Summer 2007, Norfolk, Virginia. The Plain White T's are about to kick off a huge tour in support of their single "Hey There Delilah".
A few seconds into their first song, I emerge from a trapdoor beneath the stage. Slowly, solemnly, I make my way over to singer Tom Higgenson. We are face to face. I shake my head back and forth, as if to say, "No, no. Just...no". He begins to protest, but looks strangely resigned. "Shhh, shhh", I tell him. Then I unburden him of his Ovation acoustic guitar, gently setting in on the ground. I take out a pair of pliers and remove each and every one of its mechanical parts until it's sufficiently unplayable. The rest of the band has retreated into the darkness by now. I do the same with all of their instruments, even disassembling the drum stool and tambourines piece by piece.
With the help of the crowd, we take what's left of the instruments, exit to the parking lot and dump it all in a pile. The detritus is doused in flammable liquids and burned for hours while a silent crowd watches, their faces glowing. No one speaks of the band or the song ever again.
