I hated playing live — every time was terror. I only ever wanted to be in the studio making tracks. When it was first brought up, I tried to say no. I was told you had to. Like the trucks and trucks and ridiculous budgets of The Orb tours — it was non-negotiable. Just part of the machine.
So there I was, doing live dub mixing, trying to stay focused, moving my foot side to side — maybe it was stimming, maybe I was just trying to ground myself in the noise and panic. I don’t even know what’s autistic and what isn’t. Maybe I really am just a spastic, like they said.
They thought it was hilarious. Called it “my spastic dance.” A joke. Bit of banter.
I laughed along because I had to. That’s what you do when you’re PDA, ADHD, autistic — and trapped in an environment that feeds on humiliation. You adapt. You survive. But it hurt. And that was the working atmosphere: even my coping mechanisms became punchlines — and then I needed more just to cope with the punchlines.
It wasn’t one moment. It became a regular feature of every tour. They’d point it out, laugh at it, laugh at me. I was doing everything I could just to hold it together.
That’s how it worked. You get humiliated, you’re expected to laugh. Then you’re trained to keep giving more of it back. Banter as behavioural control. That was The Orb.
