Chain Whip may find you through an IV drip – an isolation ward hospital bed. Eyes affixed to an episode of Deadly Class as neon in the rain creeps down the Astoria Hotel marquee. Chain Whip may find you in the sound and vision of a red-lit room, with a slam-dance whirl and the tune of “Kids of the Black Hole” by The Adolescents. And looking closer, in the background of the shot, you might notice that the guitarist on screen looks an awful lot like your attending nurse, Joel. The members of Chain Whip seem to have a compulsion for storytelling. An almost journalistic impulse, that if there’s someone to witness, to feel, to hear, and to recount — that purpose can be found. Through this myth-making process, there’s a clear adherence to the maxim, “never let the truth get in the way of a good story”. Huddled together in a diner booth at Zawa on Commercial, Joel finishes his tale of career escapades, the motion of his hands shimmering and obsc