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Acid Mothers Temple carried their suitcases in a line to the door of my house and looked at the yard full of snow. It’s strange to host them, to see how they spend time between performances. That time is a marginal space in which their minds are still humming, whistling, and focused entirely on sound. After drinking green tea and resting on my sofa, we all ate gumbo in the kitchen. Gumbo was a new word for the four Japanese musicians, and Tsuyama Atsushi, the bassist, mumbled “gumbo” repeatedly as he ate. After polishing off several helpings of gumbo and corn bread, they washed their dishes, all in a line, went back to the living room, and got on their Macs to e-mail home. MORE »