy was the guy they got to play

the part of the drum machine when NIN toured. He’s got eight arms

 

to hold you as long as you let him keep playing. But he’s a session

drummer. Don’t expect those eight arms to hold you long. Sigourney

Weaver says she likes me better in this world where I’m a drummer.

That might be because when I teach her to play the drums I sit behind

her and guide her arms. She’s the little spoon for once. Sigourney

 

Weaver sometimes just wants to be the one who gets their

hair stroked back from their forehead. She hasn’t yet articulated this to

me using words. But I feel pretty certain of it given she wrote a story

once about these extraterrestrials that explode through the chests of

human incubatory hosts. In this world her science-fiction books are

 

what made her famous. The protagonist was killed by the extra-

terrestrials and then 200 years later cloned back into existence only

to give birth in a surrogate fashion to one of the said extra-

terrestrials. If this speaks of anything I think it’s a deep need for

comforting hands to run through her filamentous biomaterial.

 

 

 

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