Brand story commissioned for ‘lyrics and literature’ issue of Dazed & Confused magazine. Tracing the evolution of the airmax shoe over 17 years, the story expresses brand and product values within a poetic narrative.
the noise is deafening; a wild stew of steaming sounds and vibrating frequencies permeate the thick air. between the drilling on the road, the underground trains, planes flying overhead, politicians’ promises distorted through pa systems strapped to roof racks offering a better brighter day, sirens blaring, babies crying, voices of all nations, strange creatures, street preachers admonishing everyone everywhere for not walking the right path, the righteous path, the same path as them, the constant thud of beats and scratches coming out of almost every door every store. you could try but you can’t ignore the inner city symphony. the cacophony has a monopoly like microsoft like lara croft. like a tomb raider, the racket steals the very thoughts from your head. and all this before you’re out of bed. it’s tough enough to breathe, never mind think. it’s summer. in the city. like the song…
no space here, everyone jam packed together; complex, confusing, kind of amusing – yes, there’s still room for laughs in the big bad city. the place is so fast so bizarre so demanding, you have to have half a laugh at least once a day. everyone picking up on each other’s thing, each other’s vibe - good and bad, healthy or not, ready or not, brash flash and hungry for cash. not loveless but lost or losing it. it seems like every day the city sheds its skin to start again tomorrow; there is no room here for memory.
and in the middle of this rat race is max. brand new, light as air; visibly pumped like nothing else, like no one on earth, carefree. fresh, with a airsprung step, never sitting still keeping up, effortlessly. i discover max for the very first time or max discovers me – who can tell? wherever max goes, i follow. we are partners, a team. we’re fit, we flit, we fit together. from now on, i go nowhere without max. max goes nowhere without me. we need each other, that’s how it is, that’s how things are. we are bound together – a killer combination. it’s been this way since the day we met. we are tight and close, moving well together. and we move a lot; from city to city, from day to day, year to year moving, shifting, evolving elegantly. always evolving, always elegant, always ready for change.
stepping off the plane, max feels happy. it’s good to be on solid ground; bouncing on the tarmac, shifting and turning, moving again. it’s all about movement for max, and for me. we like our movement, our freedom and speed and air. the aircraft cabins stifle us. sitting still for too long, inside there, the air’s all wrong but hey, we like to travel, we need to get around, so we face our demons and fly. anyway we’ve landed now and as soon as we’re through security, max is back on track, springing into action. he travels better around the city; we move well on foot.
so we’re back in town. feeling at home; light as a feather, local social, surrounded by familiar machinery, modernity, friends and anonymity. guitar pop thrashing across town, we’re in the maze, dazed. amazed at the labyrinth, the grid iron grip of the city – people get lost in here for weeks at a time. not max – max has reason, he’s got rhythm and rhyme. he moves easily, with speed around the matrix, the un-bending, never-ending deep streets and ever-lasting avenues. we belong here, far and wide somewhere nowhere between the lower east and upper west side. bumping into people, auto-connecting, breezily remembering and spinning off, speeding off, moving on. max is always moving on, shifting gear, changing directions at intersections of different dimensions, making sharp turns and quick decisions. he can turn on a sixpence in an instant. and i get a glimpse of something new, i can’t see it all the way round, but there’s 180 degrees of air, like a fresh evolution; max has done this full half spin. something has changed. yes, max is moving on. he gets us in plenty of places. we’re surrounded by reflections in that familiar flash of polished chrome, the yellow blur smears an otherwise monochrome world; the canopies out, the billowing awnings in the mornings the steam rising, crisp black and white light shining, bursting suddenly, playfully bouncing off polished windows, air con blasting, leaves blowing in the wind. max slips slides and glides gracefully past all of it almost unnoticed, but not completely…you can see people watching, looking on.
one minute we’re on ground level, rushing and dashing and crashing around igniting exciting, speeding up slowing down, then we’re rising higher, lighter than the city below, climbing storeys telling stories, reaching roof tops of big buildings, thrown together with whoever – the folks at the top. it’s quiet up here, sky scraping, the air’s rare and it’s peaceful, less people, casting an eye over the tightly woven sprawl, feeling the call of another city.
‘who wants to have the life sucked out of them? this is what we avoid – the vacuum, the void. air is everything. the vacuum is nothing, oblivion. the vacuum, like a scentless perfume is unthinkable, unbearable. where there is no air, my friends, there is no life!’ the street entertainer skips over the massive suction hose of a theatrical, over-sized home made machine which looks like something from a medieval car wash with the words le grand machine vacuum hand-painted on the front – as he balances a flower on his nose, waxing philosophical. we can only be in paris. the clown pulls a string of handkerchiefs from his pocket, which is ‘sucked’ down the hose immediately (the whole crowd can clearly see the hands of a backstage assistant doing the ‘vacuuming’). then the flower goes in and as the clown looks the other way, the bright orange wig is sucked off his head, revealing his shiny bald pate. he jumps with fright to the delight of the crowd. next, his false eyebrows go and finally his bright red nose. now, indeed, he has nothing. his whole identity has been sucked into thin air. or more precisely, thin airlessness. he looks up at the crowd, perturbed. he wants his nose back. he puts his hand into the hose, up to his elbow. now he can’t get his hand back. he’s being sucked in. he is being pulled into the machine. he tries to resist, but he’s in way over his head. the audience watch his whole body wriggle and writhe as it slides down the tube. the audience are in stitches, howling with laughter as his feet kick a last stifled dance of defiance before they are sucked into the giant vacuum. finally the whole clown is gone. the vacuum has triumphed. a white handkerchief on a stick pops out the end of the hose, signalling the clown’s submission. the word fin is painted on the other side of the handkerchief. the show is over. the audience cheer and walk away, some pay but very few.
there’s more than the usual spring in max’s step as we move from the contours of the left bank to chuck a couple of coins into the half empty hat. the clown hands a cluster of bright pink and purple balloons to a group of kids who run off along the riverside, cheering exitedly, to show their friends.
the air is full of sound and heat and the sweet hot sweat of a sea of arms all raised all waving to the same tune the same throbbing thudding beat that repeats and repeats in my ear. max is light, doing better than alright, we’re bouncing all night long. the party’s hot and the music plays on. it’s one of those nights and as the party goes on, the volume gets higher the rhythm gets deeper and the tempo gets faster. faster than a disaster. the whole crowd keeps up with the pace and as wet sweat and smiles break out on the faces of so many of us in this huge aircraft hangar of a place, our feet and legs and hips move to a quicker slicker beat. somehow, there’s a sweet seductive melody holding us together, gathering us in as a tribe, a gang, a family, making gorgeous sense of the powerful thumping pumping rhythm that’s somehow rearranging us on a molecular level, shaking us, the windows and everything within 100 yards of the building. there’s no room for shufflers here and max moves so fast so fine so light tonight. max dancing max floating on air without a care and it makes all the difference, max has got this whole new thing going on that keeps us all going on so we’re happy to follow like there’s no tomorrow. and there will be no tomorrow as night becomes day in the blink of an eye. darkness blends into light, with our feet bouncing and skipping to an incessant beat, heads nodding, hands waving, eyes glinting to a glorious groove smooth as silk and rough as you like. and this is just one of these delicious nights that you wish would never end. if you could you’d write it in a letter and send it to a friend. but you can’t so you don’t and you just carry on because there’s just nothing wrong with a good carry on.
the temperature’s rising. everything’s inflated here. tempers, egos and prices, among other things. the whole city feels fit to burst, like someone needs to take the lid off. everyone’s challenged, challenging. who’s fittest? who’s fastest? there’s pickpockets in the square. we chase a group of kids round the old town to retrieve a wallet for a friend. friendship seems like a valuable commodity here. favours become currency. it’s bright and wild and interesting. we go out at night and max is glimmering, you know, with an extra shine. lively as ever, maybe more than before. he’s evolved, he’s complete; there’s an aura of air all around him – the full length and breadth of him. the locals, as always, take to max. people dress up here it’s true. it’s an up all night kind of city, speedy, small enough to get lost and find yourself at the same time, pushy and friendly, light and dark. we move around on our own. get known quickly. the people are quick, you have to be on your toes here, always have your best foot forward. max is handy in a town like this. sharp, flexible, always ready to move.
we hit the ground running, full of breath, full power, full tilt. the chase is on again. we’re turning, returning, and max is back like before – exactly the same as ‘91. we’ve done the full 180, the semi circle, the panoramic spin and come right back round to face ourselves.. but we go full pelt, we don’t pace ourselves. the race is on and we are moving at speed, in the zone; crossing streets, jumping high over barriers, moving faster than anyone following us. we’re way out in front, max and i. we cannot be caught. from side streets to main roads and junctions, we’re high velocity. we’re moving so fast you can barely see us, we’re running like nothing else, no one else. clearing walls, through back yards, slippery streets and dark alleys, up and down unfamiliar stairways, then reappearing, steering a course through the familiar shapes of the city – we bomb it through wide open parks and shopping malls market stalls, shops and out the side doors of cafes, through crowds of innocent passers-by who always seem to get caught up in the action. the same old old guy knocked off his seat, up in arms, newspaper flaps in a gust of air, flying everywhere, the over-pumped tyres of cars screeching to a halt in front of the young mother pushing a pink and purple buggy, her individual universal eyes full of fear and the rage of ages.
we’re out in the open, exposed and then gone again, disappearing. hiding behind buildings, catching our breath. and then moving on again, quickly, quietly and cautiously. the flash of bright colour elusive exclusive. somewhere somehow in the city someone is always searching for max – there’s always someone trying to catch us, catch us out, catch hold of max – hey man, you seen max? where’s max? anyone here seen max? people search. that’s what they do. but max can be hard to pin down, enigmatic. nothing is as it seems with max. fully visible, then impossible to find. the evening sky darkens – camouflaged in the pink and purple fading light turning black, we are gone, disappearing into the night. the race goes on. and on it goes. no one knows when it will end, but you can always be sure of the climax…max is in a different league; fast and stylish, admired and desired. max is wanted, hunted and tracked down wherever we go. but they can’t catch max. max will always be one step ahead.
we all need someone. we all need something. some of us need love, some education, others desire and require food or friends or rock and roll to fill the hole. but max is simple. max moves with speed and grace in his space because max knows what max needs. max needs air. that’s all. with air, max is fast. with air, max is light. with air, max is totally invincible.
and as for me, i keep it light and sweet. as long as there’s air on my feet.
mike benson 2004