Alabaster dePlume does not know what he is doing. He says as much near the start of his set.
“I know I’m supposed to behave like I know what I’m doing,” the saxophonist, singer, performance poet and bandleader adds, before proceeding to harmonise with the sound of a distant toilet hand-dryer. Later, he will conduct his band in a cappella vocals with a fingerless-gloved hand, pointing at the notes in the air, and repeatedly congratulate his audience for being alive.
