tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2919229873590962312024-03-14T20:50:10.982+02:00The Fangirl DiariesFairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-46811848897534404642016-04-13T21:30:00.002+02:002016-04-13T21:35:52.141+02:00Brian Fallon Live at St Pancras Old Church <div style="text-align: justify;">
I think everyone experiences a handful of surreal moments in their life. The kind that force you to take a step back, shake your head in awe and say "Things like this just don't happen". These are the kind of moments we imagine are for the lucky, the privileged, the special - not for every day humans like ourselves. For some, it’ll be your partner proposing in New York City, as the snow begins to fall along with the New Year’s Ball. For others, it’ll be winning a couple of hundred Pounds on a lottery ticket you bought on a whim as you stomped home after a bad day at work. <i>These things just don’t happen.</i><br />
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I myself have experienced just a handful of these moments: meeting the touring guitarist for The Killers in a Starbucks, after years of joking about how much he loves coffee; having Dave Grohl introduce himself to me as “Hi, I’m Dave”; touching hands with Bruce Springsteen as he sang ‘Spirit in the Night’ into my face. And I added another to my list this past Monday night. <br />
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In general, I’ve usually been quite successful in obtaining tickets to concerts I’d wanted to go to. Enough perseverance usually wins out in pre-sales and general sales, and failing that, there’s always a fellow fan selling a ticket or two closer to the date. For desperate times, there’s StubHub, where I tend to wait for prices to reach face value or below before parting with my cash. You can understand, then, why I was relatively confident I’d be able to get a ticket to Brian Fallon’s special show at the St Pancras Old Church. I’m not going to repeat how much I love Brian / The Gaslight Anthem - if you’ve read my blog or ever met me, you know. But then I failed in the first sale. And in the second. And in the two competitions I entered. And try as I might, there was not one single ticket going. But I was not deterred. <br />
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On the evening of the show, I happily waltzed off to the venue - a mere seven minute walk from my office - certain that someone would turn up with a spare, or even - against my better judgement - willing to pay a tout an inflated price. This was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime show, my favourite singer at his finest, and I could not miss out. <br />
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At the church, things weren’t looking promising, but shivering in my cool-but-not-warm, military Coldplay-circa-2008 jacket, I decided to wait it out. I had nothing to lose. What struck me immediately was how genuinely friendly the fans - whom I had never even met before - were, all honestly concerned about whether or not I would get in, and all wanting to help in any way they could. It took 3.5 hours, but I entered the show as Brian played the first note on his harmonica. Take me to church. I’ve already thanked the incredible people responsible for my entry, but I’ll thank them again - you know who you are. <br />
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And from there on out it’s an hour of worship. Growling raw emotion, the guitar and the harmonica. <i>You rang on a Wednesday night / I was buried in the churchyard</i>. And the hushed reverence of 150 people, too awe-inspired to do anything but watch. ‘Red Lights’ follows, and what was a massive singalong on Friday at KOKO, is now a stripped-down lament. <br />
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Never one to miss an opportunity for a spot of banter, Brian greets his audience. “I like places like this. I grew up with hymns, I like the old ones… not the new ones - they sound like Coldplay.” He grins and I roll my eyes. Then he launches into an explanation of where he got the inspiration for the next song. “I saw this interview, and this guy said ‘people say love is all you need, but I need money. Sure, it doesn’t solve all problems, but it solves the ones I have!’ ” I knew what the song would be, and sure enough, Among Other Foolish things sounds just as good acoustically as it does in all its usual glory. <br />
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Out of nowhere, a Gaslight Anthem song makes an appearance. It’s ‘The Navesink Banks’, <i>I spent time ‘neath the trestles / with the punks and the dime store saints</i> and I can almost hear the collective intake of breath of the members of the fan forum of the same name. <br />
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A few songs later we hit ‘Honey Magnolia’, one of my favourites from the new album, and surely this is the only way this song should be performed. It is absolute perfection, and topped off with a cover of Bob Dylan’s ‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright’.<br />
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I’ve never been to such a quiet gig in my life - many people whispering along to the songs, or mouthing the words, but no one daring to do any more. It’s either a mark of the respect of the fans, or perhaps the beauty of the performance has caused everyone to lose their voices. Never know. Brian is completely in his element, and unable to thank us enough for being there. As if we’re the ones who should be thanked. <br />
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‘Ladykiller’ is darkly fantastic, and ‘A Wonderful Life’ gets what is probably the biggest crowd reaction of the night. “Some people say some songs are inside guitars… I never believed that and then I got this guitar and I took it back to where we were recording the Handwritten album, and I just started playing this…” It’s the opening chords of ‘National Anthem’. <i>I never will forget you, my American love</i>. And I will never forget this night. <br />
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It’s a bit overwhelming the whole thing. There’s an air of something incredibly special having happened tonight. The emotion seems to be in the very air, and although the mood is euphoric, I'm bordering on melancholy. Perhaps that it’s the effect of the church. Perhaps that’s just what happens when you know you’ve just seen one of the best gigs you will ever see in your life. I wish I could go back in time and tell 2011 me, who had just discovered this album called ‘The ’59 Sound’, that one day she’ll live in England and some ridiculous things will happen, and she’ll see that guy in a church down the street from her work. But she’s never even been to England. And she’d never believe me. </div>
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Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-40657962292249758402016-04-09T20:23:00.000+02:002016-04-09T20:33:00.291+02:00Brian Fallon Live at KOKO, London<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tx3tG33qdQk/VwlIAruSVVI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/BwhUFRkBwNELB6tQz-JB1WNSR-B35PzSw/s1600/IMG_4802.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tx3tG33qdQk/VwlIAruSVVI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/BwhUFRkBwNELB6tQz-JB1WNSR-B35PzSw/s1600/IMG_4802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>The Gaslight Anthem is my drug. My painkiller so to speak. I entered into a whirlwind romance with their music way back in 2011, after a casual peruse of the year’s festival lineups led to my discovery of a little album called The ’59 Sound. For months - which became years - I didn’t stop. I wondered how I had co-existed in a world with this band for so long, without ever knowing it. They filled a void within me that I had not known existed - their lyrics spoke to my soul. I often say that although The Killers are my lifestyle, The Gaslight Anthem are my favourite band.<br />
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Fast forward to Cape Town on a fine February evening in 2012. Picture me sitting on my bed, live streaming BBC Radio One for the Reading Festival announcement, to decide whether or not I should attend a festival in a country I’d never been to before. <i>If Gaslight play I’ll go. I need to see them. </i>Imagine the DJ announcing …. “Paramore, The Foo Fighters… The Gaslight Anthem”. Now imagine me screaming loud enough to wake up all the neighbours. I bought tickets immediately. I was going to see Gaslight. <br />
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Three years and four Gaslight Anthem shows later, I found myself living in London, where I was lucky enough to attend a show in Brighton, and a final one - before the hiatus - at Shepherd’s Bush in London. And then it was over for an indefinite period of time, and my heart felt like I imagine it would at the end of a four year relationship. I almost cried, but then I realised I’m a heartless princess of darkness. <br />
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Then came the whispers of a Brian Fallon solo album, and my ears pricked up. If I couldn’t have The Gaslight Anthem together, at least I could have something to sustain me. Unfortunately, when Brian’s UK tour was announced, I was happily sunning myself in South Africa, completely unaware that my favourite had just released tickets to a show 6 minutes away from my work. And so I missed out on ticket sales. <br />
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As soon as a second London date - the St Pancras intimate show - was announced, I plotted my strategy for tickets. I had to make a plan to get to Brian in London somehow. But despite my best efforts, both round of tickets sold out, and neither of my attempts at winning tickets were successful. I gave up hope, and resigned myself to the fact that come April, I would be breaking into a church in Camden. <br />
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But a few weeks before the show I did manage to find a spare ticket for KOKO (thanks, Jess Baker, I am eternally grateful!) and on the day I took a rare lunchbreak and strolled down to the venue. A quick scope around the stage door revealed that the tour bus was already there, and assorted crew members were hanging round outside. Now imagine me pretending to be on the phone whilst I walked up and down, feigning ignorance as to who these human beings even were. <br />
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And so, back at work I attempted to concentrate for four more hours before I could leave for the actual gig. Let’s just say that by 4.30pm I had given up on doing anything productive, and was doodling Frank Turner lyrics in the back of my notebook. When 5pm finally arrived, I hightailed it down to KOKO, picked up my ticket, and then inhaled what I assumed would have been a very delicious chicken flatbread from Pret - though I wasn’t in any state to taste it. I joined the queue, where I was entertained by a plethora of excited fans. <i>“I mean… he has more guitarists now than in The Gaslight Anthem! Let’s see, there’s Jared, and Ian, and Alex… and cousin Frank…”</i><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EVXfVbr_3Ag/VwlH9D1wQdI/AAAAAAAAAVM/xzhkkMVEFCktUWdyl1DNYIePG3HQk_70A/s1600/IMG_4777.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EVXfVbr_3Ag/VwlH9D1wQdI/AAAAAAAAAVM/xzhkkMVEFCktUWdyl1DNYIePG3HQk_70A/s320/IMG_4777.JPG" width="320" /></a>Inside - and 5 rows from the front - I met some lovely fans, who made me feel like I was part of something. One of the things I love most about music is how it brings people together, and there is no better example than when a fan community gets together at a gig. <br />
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Two opening acts later Brian grinned his way on to stage and then began to growl into his microphone: <i>Swinging in the backyard / pull up in your fast car whistling my name. </i>Huh? <i>Open up a beer / and you say get over here and play / I’m in his favourite sun dress </i>OH! He was covering Lana Del Rey’s ‘Video Games’ with such dark emotion that it sounded like a different song. It was brave, perhaps, to open with a cover, but when has Brian ever done anything the ‘normal’ way? <br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PBJbmg25ocY/VwlIBw-QY6I/AAAAAAAAAVU/BuaoaNRk94UEydU_zLO7nVGsaXYf7buVg/s1600/IMG_4792.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PBJbmg25ocY/VwlIBw-QY6I/AAAAAAAAAVU/BuaoaNRk94UEydU_zLO7nVGsaXYf7buVg/s320/IMG_4792.JPG" width="320" /></a>‘Red Lights’ was the first original song up, and boy did it go down a storm. I am aware that it was originally released by Brian’s Molly and the Zombies project, but I’ll go out on a limb and say that for most of the audience - myself included - it had been heard for the first time on Painkillers. And for an album that only came out a month ago, everyone was already very familiar with the words. <br />
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Next up was ‘Rosemary’ and I sang my heart out. It must be my third favourite on the album, and although it does hint at underlying sadness, it somehow fills me with hope. <i>My name is Rosemary, and you’d be lucky if get to hold me. </i><br />
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And so we continued with a mix of Painkillers songs and The Horrible Crowes covers “we’ve been waiting a long time to play these songs”. After a hauntingly beautiful rendition of ‘Honey Magnolia’, Brian stopped for one of his typical speeches. “Have you never been to a show before, where I talk a lot? So it’s usually an hour and a half show, and I make dumb jokes and play some songs… and if you need a history lesson, well New Jersey, Bruce Springsteen, New Jersey, New Jersey”. He was on top form. One of my favourite things about Gaslight shows was Brian making fun of everyone from Obama to Bono to Jesus, so his sense of humour always goes down a treat. <br />
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‘Smoke’ was a definite highlight, and translates amazingly well live. It is astounding to see how <a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tx3tG33qdQk/VwlIAruSVVI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/BwhUFRkBwNELB6tQz-JB1WNSR-B35PzSw/s1600/IMG_4802.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tx3tG33qdQk/VwlIAruSVVI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/BwhUFRkBwNELB6tQz-JB1WNSR-B35PzSw/s320/IMG_4802.JPG" width="320" /></a>seamlessly Brian and the Crowes transition from the slow and sad ‘Steve McQueen’ to something to upbeat. Although ‘Nobody Wins’ is my favourite song off the new album, I found the bass to be a bit overwhelming live, so I was slightly disappointed, but before I could dwell on it, I found myself being thrust full-force into a four-song Horrible Crowes marathon, losing myself in Brian’s screams. <br />
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All too quickly it was over, and I attempted to make a dash for the stage door, but getting out of KOKO turned out to be quite a process. Nonetheless, I made it eventually, along with a small handful of dedicated fans hoping to meet the man himself. In my typical style, I’d convinced myself that it ‘wouldn't be that cold’ and had opted for my leather-jacket-edgy-cool look. Turns out I was just cool. And by cool I mean cold. I was freezing. <br />
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I began to lose hope when about 70 other people turned up, all with the same objective. It was 10.30pm, I was shivering from a lethal but familiar combination of cold and adrenaline, and I thought there was no way in hell I’d meet Brian. I also somehow managed to make friends with the two guys next to me, and at least talking distracted me slightly from my rapidly plummeting core body temperature. At last - at last - Brian came out, considered the long queue of eager fans for a second and then said “Okay, I’ll start at that side, and work my way around” much to the horror of his manager, who was also considering said queue of eager fans, but with horror. “Move it along, guys, let’s be quick.” Brian paused his conversation with the first group of fans. “You can go, it’s okay, I do this every night. Hey - are any of you going to stab me? It’s fine.” Perhaps he had been warned about the British penchant for stabbing. <br />
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And then it was happening. A crew member took my phone to snap a photo, and I heard words coming out of my mouth, although I could not tell you how I managed to form them. “Hi! You’re my favourite songwriter ever. And could you sign my photo? I don’t know if it’s weird, it’s you… my mom took this photo at a Gaslight show in… in Dublin a few years ago and we thought it was a really cool photo so…” “It is a cool photo.” He said, signing away. And then it was over, and I was shaking so much I could barely hold my phone steady enough to broadcast said photo. And this must - surely - count as one of the best nights of my life. </div>
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Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-15580428854092449942016-03-08T22:58:00.001+02:002016-03-08T23:02:25.902+02:00Filling My Head With Dreams of ColdplayA week after the NME Awards, I had recovered from my flu - or so I thought. I'd spent the weekend in Birmingham, and returned to London pretty certain I wouldn't make it into the War Child show at the O2. I hadn't won tickets in the ballot, and due to the Epic iPhone Fail of 2016 (which, I am happy to report has now been reversed, and my Hackney pictures restored!) I had missed general ticket sales. Oh, how unfair my life is - I could have walked home afterwards! <br />
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Just for fun, I called up War Child on the Monday morning, to ask about VIP tickets. "Oh, yeah, 500 Pounds each? So unfortunate they're all sold out... yes definitely put my name down on the list in case you get any more." I hung up the phone, wincing. I may be insane, but not quite insane enough to spend 75% of a month's rent on a Coldplay ticket, when I'd already seen them twice in the past two months. Maybe if I hadn't gone to the NME Awards. Imagine my surprise when War Child emailed me back two hours later saying they'd just had some come available, at 250 each. I debatated it for about ten seconds, before my common sense kicked it, and I emailed back to say that unfortunately I'd not realised that the show was taking place <i>after</i> the BRIT Awards, and that it was a bit late for me. I could feel the dishonesty radiating from my body.<br />
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Undeterred by my lack of funds, the freezing weather and the fact that the show <i>started</i> at 11pm, I hit up Gumtree in the hopes of finding someone with an face-value ticket. I don't support buying from touts, but I do believe it is okay for a geniune fan to purchase a face-value ticket from another human being. My prayers were answered in the form of a woman called Susan-who-was-actually-her-son-whose-friend-couldn't-make-it. <br />
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Strolling around near the O2 at 7pm, I kept an eye out for celebrities attending the BRIT Awards that evening, though I only managed to spot Carl Barat from the Libertine (who did not return my greeting as he walked from the car park) and a massive Hummer-limo contraption that could only have belonged to Rih Rih or the Bieb. And so 8pm saw me standing outside the Slug and Lettuce, still shivering in my lace dress and heels because I will <i>never</i> learn to dress appropriately for the English winter.<br />
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It was a surreal moment, when the screens inside the restaurant flipped to the live television coverage of the BRITs, and Coldplay blasted onto the stage with Hymn For The Weekend. How weird to think that this was all happening a few meters from where I was standing - just on the other side of that wall!<br />
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After a few hours in the queue, we were let into the tiny venue that is the Indigo club, where I had never been, despite literally being able to see the O2 from my bedroom window. I wish I could say that I was getting used to seeing Coldplay in such small venues, but it's not something one can ever really get used to. Despite the rumour of the Bieb being the opening act, it transpired that the opening act was really a duo of DJs, playing a very interesting mix of what may have been BoB Marley and rave. When they did play a Bieber song, 20 minutes before showtime, it was evident that most of the audience must have heard the same rumour I had. But no, definitely no Biebs were present.<br />
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By now one thing that was becoming familar was the tension in the air as soon as the audience glimpses the brightly coloured stage decorations that mark the A Head Full of Dreams era. And so, after a short introduction to War Child and their cause (which you can donate to by visiting their <a href="https://www.warchild.org.uk/">website</a>) the band in question erupted onto stage with none other than the title track from the new album. Ah, Chris. (And the rest, of course, I mean it's not like I'm <i>in love with him or anything</i>). So full of smiles and grins and happiness. I saw him described somewhere as "a happy little jelly bean" and that's exactly how he's coming across tonight. I'm ecstatic at the appearance of 'Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall', and I'm screaming along to 'waaaaaaaaaaterfall' at the top of my lungs, having entirely forgotten to pretend to be cool for the sake of my concert buddies, who I met three hours ago. 'Charlie Brown' is a highlight once again, it is an utterly euphoric song to experience live, and never fails to astound me. Coldplay is an experience rather than a band.<br />
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I'm holding my breath for 'Hymn For The Weekend' but as they've already played it at the BRITs ceremony, I'm not sure if we'll get it. But, oh boy do we get it! Chris flails around the stage in his typical endearing manner, and although I can tell he's not taking himself seriously at all, his vocals are flawless. The award for Best British Band is so well deserved that it's almost laughable. Can any other band even begin to touch this? 'Fix You' is always the emotional highlight, but this time I went to pieces during 'Viva La Vida' because the true weight of the situation hit me - this album had gotten me through a very rough year - 2008 - and there had never even been one bone in my body that had believed that I would come out of it okay, and that I would be seeing this phenomenal band so close to my home, on a casual Wednesday night. I was pretty glad that The Scientist did not make an appearance - despite being my favourite Coldplay song; my makeup wasn't waterproof.<br />
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After 'A Sky Full of Stars' (cue stooping to stuff my handbag with more confetti - I'm aiming to have enough to paper my walls by the end of the year), the band left and came back for an encore in the form of perhaps the most unexpected song (I'd have called Magic, Everglow or Up & Up here). "This is a song we wrote in 2005 - we gave it to Justin Beiber, well he was only 3 but he knew he wouldn't like Coldplay very much" Chris quipped affably. "But really, we wrote this song for Johnny Cash - it's called Til Kingdom Come". I gasped audibly and fumbled for my camera to record it. Ever since I'd first heard that the song was written for Johnny, I've always imagined him singing it, but of course Coldplay do it flawlessly.<br />
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And so that was that - it was 12.30am on Thursday, I had to be at work on the other side of London in less than 8 hours, it was below zero degrees, but I was skipping home. The next day I would realise that my voice had been decimated, and I'd be unable to speak properly for at least three days. I'd live on coffee to get me through work for 9 hours, but I'd wax lyrical about this show for about 90 years. I could easily not have gone - saved myself 80 quid and gotten an early night, but that's not the way I choose to live.<br />
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<br />Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-11922259208484958612016-02-18T22:49:00.002+02:002016-02-18T22:50:57.435+02:00NME Awards 2016 - Coldplay Live <div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">On Tuesday morning, I woke up with a slightly sore throat. It’s February in England, and I’d slept with my heating on. Obviously I’d dried out the air a bit too much. Nothing a cup of tea wouldn’t fix. But by the time lunchbreak rolled around, I was unable to speak or swallow, and I panicked. No, not because I may have to call in sick to work, or because I was at all upset at the thought of a day or two in bed - but because tomorrow was the NME Awards. I’d bought a ticket as soon as Coldplay had announced they were performing and nothing - not hell nor high water nor ill health - would keep me from Chris Martin. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">And so - heavily dosed up on four different medications but still attempting the leather-jacket-edgy-cool look - I headed to Brixton O2 Academy for the second time within four days. I was, however, starving and in need of the loo, the solution to both of which I located in a Costa down the road from the station, and so by the time I reached the Academy, I was stuffing a chicken sandwich down my throat whilst attempting to retain aforementioned leather-jacket-edgy-cool look. Add the influence of the bucketing rain and it’s quite clear that I failed miserably. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">After 40 minutes in the rain - by which time at least I’d ascertained that my jacket was waterproof - we were led inside, and shepherded upstairs, only to be told that pit standing ticket holders were to wait around to be collected by a stewart. That’s it. No other info. And so we waited. And waited. And waited. 47 minutes later, we were given wristbands, and escorted down the stairs, into the venue proper, and down to a very small spot in front of the gents’ loo. A very small spot which had no view at all of the performance side of the stage. Hmm. I had paid 40 to see my favourite band, not to stare at the presenter’s shoes for 2 and a half hours. At this point, many irate thoughts crossed my mind: <i>NME Awards, more like the ‘Where The Hell Are We?’ Awards. Pit Standing tickets, more like ‘WTF Am I Going?’ tickets. </i>If there had been wifi, I’d have rage-Tweeted until I’;d gotten both a refund and a private audience with Chris Martin. Upon another confused audience member asking where the ‘pit’ was, the stewart replied “this is it” and walked away. Spotting another pit on the opposite side of the room - right in front of the stage set up - I hightailed it across the venue, hoping for a better spot. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">As I hurried through the crowd, I almost literally ran slap-bang into a figure sporting an impressive beard. I grinned and said “Hi!” rather enthusiastically, before continuing on my way, not stopping for a second to ask myself why I had just greeted Michael Eavis - founder of Glastonbury Festival - as though he were an old friend. I had other things on my mind. Luckily, I managed to find the real pit standing area and made it to the front easily. Now, there’s a reason I say ‘front’ rather than ‘barrier’. There was no barrier. Nope, the only thing separating me from Chris Martin would be my own self-control. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Cue dimming of the lights and the ceremony officially starting. I glanced behind me, hoping to perhaps spot some minor music celebs, but my heart nearly stopped at the sight of a very familiar face: none other than Ricky Wilson of Kaiser Chiefs. I am not at all ashamed to say that I spent the majority of the first performance - Foals - watching Ricky and attempting to make eye contact. Which I did not manage. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">After performances by Foals (<i>has Yannis always been that short?)</i>, The Maccabees (<i>wonder if Ricky is enjoying this, I wonder if I can take a photo without him noticing)</i>, Rat Boy (<i>is that Jay from The Inbetweeners?) </i>and Bring Me The Horizon (who I have lost all my respect for after they trashed Coldplay’s table during said performance) and artists such as Wolf Alice and Charlie XCX collecting major awards, it was time for the Godlike Genius Award, presented by none other than - <i>na na na, na na na na na, na na na… - </i> Kylie Minogue. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Lo and behold, out walk Coldplay from the audience. I’m shocked, having assumed they had been backstage the entire time. Not having been able to see the back rows of tables from my spot, I’d missed that fact that Chris and co had been in the audience the whole time. In the speech, Chris’s self-deprecation is always close to the surface. “We started getting nominated for things like Worst Band, Worst Album…” But he offered a sincere thank you to everyone who listens to and supports the band, and a heartfelt thanks to NME for the Godlike Genius Award. All too soon the four members trouped across the stage to where their instruments awaited. I wasn’t mentally prepared. Somehow I survived through Viva La Vida - with drummer Will Champion inches from me, beating one of his massive drums. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine that I was living through this. Next up was Charlie Brown, and our Xylo Bands lit up the room, as even the bands left their seats and clustered forward to watch the Geniuses perform. Clocks was up next, but the sound quality left something to be desired, with Chris’s vocals being drowned out in places. Well, either that or he forgot some of his own lyrics, which is also possible. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">“I think the show’s finished, but we’ll keep playing… you don’t have to stay, but you can if you want!” Chris went on to quip about how the Super Bowl had just been a warm up show for the NME Awards. “Let’s do Yellow…” and the stage lit up in yellow and I was transported back to my first Coldplay show in Johannesburg back in 2011. There, I’d had to plead with a security guard to pick up one piece of confetti and hand it to me after the show - this time, I could have taken a bath in the amount of the stuff that fell on me. ‘Adventure of a Lifetime’ came with the beautiful multi-colours of this Coldplay era, and I was finally able to replace some of the photographs I lost in the Great iPhone Fail of 2016 (details of which I won’t go into, let’s just say… church, Hackney, album launch show…). I knew ‘Fix You’ had to feature, and as soon as the first notes began I knew it was the end. Is there a more emotional song in the world? Perhaps only ‘A Dustland Fairytale’. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I was left more excited than ever for the full tour in June - this and the Hackney show have been just enough to whet my appetite very nicely. And although I would have loved to have stayed and tried to meet the band afterwards, it was cold, it was rainy, and I know when not to push the limits of my own health. But what a night it had been. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Not to mention Yoko Ono’s presence; or the way I screamed when a clip from The Killers’ ‘Shot At The Night’ played when they were nominated for Best International Band; or the Bowie Tribute, or Taylor Swift’s video acceptance speech; or the new friend I made in the front row (our selfies were the best). It was truly an honour to have been able to attend an event like the NME Awards. It was something I had only ever dreamed of doing, and now something I hope to do again next year. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The first time I saw Coldplay, in 2011, I was so disheartened by the mean, offhand comments thrown around by people around me when I mentioned my excitement. “Worst band ever”, “How can you go see them?”, “So uncool.” And this time was no different - “Oh, are they still going?” was the most popular remark today. But I’m no longer in the pursuit of coolness or acceptance. I’m no longer going to apologise for or try to justify my music taste. I’m not going to play down my excitement for a show, or how much of an impact a band has made on my life, just so I can fit in with the cool crowd. It’s no one’s business but my own. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photos on my <a href="http://www.instagram.com/fairycat101">Instagram</a>.</span></span></div>
Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-49762541945797721242015-11-18T23:14:00.000+02:002015-11-19T00:09:17.613+02:00Farewell, The Desired Effect<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: justify;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At 6.30pm on a chilly evening in November, I’m tripping down the main street in Shepherd’s Bush, beckoned along by the golden light emanating from a set of arches which form the letter ‘M’. Yes, the pull of McDonald’s is strong. I’ve transversed three Tube lines in the past hour, and certainly need my strength for tonight’s event. So five minutes and </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">£</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">1.98 later, I’m racing as fast as my little legs can carry me towards the O2 Empire, to see my very favourite human being - none other than Brandon Flowers - perform the final show of The Desired Effect tour. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I make my way to the end of the line, greeting Victim friends here and there, and end up making friends with a Victim called Sarah from Derby, and a lady from Surrey accompanied by her daughter and niece. She’s been playing the album in her bakery all day. Here I am reminded of why it is perfectly okay to go to concerts ‘alone’, because you’re certain to make friends. When it comes to The Killers and Brandon, I know that I can arrive alone and without a shadow of a doubt meet up with people I know or recognise somewhere along the line, and failing that, new queue friends are the absolute best.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">With extra security checks, we only make it into the venue after 7.30pm, and between a dash for seventh row (not up to my usual standard, I know, I’m <i>losing touch</i> in my old age) I’m trying frantically to purchase tickets for Coldplay’s tiny upcoming show in Hackney. But both me and my two back ups fail, and although disappointed, I know that Coldplay will eventually embark on a full tour, and speaking of tours, this specific one is about to come to an end…</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“What’re they called?” “<i>Clean Cut Kid… I’m his dad!” </i>goes the conversation in front of me as the lead singer’s proud father battles his way out of the crowd after the opening act’s set. Brandon’s typical oldies playlist kicks in, and before we know it, the lights have dimmed for the main act. Cue screaming. I’ve said before that in the few minutes preceding Brandon Flowers appearing on stage, the string that tethers me to the earth is severed. The same is true tonight. I’m not ready for this, it is not happening. My levels of nervous excitement are at fever pitch, and the adrenaline racing through my body is enough to make me feel like I am the one about to take to the stage. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">But I’m not; <i>he</i> is. Brandon. BFlow. King B. Whatever you want to call him. “<i>Come out with me, come out and see</i>” he croons in his opening song, illuminated by a single light, as though he is some supreme, unearthly being, which he very much might be. But the mood doesn’t remain calm for long, as he bursts into ‘Dreams Come True’, punching the air emphatically when the chorus is reached. Here I am, in the middle of London, spending my life bracing for the crashland, and forgetting that this whole experience is really a dreamland. Perhaps the next step is to take a chance underneath the streetlight.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Next is ‘Can’t Deny My Love’ followed by the incomparable ‘Crossfire’ (cue voice note to Lauren), but this time it’s ‘Magdalena’ that gets me. Always a firm favourite since its release in the Flamingo days, tonight I’m clutching my lightning bolt necklace and shouting the words as somehow I manage to experience every emotion of my 24 years of life, compressed into four minutes. <i>Tell them that I made the journey, and tell them that my heart is true</i>. ‘Jilted Lovers & Broken Hearts’ is next, my absolute favourite Brandon solo song, and next we get a slowed down version of Jenny Was A Friend of Mine, followed by Lonely Town (cue voice notes to Andrew). ‘Diggin’ Up The Heart’ is also a firm favourite with me, and it seems like I’m not the only one, based on the way the crowd jumps. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Brandon Flowers is a man of many talents, but perhaps joke-telling is not one of them. “I’m going to choose a cover now, I’ll give you three options…” He says seriously, “the first one is ‘Booty’ by Jennifer Lopez and Iggy Azalea, next is ‘Bootylicious’ by Destiny’s Child and last is called ‘Da Butt’ by EU… do you know that song?” But then he smirks and launches into ‘Read My Mind’ instead (cue voice note to mama), much to the disappointment of those who were genuinely excited to see him shake his booty to ‘Bootylicious’. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And so we continue until the double-feature of ‘Human’ and ‘Mr Brightside’ sends the audience completely over the edge. The French flag is projected in lights on the stage while we wait for an encore, which begins with the sombre ‘Between Me and You’, only to be injected with a second round of energy during ‘Still Want You’. ‘Only The Young’ was the perfect way to end the show - melancholy enough to make me feel all the chills in the world, but hopeful enough to not send me home drowning in my own tears. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Though the same could not be said for the weather - after a quick scope of the stage door, I decide not to risk pneumonia for the chance of a second selfie with Brandon, and instead turn my umbrella upside down and use it as a boat to ride in down the street to the Tube station. Well, not really, but the rain <i>was</i> pretty heavy. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And so it ended, not softly and gently, but with one final bang. I remember the way the tour started - the first play of ‘Can’t Deny My Love’; the race to HMV to buy the album and secure a spot at the meet and greet; the almost tearful excitement of the first night; the calmness of my first meeting with Brandon; the dash around the country to see four shows of the original tour; the TV appearances; the moments shared with friends; and the way each and every one of the songs on that album is attached to at least one special memory. And I know one day this will hurt - one day I will look back on this tour and bargain with the Fates about how I’d trade all my tomorrows just to relive one moment of this tour. One day I’ll be a wreck of emotions because no matter what I do, I can never be back in Brixton or Manchester or Birmingham or Shepherd’s Bush or even in that back room of HMV on Oxford Street, and I can never re-create those moments. One day, no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to conjure up the feelings I felt during this tour. I am so, so privileged to have been able to be a part of this - to have seen the shows, to have experienced it with the fans, and to have lived in this wonderful city with afforded me with the opportunity. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The next time I see Brandon Flowers it will be with The Killers - and whether I’ll be darting across town after work, or booking two weeks leave to fly across the world remains to be seen, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, thank you, Brandon. And thank you, London. <i>Redemption keep my covers clean tonight, maybe we can start again. </i></span></span><br />
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</span>Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-45163164481107913372015-11-03T22:18:00.000+02:002015-11-03T23:29:54.342+02:00I'm So Lonesome I Could .... (not go to a concert) <div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When one makes the decision to pack up one’s entire life and move to the other side of the world, completely alone, one inevitably gets called both brave, and downright insane. About nine months ago, I did just this. With no place to stay, a job I knew nothing about secured four days before leaving, and no friendship ‘group’ in London, I packed two bags and boarded a plane. Yes, it was insane. People wondered how I could do this without a boyfriend in tow, or a kindly aunt to stay with on the other side. Quite simply - I’m an only child, I’m a strong, independent woman, and I’m used to making my own way in the world. I don’t need to plan my life around other people, because I’ve found that in doing so, far too many opportunities are missed. If I waited around for someone to accompany me on all of my travels, I would never go on any. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And so, here in London, time passed, and I did many things: I went to concerts, I went to bars, I went on trains. Sometimes I went with friends, sometimes I went with the intention of meeting up with friends - and sometimes I went completely alone. And all of these options were perfectly fine. It was fine to travel to Birmingham alone to see Amii; it was fine to go on a weekend away in Brighton with Catherine; it was fine to roadtrip to Liverpool with my mom; it was fine to get a 6am train to Manchester to visit Megan. Even better were the concert escapes - King Charles with Amii; Kodaline with Sinead; Taylor Swift with my mom. But do you know what was also perfectly fine? Getting the early train to Cambridge and wandering around all day by myself. Making the trek to Milton Keynes to sing my lungs out to Arlandria at a Foo Fighters gig, alone. I never felt strange. If I wanted to do something, why couldn’t I do it alone? Why should I wait for someone else to do it with me? My friends don’t expect me to go to the gym with them, so why would I expect them to go to the Foo Fighters with me? Does anyone look at you strangely when you’re at the gym alone? No. So why would I get stared at if I was at a Fall Out Boy show solo? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And so out of the 19 concerts I have attended this year, 5 have been completely alone. When I purchased tickets for a recent show, I was quite surprised when a note on the website told me that tickets may only be available in sets of two or more. What if I wanted to go alone? Luckily, I was able to purchase a single ticket for this specific show, and I put this detail out of my mind. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And so November arrived, and with it, Imagine Dragons at the O2. I hit StubHub for a resale, only to find out that almost all tickets (save for extremely expensive ones, at three times the average price) were only available in sets of two or four. Why should I be penalised for not having a plus one? Naturally, I took to Twitter for a little rant, and was advised by a follower to simply purchase two tickets and offer one to a friend in exchange for drinks. And I’m 100% sure this follower was trying to be friendly and helpful, but unfortunately, things aren’t always that easy. I do not have a friend to take with me. I have absolutely no choice but to go alone, and the fact that I am prohibited from buying a single ticket makes it impossible to do so. Why is it that I have to miss out on events I wish to attend, due to the fact that I am ‘single’? And by ‘single’, I do not mean that I don’t have a boyfriend. I mean that I am one person, doing my own thing in the world, and I will always be so. I am certain I am not the only person in the world who is dong life alone. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And what does such a restriction say to young human beings, who are constantly being told to ‘you do’, and ‘live your best life’? Websites are full of inspirational crap like how being in a relationship shouldn’t define you, you can be just as happy single, be content with who you are as a person, blah. blah, blah. Sure, I’d be really content if I could just attend this concert! In 2015, why are social norms like this still being thrust at us from every angle? How is not being able to buy a single ticket for an event any better than banning certain people from an event, on any other basis? This tells me that by ‘not having friends’ or ‘not having a boyfriend’, I don’t deserve the perks that are in place for people who follow norms perfectly. Is it not bad enough that when living in a studio flat, I was charged extra tax for ‘being single’, as it was ‘assumed by the council’ that studio or one bedroom accommodation would be shared by a couple? Is it not bad enough that the cost of everyday living assumes that all human beings are cohabitating with a romantic partner by their early twenties? And yes, most people <i>are</i> doing so, but aren't we past the stage of having to conform to what 'most' people are doing? If that’s what you’re doing, that’s absolutely fantastic for you - so you continue to do you, and I’ll continue to not do me. I’ll begin to believe that maybe I am strange and wrong and failing at life, all because I’m being told I can’t go to a concert alone. Fine then, you just stop going to gym alone. Don’t dare go for a jog by yourself. You know what, you should probably get all 17 of your housemates to go with you on the Northern Line tomorrow morning, because <i>how could you do anything alone? </i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And before you tell me that I am blowing all things out of proportion, and I’m talking about resale tickets here, and obviously the couple is trying to sell because they both can’t go… why do ticket resale websites allow sellers to specify how many tickets they want to sell, but don’t allow buyers to choose the number to buy? I’ll tell you why: because no one wants to sell <i>one</i> ticket in a pair and risk not being able to sell the other, because ‘no one goes to concerts alone’. But that’s rubbish. That’s the norms of society making you believe that no one <i>should</i> go to concerts alone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: 11px; letter-spacing: 0px;">What’s next, then? Train tickets only available in sets of two? Having to prove spousal accompaniment before I can get on an aeroplane? Why should people not be able to do the things they want to do, by themselves? Because I do have friends, I have a number of wonderful, amazing friends, and some of them <i>will</i> travel halfway across the country to go to concerts with me, and others will book spontaneous weekends away with me, or make food with me at 2am, or say just the words I need to hear, when I need to hear them. And I'm confident enough in those friendships - and in myself - to not have to spend every single moment of my life in company. Because, you know what, not everyone conforms to the norms of society. Not everyone is going to stick themselves in little boxes on the hillside, produce 2.4 children, adopt a labrador and spend their Saturdays adding a new coat of paint to their white picket fences. I mean no offence. I know that one day I too will be painting a white </span><span style="font-size: 11px;">picket fence, even if I'm doing it alone, and switching the kids for kittens.</span><span style="font-size: 11px; letter-spacing: 0px;"> I’m not saying I want to spend my entire life isolated, I’m simply saying that I want to go sing along to ‘Radioactive’ tomorrow night, and I want to do it alone. Simple. </span></span></div>
Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-21386066211989193012015-08-17T22:51:00.000+02:002015-08-17T22:51:15.785+02:00The Soundtrack To My Life: 10 Songs That Changed Me<div style="text-align: justify;">
I often wonder what would be on the soundtrack for the movie of my life. For someone who feels as deeply about music as I do, it is a real consideration. For every era, ever event, every moment of my life can be defined by a song, a lyric, a band. Sometimes a song reminds you of a town, a trip or a person. You associate that annoying top 40 hit with the roadtrip you took with your besties back in 2010. You skip a certain band because an ex loved them. You hear a song from your childhood, and suddenly the world around you recedes, and it's 1998 again. And then sometimes you look back and you realise that those songs changed your life. They influenced you into doing - or not doing - things. They shaped and formed you, like clay in the hands of, not the musicians, but of your own interpretations. I've been moulded and shaped and formed by so many songs, and these are the most important. </div>
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The Shins - Bait and Switch: It's no secret that I'm obsessed with this band. Although not my favourite Shins song nowadays (that honour goes to Turn On Me), this was their first that I paid real attention to. And it's my soundtrack of freedom and happiness. No matter how melancholy this band is, they're like my comfort blanket. I can turn on this song and suddenly it's 2012, I can smell my Starbucks latte and the hire car's air freshener. There's nothing in the world but laughter, and sunshine and somewhere over the next hill, or around the next corner is Stonehenge, Glastonbury, and a world of possibilities. </div>
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Taylor Swift - You Belong With Me: Ever since 2009, I've been slowly morphing myself into Taylor Swift, and this was the song that started it all. I was never a huge fan of Love Story, but this song took me in from the moment I heard it. It started with headbands and glitter, and evolved into high-waisted skirts, crop-tops and red lipstick. I wanted to become this girl, but I suppose there are worse role models. And after all, Taylor Swift told me it's okay to be a cat lady. </div>
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Boyzone - No Matter What: I was seven years old, and sitting on the floor of my living room. A music video was on the screen: five men in white, singing the most beautiful melody my tiny ears had ever encountered. They had to be angels. This was the first song I was ever conscious of knowing. My love of music bloomed and blossomed and continued to grow throughout of my life, and this was the very beginning. </div>
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Savage Garden - Santa Monica: This is my favourite Savage Garden song, and as they were the first band I ever saw live, I had to include it here. Although my nine-year-old self was far too young to understand exactly what the song was about, I did my best. And the name Norman Mailer always stuck with me. This song is by no means just about plastic people in California. It's all about that lazy winter spent in a tiny patch of sun in front of my first computer; it's trying on shoes with my first best friend; it's an ice cold day in downtown Vancouver, and how we all ran to the window as the first flakes of snow began to fall. </div>
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Coldplay - The Scientist: The year was 2008, I was a first year Bachelor or Science student, and suffering from what felt a hell of a lot like depression. I'd never taken very much note of Coldplay, but one day I got ahold of this song and played it on repeat so many times that friends started to ask what was going on. At least then they paid attention. But Coldplay changed my life in so many ways and brought my such joy. From an almost tearful realisation that they were playing live in South Africa, to a dash across the country to see them, to near hyperventilation at their appearance, long walks to their studio on the other side of the world, debates on their new material and long discussions of Chris Martin's love life, I wouldn't be who I am without Coldplay.</div>
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Bastille - Things We Lost in the Fire (Fire Fire): I'll cut to the chase, this song earned me a friendship. "Of course I'm going to see Bastille, I don't miss concerts", I smirked. But then it turned into "You like Coldplay?" "Wait, you're a fan of <i>Lost</i>?" "Taylor Swift, what?!" And what could a friend really be to me? It's the person who will sing with me on a roadtrip, use my favourite singer's name as an expletive, or just sit in a car with me, listening to a song from my childhood, the rain pouring down onto the windshield, both knowing that Boyzone is better than the party we're on our way to.</div>
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The Gaslight Anthem - The '59 Sound: I don't know how I lived years without knowing about this band. I don't know how my soul survived without this masterpiece of an album. This song helped me discover Springsteen, who would become a constant in my life. And discovering the Gaslight Anthem gave me a new favourite band, and with it a whole new world of excitement. A whole new realm of singalongs in the car with my digsmate, a whole world of laughter and in-jokes and that special part of friendship that can only be expressed through music. </div>
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Westlife - My Love: This song didn't so much change my life as define it. I can see it now: it's 2001, the skies are blue despite it being midwinter. It's the closest my life has ever been to perfect, so far and the closest - I fear - it will ever be. This song is the smell of sunscreen, the roar of the ocean and the assurance that with three people in the world who care about you, you don't need anything else. And now, 14 years later, this song is the assurance that although everything changes, it'll all come full circle in the end.</div>
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Brandon Flowers - Crossfire: Back in 2010, I was trying very hard to keep my strange fangirl obsessions under wraps. I tried these challenges where I'd not mention music for a week, to see how normal people lived. And I just couldn't do it. It was time for my friends to accept my for who I was, and if they couldn't, then perhaps they weren't even friends at all. Enter Flamingo. Enter Flamingo into my car's CD player, from whence it was never removed. </div>
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The Killers - A Dustland Fairytale: Of all the songs that have impacted my life, this is the one that completely turned it on a dime. After one listen, I had to know everything about this band, I had to see them, I had to be a part of everything to do with them. It took a love for music and travel that was bubbling just below the surface of my calm life, and released it in a great explosion. It took my mild interest in media and the internet and made it into a full-blown obsession. A new career path, and new city, and new inspiration to meet people - everything changed within those four minutes. And I never looked back. </div>
Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-63096789117349513832015-08-17T20:35:00.001+02:002015-08-17T20:35:34.449+02:00Brandon in Brum: The Desired Ending <div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In some kind of obsessive fangirl haze, I'd bought a ticket to see Brandon Flowers in Birmingham, without first considering how the hell I was going to get halfway across the country and then <i>back</i> without missing any work. Nor had I checked trains. Oh, and the person who had my ticket was - unbeknownst to me - driving from Wales that very afternoon. Somehow, I pulled off a <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 19.2000007629395px;">£16 return journey to Birmingham, which would allow my to stride into the office the next morning exactly on time, if slightly worse for the wear. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.2000007629395px;">So around 3pm, I stuck my laptop into my drawer, picked up the handbag containing my </span></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="line-height: 19.2000007629395px;">pyjamas</span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.2000007629395px;"> for my sleepover at Amii's house (lol, sleep), and legged it to Euston as fast as the Tube would allow (read: soul-crushingly slowly). Halfway to Coventry I started to get nervous. I had never cut it this fine for a concert in my entire life. If the train broke down now, would I be able to walk to Birmingham by 9pm? <i>C'mon, train!</i></span></span></span></div>
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By 5pm, I was jogging to the venue, only to find Amii was taking a loo break with her queue mates, so I intercepted James and his mama in the balcony queue. I do apologise if I scared you with my over-bubbling enthusiasm and the screaming hug Amii and I shared when she arrived back. </div>
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It is so, so wonderful to meet human beings who understand you. To have friends that you can be entirely yourself around, knowing that they like you for the strange, weird and quirky human being you are. Amii, you are one of those friends. And don't get me started on the hugs from Justine and Emma too, I'll just get emosh. </div>
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And so my ticket arrived from Wales, and a little before doors, a mass of curly hair appeared out of the venue door, and with it, backing singer Danielle Withers. It took a few minutes, but I was brave enough to ask her for a selfie, and we bonded over a short chat about which shows I'd been to. Manchester had been my favourite so far, due entirely to the appearance of Jilted Lovers.</div>
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I made my way back to my spot in the queue, and before we knew it, doors were open. Amii and I managed our traditional Mark's-side-second-row spot, although I lost it after attempting to make a run for water 3 minutes before showtime. Stupid me. While waxing lyrical about the London and Manchester setlists, two ladies next to me butted with with a very un-British friendliness. "So, do you just like, follow Brandon Flowers around?!" They were intrigued. "Yep, that's why I'm in this country." They laughed, but I grimaced. "I wish I was joking."<br />
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Some would say seeing four shows in one week, with largely the same setlist, would be boring, but tonight couldn't have been less so. Hyper aware that this was the last time I'd see King B for a while, I soaked up every glorious moment. I held my breathe for the appearance of 'Diggin' Up The Heart', but I had nothing to fear. My favourite from the new album was firmly on the setlist, having only been left off of the first London night. I feel like this was the first time I was honestly able to appreciate 'Lonely Town', and lost myself entirely for Brightside.<br />
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After the show, I located Amii, who had been a couple of people away from me, and together we screamed and hugged Emma, most likely traumatising her plus one for the night, who came in the form of her dad. And although we didn't get to meet our guy after the show, we did glimpse him, signing the odd autograph, then waving and grinning before boarding the tourbus.<br />
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After following James and his mum to their hotel, Amii and I fell into a cab back to Solihull, where we thought watching Harry Potter until 3am would be a fab idea. 3 hours later, I was bundling myself back into a cab to the station, and trying not to spill my Starbucks latte as I climbed aboard my train back to London. Screaming children prevented me from catching up on any sleep on the train back, and although I strode confidently into the office, right on time, 3pm saw me dismissing my new intern and stumbling back to my flat for an excellent nap. My Desired Effect Tour was over, and I was so satisfied that I'd barely even checked the prices of the Eurostar to Paris for the next show. Nope, I was done. And I was happy. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 19.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-45065244327138283472015-08-15T21:29:00.000+02:002015-08-15T21:29:24.123+02:00The Pilgrimage to Salford: Brandon Flowers Live in Manchester<div style="text-align: justify;">
My technoloy malfunctioned at Euston. One minute I was about to type in my reference number to collect my train ticket at the self-service machine, the next, said machine was rejecting my card and the email containing the precious reference had magically disappeated from my phone. Cue 3 minutes of panic before email was located and I managed to race to my train exactly seven minutes before departure. Hey, for me that's cutting it fine. I'd love to say that the two hour train ride provided optimal time for the perfect snooze, but nope. The countryside flashed by in a haze of exhaustion and The Shins on my iPod, but I never did drift off. Thank goodness for high-speed Virgin trains, because before I knew it, we'd arrived in Manchester, and I was being collected by the lovely Megan (in her lovely car). Isn't it strange and fantastic to come such a long way - literally and figuratively - with someone? All the way from Beit House's third floor in 2008, to Manchester, 2015. </div>
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Megan and Gordon live a wonderful, happy and real life in Manchester's trendy Northern Quarter. It's something I aspire to when I'm older - a kitchen full of food, a spareroom full of stuff. Sometimes I think that moving around constantly since I was 17 has left me with few possessions. But for now, I was here to make memories. We took a drive to Tatton Park for a picnic in the sun - the first time I'd felt actual heat in the sun since I'd moved to England. Not just warmth, actual burning heat on my bare arms. It was fantastic. The evening was occupied by a shopping trip to Chester Oaks and on the way back, we were astouned to realise it was after 9pm, though the sun was still shining. I excused myself to bed around midnight, and managed a good eight hours. I'd need it for Sunday's gig. </div>
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By 10.30am, messages from Jess about the length of the queue started to get me excited, and I dashed out of Megan's car outside the venue to hug people and squeal while she drove around the block. I promised to be back around 5pm. And so we hit the science musuem, completely underestimating the size of the place and only getting through about a third of it before we headed home for fantastic home-made burgers (on the braaaaaii). And then it was queue time. Being the genius that I am, I neglected to save a spot for myself in the queue before joining Jess, Ryan and Charlotte for a chat until just before gates. The excitement is palpable - Bernard Sumner of New Order is here. By the time I did get my own spot in queue, I was far too late for barrier, but did make it to a second row position. Not bad.</div>
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Shout out to the girl next to me who looked bored the whole way, even through Brightside. Shoutout to the guy on the other side of me who literally only came for Brightside. Anyway. Nothing could ruin this. Nothing could ruin the appearance of Jilted Lovers and Broken <i>freaking </i>Hearts. I believe I may have out-fangirled myself. As with the past two shows, Magdalena comes with an intro chat, though this time it's slightly changed up: "There are all sorts of pilgrimages, some people make musical pilgrimages... I come here, to Salford - I think I wanna be blessed by Morrissey!" Brandon says, trying to sound ironic, but betrayed by his nervous giggle. It's Okay, B, we all know your Morrissey stories. And then Bernard Sumner appears, and Brandon may well have forgotten that Moz even exists. The feeling of playing live with one's idol is surely one of the greatest experiences of one's life.<br />
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And so I fall out of the crowd, and make my way to the stage door to bid farewell to the Victims. As I walked into Megan's front door, Twitter told me that Brandon had done an acoustic encore on a balcony outside the venue just after I'd left. Oh well, you win some, you lose some. Just being there had been enough for me. </div>
Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-47157870607542314082015-05-31T19:23:00.002+02:002015-05-31T19:47:43.320+02:00Brandon Flowers in London: The HMV Signing and Brixton Round 2<div style="text-align: justify;">
It took a long time before I fell asleep on Thursday night. The fact that I'd met my idol kept running through my mind, and I played it back like a film clip on repeat in my head. I eventually drifted off in a haze of vivid but unmemorable dreams, and woke with a start when my alarm went off. The four hours before I could leave for the signing were the closest to hell I've probably ever come. My inability to force down food, the caffiene I was injesting in attempt to keep me awake, and the slowly rising levels of adrenaline all combined for a terrible effect on the human body, but I pushed through. And so I made it to the signing, where I was shepherded into a back room of the HMV Oxford Street store with 300 or so other Victims, all clutching our copies of The Desired Effect, and bouncing on the balls of our feet to try to get a glimpse of the man of the moment - who hadn't even yet arrived. Hey, we were excited, okay? I was joined by Daisy, and for a while we discussed last night's meeting, the show and what we were hoping for from tonight's show. By now the album was playing on a loop for the second time, and standing in a room with 300 superfans, all signing along to Can't Deny My Love was another surreal moment. Brandon appeared to massive applause, and grinned his way through the sigining. "Nice to meet you again, Brandon. Thanks for being an inspiration, see you tonight." I said as he handed me back my signed CD. I don't know why I didn't go for the handshake, but I was happy nonetheless. Still shaking like made when I left - either due to lack of food or adrenaline - I abandoned my plans to go straight to Brixton, and headed home for a nap. After sleeping for exactly 20 minutes, I bounded out of bed with the idea that if I didn't leave for Brixton now, I'd fall back asleep and never make it before gates. However, upon arrival at 5pm, I scoped out the - small - queue, and instead headed off for a cocktail with Rachel. Unheard of. I was slacking in my old age. I made it back to the queue around 6.30pm, and made friends with two young girls in queue, who wanted to know all about last night's show. I don't even know their names, but I was in their Snapchat, so we're basically besties, right? I made second row on what would be Dave's side, and Daisy waded her way through the crowd to me. We had the perfect view. Perfect.</div>
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Tonight's support was Joywave, mercifully less noisy than last night's band, and with a good sense of humour. "We know we're standing between you and Brandon right now." </div>
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Perhaps it was because I was closer to the stage, or perhaps my mind was allowing me to focus on finer details tonight, but Brandon was unstoppable. Air-punching and mounting speakers, Only The Young dance moves and all - it was perfection. </div>
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I was ecstatic at tonight's opener of Untangled Love, in my opinion the most 'Killers-ish' song on the new album. Jenny Was A Friend of Mine came with Brandon's inquiry of whether or not we thought the narrator was guilty - an overwhelming yes from the crowd. "I don't want you guys on my jury" he said, giggling, and in that special Brandon way of almost singing his sentences. </div>
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A surprise came in the form of substituting Read My Mind for Human, and the crowd lost it. "... are we human, or are we dancer? LOOOOONDOOOOOON!" Goodbye sanity and hello so-long-to-devotion hand gesture. I screamed my face off at the appearance of 'Diggin Up The Heart', by far my favourite off the new album, and although the rest of the setlistwas similar to the previous night, it did nothing to diminish the impact of night two. Chrissie Hynde appeared again, ending her and Brandon's performance of 'Don't Get Me Wrong' with "Isn't he gorgeous?!" Yes, Chrissie, he's gorgeous. </div>
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And although the crazy part of me wanted to stay and meet him a third time, my aching 24-year-old body disagreed, and sent me straight back on the tube home, where I was barely able to converse with anyone around me. Great gig, yeah, zzzzzzzzzz. I collapsed for about 4.5 hours, until it was time to throw some clothes in a bag and hightail it to Euston for my train to Manchester: round three was about to begin.</div>
Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-13421002148267865332015-05-26T21:04:00.000+02:002015-05-26T21:05:03.039+02:00Brandon Flowers in London: The Meeting I once read a Stephen King book in which people were described as being tied to some kind of metaphysical string, and when the string was cut, they died. I’ve re-interpreted this theory slightly, and come to my own conclusion that we’re all tethered to the earth by a string - and sometimes, something happens that loosens your string, and sends you flying into nothingness, into the great beyond. You feel unhinged from the rest of the world, everything seems to spin, and just for a few moments you’re not sure what’s real and what isn’t. I think this feeling could come from a great shock, or simply from a lack of ability to comprehend just what’s going on around you. Sometimes things are just too much for our tiny human brains to fully absorb. That happened to me last Thursday. About ten minutes before BF was due on stage, the string holding me to the earth was severed, and I felt myself drifting away from the 5000 other people in the room. This was not happening: there was no way my hero was really going to appear on this stage in front of my face in a few minutes, and perform some of the songs that had defined periods of my life since 2010. No way. I could barely register that the guy behind me was speaking Afrikaans, I could barely stand up straight or breathe. I was - unfathomably - nervous. As though I was the one about to take to that stage. I gripped Emma’s shoulder and squealed that I wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready either. We would never be ready for this.<br />
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But I want to dial this back a bit. Back to Monday, when HMV decided to announce a CD signing by none other than a certain Mr Flowers. First 300 people to buy the CD in store get in. I’d like to take this opportunity to publicly apologise to the brand new assistant Tom, who had started work about an hour previously. “I’m sorry”, I told him, trying to retain the last vestiges of my professionalism, “I have an emergency, I need to go to HMV, I’ll be back in an hour.” And so I sprinted to the tube, and whiled the thing to hurry up as it carried me toward Oxford Street. I dashed out of Bond Street station breathlessly, threw myself into HMV and stared around like a mad woman. Where is it??? The precious CD was located, and I speed walked to the counter. Keepin’ it cool. “Can I still get the wristband for the signing?” The cashier frowned at me. “I dunno. Some guy came in earlier talking about a wristband too. Go upstairs and ask them.” The answer was yes, I could (definitely) still get a wrsitband, and I pegged it back to work safe in the knowledge that come Friday, I’d be meeting Brandon Flowers. Meeting. Brandon. Flowers. I sent out a slew of Whatsapp messages decorated with crying emojis. I was meeting Brandon Flowers. Hey, I had to take full advantage of this tour - the first one and probably last time I’d be in the thick of things to experience a defining moment for my favourite artist.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0RuwQh7W-9g/VWTB-ZneqgI/AAAAAAAAATI/D4lFRzf3YDg/s1600/IMG_8443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0RuwQh7W-9g/VWTB-ZneqgI/AAAAAAAAATI/D4lFRzf3YDg/s320/IMG_8443.jpg" width="240" /></a>I’d be lying if I said the next three days flew - in fact they dragged, time seeming to slow down as we got closer and closer to show number 1 on Thursday, and the signing on Friday. By Wednesday night, I was mildly hysterical, and in danger of the excitement spilling over and manifesting in either a screaming match or a tearful breakdown at any given moment. It was that kind of crazy, ridiculous excitement that I had felt the day I was going to see Coldplay live after dreaming about it for years. Thursday crawled by even slower, with frantic glances at the clock every few minutes. Every moment until 4pm was pure torture, and at exactly 4, I raced home to drop off my laptop and then grabbed the first circle line train in the right direction - unfortunately no matter how many times I am advised to avoid Edgware Road station, I always end up spending an inordinate amount of time there waiting for a connecting train. On this particular night it was 20 minutes, and by the end I was almost ready to rage tweet Transport For London, thought I knew nothing good could come of that. And so by the time I’d caught yet another train from Victoria, it was after 5.30pm, and I was tapping my foot impatiently to the beat of my iPod, clutching my lighting bolt necklace and mouthing the words to Magdalena like some sort of desperate prayer. And then all at once I’d arrived, I was greeting Emma at the station and we’d covered the 400m or so the the venue. It was happening. We scoped out the line for familiar faces before taking our own spot at the back of the line, where we were accosted by an excited Alice (“Remember your cat wellies?” Yes, I remember them all too well), a quick hello from Sinead, Sam, waved greetings and "OMG I totally know them from Twitter" and then gates are open.<br />
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Inside, I was happy to choose a spot near the sound desk. With three more shows after this one, easing into things was surely best. One noisy support act later, we were itching for the main man to take to the stage. By the time the lights dimmed, I’d still not managed to re-attached the string that grounds me it’s really happening, he’s really here. And then the music started up, and I lost myself in it. Punch the clock, baby on the nightstand I sang like no one was watching, and surely they were not. Decked out in a golden jacket, Brandon was a vision. A consummate showman, a born and bred musician. It’s gonna be alright, you’re a performer. Somehow the entire crowd knew the words to Can’t Deny My Love, but it was Crossfire that sent me over the edge. This was the song I’d had a poster of in my lounge for the past three years. This was the song I’d brainwashed all my friends into liking in 2010. This was what I’d first heard on World Cup kick-off day, this was the song I’d tweeted East Coast Radio about daily, and screamed when they’d finally played it. This song was my first indication that Brandon would never let me down musically. Magdalena came with a chat, and the first surprise was Hard Enough. You let me into your life on a whim…Isn’t that true of everyone? The acoustic version of Jenny Was A Friend of mine was haunting, and by the end of Lonely Town, we’d all started doing the graviton dance. I Can Change is not a favourite of mine, but live it worked out well, and Brandon followed it up with another Killers cover - this time Read My Mind. And who doesn’t love Read My Mind?<br />
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By this time Emma had left, and I wound my way a bit closer to the stage, only to have to suffer through Swallow It. Thank goodness the setlist recovered with Only The Young, and then a remix of Mr Brightside. Now tell me, Brandon, how does it feel going to bed every night knowing that you’re the guy behind one of the most iconic songs of our generation? Good, yeah? Although I was already realising it, I didn’t want to admit to myself that Brandon could pull off a solo show as well as he could pull off a Killers show. I love The Killers, and it would break my heart if they split, but I take some comfort in knowing this deep in my heart.<br />
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Exit Brandon. Cue screaming. Cue more screaming.<br />
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If anyone was waiting for a surprise, this was it. Out pops Brandon for the encore, and then out pops Chrissie Hynde of The Pretenders to join him. I’d never seen such joy on a man’s face (until the Bernard Sumner incident of May 24th, but we’ll get to that). Brandon and Chrissie performed ‘Don’t Get Me Wrong’, complete with the most adorable dance moves possible, then she joined him in a beautiful duet of ‘Between Me and You’. <br />
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“I’ve shared a lot of myself with you over the past 12 years.” Brandon says after Chrissie leaves. “And… I’m probably going to embarrass her, but you’ve got to thank her for sharing me… come on our here.” A collective 5000 people held their breath as Brandon’s wife Tana and two oldest sons made their way onto the stage. She waved shyly to massive applause. “This one’s for you” … Brandon launched into Still Want You to shouts of ‘Awwww’ from the Victims. It was the first time we’d ever seen her in real life.<br />
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The Way It’s Always Been is one of my personal highlights of the album, but ended the show on a slightly melancholy note. Hey, maybe that’s what he was going for. <br />
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For me, there was no time to be melancholy - I fought my way through the crowd and pegged it to the stage door, where I was joined by Alice and Daisy for the long wait. By 11pm it was freezing, the adrenaline comedown had me shaking terribly, and I was considering leaving to make it back to the tube before it shut. Every time the stage door opened it was Brandon…. but it wasn’t. The small crowed began to disperse, leaving about 20 of us die hards to harass the security guard (“Orville, like the guy who invented the airplane”), who eventually told us yes, he was coming out, but he wouldn’t have much time. When band photographer Torey popped his head out the door, I knew it was time. The string connecting me to the earth was tied firmly, and I was calm. Brandon was grinning widely as he stepped out the door and straight towards the throng of selfie-seekers. “Hey Torey, how’re you doing?” I asked (calmly). Torey was good, how was I? “Good, thanks.” “Hi Brandon, can we have a really quick photo? Your music changed my life, thank you for being you.” I was dimly aware of the small crowd around me letting out a collective “aww” at my words. I snapped the photo, stepped back and then all of a sudden the world stopped turning, and all I could do was repeat “I’m done, I’m done with life, I’m done.” We watched Torey hop into the front seat of a cab, and Brandon in the back, as we ran up the road squealing “We met Brandon!” much to our surprise, Torey waved to us from the car, and snapped a few pictures before they sped off. It had happened. I had met Brandon Flowers. Life as I knew it had changed. <br />
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<br />Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-2440725896917587422015-05-11T20:50:00.002+02:002015-05-11T20:51:24.697+02:00D'You Want To Go To The Seaside?<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-twk71r43uXw/VVD5Ef1BS_I/AAAAAAAAASg/KsIKVMnMiUY/s1600/IMG_8055.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-twk71r43uXw/VVD5Ef1BS_I/AAAAAAAAASg/KsIKVMnMiUY/s320/IMG_8055.JPG" width="320" /></a>My first trip to Brighton was booked and planned in a reckless haze of lastminute.com and Trainline. No, I did not mind spending 100 Pounds on a hotel room if it meant that I could take a train through the countryside and listen to The Shins, whilst pretending it was 2012. Ever since my first trip to England way back in 2012, I’d had this inextricable association between The Shins and the English countryside. I spent some of the happiest days of my life driving around England listening to the lonely laments of this melancholy band. I was happier then with no mindset. But that’s not the point. <br />
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Let me start out by saying that I had never been so unprepared for a trip in my life - I’d barely taken a glance at Google’s directions from the train station to the hotel, and I’d not even bothered to search for things to do in Brighton. It was time to be impulsive, and this was about as impulsive as things got. <br />
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Of course I got to Victoria station an hour early (hey, I said impulsive, not idiotic), and scoped out where our train was departing from, whilst miss Catherine raced across town to make it in the nick of time. “OMG, friend, I thought I wasn’t going to make it - you would have killed me!” I sure would have.<br />
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The National Rail train was almost empty, except for two girls sipping something that looked like chocolate milk, but definitely was not. We watched the countryside speed by outside the windows, and I almost felt as though some of my enthusiasm for England was returning. What am I saying - it was definitely returning … within 45 minutes I was positively squealing about the adorable little houses, my voice approaching dangerously inhuman levels.<br />
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We stepped off the train in Brighton, and I breathed in the familiar smell of sea air - something I’d not experienced since January. The quaint streets of the town were abuzz with bank holiday weekend tourists, bustling through the shops and eateries. The magnetic pull of the ocean drew us towards it, and we managed to find the seafront without even using a map. D’you want to go to the seaside? The Kooks’ song begins to play incessantly in my head, and continues for the rest of the weekend. <br />
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Although neither of us are big fans of fish (or ‘fush’, as we Durbanites apparently say), there are certain traditions that simply need to be observed at the seaside, so we popped into the nearest fish and chip shop, and proceeded to wolf down a healthy portion of the stuff - of course slathered in a flavourful mix of ketchup, vinegar and enough salt to send my blood pressure through the roof by the time I’m 30. <br />
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Our hotel is just a stroll from the famous Brighton Pier, and is the cutest, quaintest little thing I have seen in my life. Strawberry Fields. As if I needed another song stuck in my head for the weekend. Or, well, forever. After cup of tea, we feel revitalised, and ready to take on the town. <br />
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And so we headed for Be At One bar and seated ourselves to prepare for the wonder that is a peanut butter cocktail. But this particular one was made with Reece’s Pieces are Bourbon, and let me tell you - The Killers were right all along. Bourbon needs to be left on the shelf, and only consumed in situations equal to or greater than you planning the demise of your girlfriend, Jenny. It got better as we got further along though, and by the time we had enough Bourbon in our bodies, it was really quite pleasant. We cleansed our pallets with another gem, the Candy Pants, and then headed back to the hotel room, but not before a pit stop at Tescos for chocolate, and another at a local pizza restaurant for a takeaway. We drifted into a happy slumber, to awake the next morning to a slight drizzle and chill in the air, but after spending a winter in London, I was not to be deterred!<br />
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We headed out for a buffet breakfast, complete with a range of teas, pancakes, nutella, bacons, sausages and yoghurt - though none of the famous brown sauce. I watched the rain fall on the window pane opposite the our table, and reflected on how beautiful the view of the pier must be from this spot in the summer. And speaking of the pier…<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EpC2sv6Q7Xs/VVD5AXUu_GI/AAAAAAAAASY/JNKn7eJgWdA/s1600/IMG_8059.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EpC2sv6Q7Xs/VVD5AXUu_GI/AAAAAAAAASY/JNKn7eJgWdA/s320/IMG_8059.JPG" width="320" /></a>I’d never seen anything quite like the massive structure that sits in the sea in this tiny English town. No, this isn’t like KZN’s own Margate pier, which you’ll find in varying states of decay, and filled with ‘fisherman’ in varying states of vaalie. This pier is filled with cute food stalls, arcades, viewpoints, and right at the end - a funfair. <br />
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Ah, rollercoasters. We couldn’t help ourselves, and boarded the biggest one, light drizzle spattering on our faces, and already frozen fingers locking tightly around the safety rails. Rollercoasters - of course - always seem like a good idea until you’re hanging 50m above the Atlantic Ocean, praying to Dave Grohl that everything will be alright - the likelihood of the Brighton Pier, collapsing at this very moment are slim, right? Right? I shut my eyes tight and told myself that if I could survive Ratanga Junction’s ‘Cobra’, this thing was child’s play. <br />
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All rollercoastered out, we hit the streets again, wandering through the town in search of a market, and getting waylaid for hours in the cute shops hidden away down the alleyways. We eventually landed in a tea shop called the Mock Turtle, where I spent a good half hour trying to remember what a ‘mock turtle’ was, and decide whether or not the guy at the table next to me was a member of some obscure rock band. The Mock Turtle (named after a character from Alice in Wonderland, ha!) took ‘quaint’ to a new level - looking like a cross between a bakery and the living room of an sweet, little old lady from the early 1900s. The scones were excellent. <br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ARsHnLLPrOU/VVD5HCFUbKI/AAAAAAAAASo/X45gpXHyDfM/s1600/IMG_8087.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ARsHnLLPrOU/VVD5HCFUbKI/AAAAAAAAASo/X45gpXHyDfM/s320/IMG_8087.jpg" width="240" /></a>Our final day dawned bright and sunny - the clouds had evaporated, and although the mercury was only peaking at 11 degrees, it was pleasant to walk along the beach (in long pants and coats, of course). Imagine the surprise of a Durban girl to discover that the beach here was composed not of soft, fine sand, but rather of layers and layers of rounded, polished rocks. But somehow this strange beach has its own beauty, one I can’t comprehend fully. The only thing I know is that I never want to leave. It’s the first time I’ve ever been reluctant to get back to London. The Kooks were right - I fell in love on the seaside, though it wasn’t with a person, it was with England. I fell in love with the country all over again. <br />
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After a beautiful weekend of friendship bonding, we got on the train home, where I sat back with my iPod and my ‘Best of The Shins’ playlist. This was what I’d been dreaming of doing for three years, and now I was doing it. <br />
<br />Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-21308620498902746602015-05-08T09:20:00.000+02:002015-05-08T09:23:58.104+02:00Throwback Thursday: A Walk Down South Africa's Musical Memory Lane <div style="text-align: justify;">
Sometimes - not often - I take a nap during the day, and I wake up after ten minutes, completely confused as to what century and country I am in. I legitimately expect to wake up in 2007, in my mom's house, during the school holidays, or something ridiculous like that. And when I hear the shrieks of the sirens outside my window, and absorb the fact that I'm starring at the dull beige walls of my shoebox apartment in London, there's nothing I can do but close my eyes as the waves of homesickness wash over me. At least I'm always safe in the knowledge that if I hold fast against those waves, the feeling will pass within a few minutes, and I'll be as happy as pie to be living in my favourite city. </div>
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Anyway, this happened yesterday, and then today when I turned on my iTunes on shuffle mode, I happened across an old gem that took me back to SA in the early 2000s, when Watershed-style, easy listening rock was all the rage. What was the song? It was 'Can't Lose With You' by none other than the 2001 SA Idols season 1 winner, Heinz Winckler. Ahhhh, the nostalgia. Ahhh, the full-flavoured cheese. Yeah, I mean the guy came on the TV show I worked for a couple of times, and I bumped into him in line at the airport last year, but in my mind he belongs in that carefree period of my life, when my biggest worry was whether I'd get an A or an A+ on the piece of homework I'd submitted. Oh, to be 11 again. It got me wondering what other SA gems from that time I'd completely forgotten about. You ready for this stroll down memory lane?</div>
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<b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a27IgsQckTI">Watershed - Indigo Girl:</a> </b>I physically could not walk 5 meters in 2002 without hearing someone humming along to "<i>you're my little indigo girl, indigo mmmmmmm'. </i>In fact, my friends thought they were <i>so cool</i> because they knew lead singer Craig Hinds' little brother. Years later, I became good friends with his cousin, so I'm just as cool. </div>
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<b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RqkVq3u4_fY">Mandoza - Nkalakatha</a>:</b> No, I don't know what the words mean, but do I need to? Like, who couldn't sing along to this, despite having <i>no</i> idea what you were saying?</div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9mIgEk0FEgk"><b>Arno Carstens - Another Universe</b></a>: Can anyone ever forget <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-B-6IWHCiR8">that car ad</a> with the dad and son? It's basically ingrained in my head, as though it aired on TV every day <i>last year</i> rather than more than <i>ten years ago</i>. Pity no one ever knew the words to the 2 and a half minutes of the song that weren't in the ad.</div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0UhZJ_Tca0"><b>The Finkelstiens - QQ Me</b></a>: No, I do not know what 'QQ me' means. I think it has something to do with instant messaging, which was just about to take off in SA around 2001. I mean, it <i>could</i> be some weird euphemism, but I choose to think that it's really about turning on your PC and hitting up the ladies on that MSN. </div>
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<b>Just Jinjer - Safer</b>: Yes, it was 2004, so it was a bit later, but this is just one of those songs that gives me an "ahhhhh" moment everytime. Like "ahhhhh, I forgot this was their song, I'm only here for <i>What He Means</i>". </div>
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<b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bG26JatZWr0">Blue Eyes - Springbok Nude Girls</a>: </b>All together now ... "Daddy's little blue eyes .... mumble mumble mumble.... we're gonna leave it BEHIND." </div>
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Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-80171992627279698432015-04-13T14:05:00.001+02:002015-04-13T14:05:54.394+02:00For Goodness Sake, Let Us Be Young: The Vaccines Live In London<div style="text-align: justify;">
You know you've lived a tough life when your first reaction to any good news is "What's going on?" accompanied by an inappropriate amount of crying emojis. So when the music gods from Columbia Records answered my Tweeted pleas for a Vaccines ticket, you can imagine my reaction. But hey, this is London, and stranger things have happened. Though they always seem to originate from a good Twitter rant. </div>
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My lack of a ticket was simply due to the fact that there are just <i>too many concerts in London</i>. Like, if The Vaccines had been playing in Cape Town, it would have been all anyone talked about for weeks, and I'd have been in the - digital - line for tickets an hour before they went on sale. But this is London, and here they're just another band playing the Brixton Electric on a Wednesday night. And so I had missed out on tickets, and was considering one of the 70 Pound resales (that would have rendered me unable to buy groceries for the remainder of April), when Columbia came to my rescue and offered me a ticket. </div>
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I headed off to Brixton after work, transversing the Circle and Victoria lines and ending up at Brixton station around 6.30pm. Gates were due to open at 7pm, but as I had to wait to collect my tickets - and as the line was super long already - I made peace with the fact that getting near the front wouldn't be posible, but I was quite happy to hang out near the back. As it was such a small venue, 'the back' wasn't even that far from the stage. However, I had seriously underestimated my skills, and managed to make it to second row.<br />
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Two opening bands later (both of whom I warmed up to before the end of their respective sets), the entire crowd is singing along to The Supremes' 'You Can't Hurry Love'. Surprising from a crowd composed largely of young people, sure, but as The Vaccines are always open about how inspired they've been by 60s music, perhaps it fits.<br />
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And so Justin and crew arrive on the stage with 'Teenage Icon' and before I know it, I'm in the midst of a very mobile mosh pit, and re-thinking my life's motto of "second row or nothing". Seriously, who moshes to The Vaccines? (A lot of people, it seems.) Oldie 'Wreckin' Bar' is next, followed by 'Ghost Town' before brand new 'Dream Lover' makes an appearance. Oh yes, there's that 60s influence. When <i>I </i>shut my eyes, I may not get another dream lover, but I sure get a flashback to my grandparents' living room and the Everly Brothers. The appearance of 'Wetsuit' so early in the set takes me competely by surprise. It is honestly one of my favourite songs ever - the line "We all got old at break-neck speed, slow it down go easy on me" just gets me every single time. Live, it's slightly rougher than the recorded version, but that just adds to the emotion. For a band about to release their third album, I was impressed with the number of first album songs that made the setlist: 'Post Break-Up Sex' (of course), 'All In White' (a song which I've been intruiged by since first listen) and 'If You Wanna' (cue the return of the moshpit) and 'Blow It Up' were all there, along with one of my second album highlights 'I Always Knew'. Encore came in the form of a beautiful acoustic version of 'No Hope', which translates surprisingly well into this format, 'Wolf Pack' and then, just when the girls behind me started expressing their astonishment that they weren't going to play Norgaard, there is was, the perfect end to the set. What a<i><b> </b></i>priviledge to see such a major band in such an intimate venue.<a class="spell" href="https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=privilege&spell=1&sa=X&ei=V60rVc6nD9Gy7QbTp4HADA&ved=0CBsQvwUoAA"><b><i></i></b></a></div>
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Sometimes it happens that you forget just how much you like a band, and just how much you've listened to their albums. For any of my mid-level bands (read: anyone outside of my top 5), I usually do a lot of pre-gig listening to make sure I know all the hits that will be on the setlist. Without doing this, I'd probably end up knowing about 70% of the songs, and for someone like me who doesn't take concerts lightly, that's simply unacceptable. But with such short notice before The Vaccines, I had no time to do any such listening. and I was happy to note that there were only 2 songs I wasn't completely familiar with. Hell, I even knew the words to Dream Lover already, and I literally know their first album back to front and inside out. It got me wondering - what was it about this band that caught my attention a few years ago when they first came onto the scene? I'm pretty sure 2011 me wouldn't have actively investigated a band whose first single was called 'Post Break-Up Sex'. </div>
<br />Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-64257740189841982342015-04-01T20:46:00.002+02:002015-04-01T21:18:40.035+02:00Sweet Dreams Are Made of ChrisSo, the peeps over at <a href="https://casper.com/">Casper </a>created this cool little graphic showing different types of sleepers - and it took me exactly one second to figure out which category I fall into. Casper sells <a href="https://casper.com/mattresses">mattresses</a> that ship to your door in a box that can fit on the back of a bike, and they know a thing or two about sleeping! That'll save you the horror of dragging something like a mattress on the Tube when you're a London beginner (I still haven't bought a microwave, but let's save those lovely musings for another day). <br />
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Was I the Bed Hogger? No, I was not, let's be honest here, most of my bed-sharing in the past 24 years has been with cats, and I don't even have one of those anymore. Which brings us to the next one - am I the Cat Napper? Perhaps I would have been a few months ago, but as I no longer have a cat...the Night Creature? No, almost 3 years of waking up before the sun to go to work robbed me of any night owl tendencies (which, let's be honest again, never existed in the first place). The Party Animal? Well, certainly not, though I am guilty of occasionally smashing through a McDonald's burger at 1am when I've just gotten home from a gig. Perhaps then, the Lover... cue awkward laughter, well, no. Aha, there it is: the iSleeper. That's me. Although I'm generally passed out by 10pm at the latest, I'm one of those people who wakes up at intervals during the night and I always have to check my social media. Quick midnight tweet here, sneaky creep on Instagram around 3am, and so it goes on. The last thing I do every night before I close my eyes is scroll through my Twitter feed, and it's the same as soon as I wake up. Most people snooze their alarm and have a ten minute nap, I snooze mine to have time to check my social media!<br />
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I've also occasionally been guilty of falling asleep with my iPod on (back when I still knew where my headphones were, one would think it would be more difficult to lose things in a flat as small as mine - I'm starting to think my walls are eating them, like something out of Doctor Who, you know. But I digress...). Music makes me feel such a wide range of emotions - today I listened to Mika's 'Life in Cartoon Motion' for the first time in years, and I was postively dancing in my chair at the office! I can listen to The Shins and feel completely melancholy, The Killers and feel like everything in the world is perfect, and then there's the band that calms me unlike any other. Who? Coldplay, of course. There's no better song to fall asleep to than 'Cemetries of London' from their 4th album 'Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends'. Is it a strange choice? Sure, possibly, but just listen to this melody and tell me that it's not the most calming thing you've ever heard. Add Chris Martin's vocals and it's pure perfection. He can sing me a lullaby any time. <br />
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Sweet dreams. Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-60291623396346611202015-03-06T21:03:00.000+02:002015-03-06T21:03:00.188+02:00A Stroll<div style="text-align: justify;">
After rushing around to every single Royal Bank of Scotland branch in North London, looking for one that was open so that I could pay my rent before the deadline, I was finally successful in Kensington High Street. It was only 1.30pm on Saturday, and I faced the rest of the day with absolutely nothing planned. So, in an attempt to shake off the ill feelings I've been having towards London the past few days, I decided to take a stroll. Today just also happened to be the day my mobile data ran out, and deciding I could survive two days without it before it kicked in again on the 1st, I was reduced to planning my route without technology. Ah, well, not exactly. Feeling like my 2012, wifi-hunting self again, I popped into Starbucks and used their wifi to figure out how far I was from my favourite London landmark. What's that, you may ask? Buckingham Palace? Big Ben? Perhaps Oxford Street counts as a landmark? Wrong on all three counts. It's the Royal Albert Hall. If you know me, there's no need to ask why. If you don't, it's because I credit this building with being inextricably linked with the reason I ever visited London in the first place, and so I feel a great emotional attachment to it. </div>
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Anyway, RAH was a 21 minute walk, and off I set, eventually thinking I was really smart and taking a quick shortcut down a quaint street. Now, after strolling for 30 minutes, encountering the tiniest baby pug I have ever seen as well as several Rolls Royces, I emerged back on the main street (ha ha) about 200m from where I began. Fail. RAH was now 15 minutes away, but thank goodness the rain managed to hold off, and I got to behold my favourite building and take a number of highly unsuccessful selfies.<br />
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I toyed with the idea of a stroll through Hyde Park fo several minutes. It seemed that the best idea would be to hop on the nearest Tube and get straight home before the rain really came down, but instead I took the nearest path in the opposite direction, and meandered through Hyde Park, down by the water for another hour. It was difficult, in the gloom and threatening rain, to imagine the first time I'd been here, almost three years ago, in the brilliant August sunshine. And then suddently, something seized me. I don't know what it was, but in that moment it was 2012 and I could <i>smell </i>Reading (not physically smell it, Reading smells like a combination of vodka and poop) but something in the air told me that I was here in my favourite city to see my favourite bands and life was so exciting and.... within seconds the feeling was gone, try as I might to hold onto it. Anyway. I gave up and took some photos of the swans.<br />
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At the gates ot Hyde Park, I once again bypassed the Tube, and set off down the road towards Harrods, just for fun. I passed the store and the nearby M&S, and reminisced about how I'd sat on a bench at the side of hte road and eaten my pasta salad before hopping back on the tube and taking a stroll along the Thames, way back in 2012. Things feel so different now.<br />
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I don't know if the day, as a whole, did me good or bad. I love London more than anything in the world, but I'd do anything for it to feel the way it did the first time.<br />
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Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-54902120797464872542015-02-26T19:08:00.002+02:002015-02-26T19:08:53.842+02:00I'm So Sorry.<div style="text-align: justify;">
One month into 'living the dream', I'm ready to tell you, it's not easy. Three weeks ago, the hardest issues I faced were figuring out how to drag my suitcase up three flights of stairs from my taxi to my brand new apartment. Now, I face not being able to sleep at night because of the screaming people, screeching motorbikes and wailing sirens outside my window; I face the inability to be granted a bank account; and I'm forced to face the fact that I grossly underestimated the cost of living in England. It is <i>not</i>, for example, possible to survive on 100 Pounds per week, after rent. Sure, my bill at Tescos comes to 25 Pounds for the week, but that's not counting the extra 20 I spend on lunch at work for the week, or the 20 from those few times I popped to Sainsbury's because I fancied a treat. And what about the cost of entertainment? Sure, I'm saving on transport by walking to work, but using just as much on the Tube at weekends. Good thing I don't have any friends, or I'd be spending even more money on transport and entertainment.</div>
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Sometimes it crosses my mind that I could be sitting in the Durban sunshine right now, accompanied by every family member I possess, and perfectly able to take my very own car down to the shops to buy absolutely any item of food I could possibly want. Instead, it's pouring with rain and pitch dark at 5pm, and I face going home alone yet again to eat stale bread for supper (I can't even toast it as I don't own a toaster, and my oven sets off the fire alarm every time) and perhaps reading a PDF of Harry Potter until it's 8pm and I decide it's late enough to go to sleep. This is not the dream, this is the nightmare. </div>
Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-57885595991451822892015-02-25T20:41:00.000+02:002015-02-26T12:42:28.576+02:00Kaiser Chiefs Live at the O2Apparently it’s weird to go to concerts alone. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been one to do things the normal way. After spending so much of my time alone, and having to do everything with just myself for company, I’ve kind of gotten used to it. I don’t think I even realise what I’m doing is weird anymore. Well, the couple next to me at Kaiser Chiefs sure noticed it was weird. I spent most of the evening trying to figure out if the looks they kept casting me were confused, suspicious or pitying…<br /><br />After swearing I wouldn’t buy any more concert tickets until I’d been paid, I somehow found myself typing my card details into Viagogo two days before Kaiser Chiefs were set to play at the O2. It’s only 22 quid, I told myself. Plus, I’d missed most of Kasiers’ set before Foo Fighters back in December, because I’d been, ya know, meeting Dave Grohl. No biggie. Plus, I’d never been to the O2 before, so I bought my super cheap re-sale ticket, and off I headed to Greenwich North station, after a cross-Baker Street station trek. Seriously, the Jubilee Line is unnecessarily far from the rest of the world. <br /><br />With gates set to open at 6.30pm, I stepped out of the station at 6.29pm, unconcerned as I had a seated ticket. In the corner of the station, someone was busking to ‘I Predict A Riot’, and I had just enough time to ponder how interesting it sounded in a female voice before I got close enough to realise it was a dude. Though sadly not Ricky Wilson. <br /><br />Starving, but wanting to spend as little money as possible, I scanned the area for a McDonald’s, but was unsuccessful. My options were thus Subway, or… Subway. I opted for a chicken sub which was 1) out priced 2) tiny and 3) so full of onion that I could still taste them after brushing my teeth three times. But, one lives and one learns, and next time I’ll simply wait until I’m INSIDE the O2 before I stuff my face. See, there’s a Starbucks, and even a SPUR! That’s right, a good old-fashioned, burgers-and-barbecue-sauce Spur. <br /><br />Inside, I made my way up the fancy escalators, then found my seat (next to the judge couple) and then took a stroll around the arena. Yes, I am perfectly entitled to stroll around all by myself, and that’s exactly what I did! And by some miracle, I remembered a half-eaten slab of Cadbury Oreo chocolate in my handbag, sparing my from paying for snacks, or throwing away 2.40 on a cup of tea. I’m not even from this country, and I can tell that’s daylight robbery. I also managed to restrain myself from buying any kind of tour merch. I mean really, I have enough band t-shirts. [edit: I feel really bad for saying that and right now I’m on the verge of grabbing a Killers tee out of my drawer and pressing it to my face whilst sobbing. Moving countries is a very emotional thing, okay?]<br /><br />Moving along. <br /><br />Opening act Public Service Broadcasting could have done everyone a public service and just not gone on stage. Seriously. Out of respect for them, I stayed in my seat, but headed out for another stroll as soon as they and finished. Seated tickets are surely the only way to go. After a full day of work, I couldn’t even imagine being in standing. Guess I really am getting too old for this…<br /><br />Now, I’d seen Kaiser Chiefs twice before: once at Reading in 2012, squished halfway through the crowd, with my back against a barrier and the sun baking down upon the body that was aching to be back in a bed that was not a tent. The second time was after I’d just met Dave freaking Grohl, and all I could register was that the crowd didn’t appreciate anything, and that ‘Never Miss A Beat’ was still my favourite Chiefs song. Needless to say, the third time I got to see them was the first I got to truly appreciate them.<br />
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<br />And they sure didn’t disappoint. Full of humour, Ricky is so endearing that I honestly just want to hug him. I have this huge soft spot for this band that I can’t even explain. Maybe it’s because of the hilarity with which they recounted the scarf-in-the-soup incident in that YouTube video. Perhaps it’s because I still feel a little guilty for not loving Ruby when it first came out…<br /><br />So Kaisers start off with The Factory Gates and then without, well, without missing a beat, move straight into Everyday I Love You Less and Less. Aaaand the crowd are extremely happy. I’m surprised but not unhappy that oldies like this and Everything Is Average Nowadays still make it into the setlist.<br /><br />When Ricky - somehow - makes his way to the B-stage in the middle of the standing section for The Angry Mob, I literally witnessed two people in the disabled section just above me completely disregard their wheelchairs and get up to dance. I am not kidding. <br /><br />In my extensive Kaiser Chiefs listening, I had never before come across Roses. In fact, I was quite convinced at the time that it was a cover, and made a mental note to look up the original song, because it sounded great. Well, I was wrong. And somehow it gave a glimpse into what KC could have become if they’d wanted to be a band who took themselves a little more seriously, dispensed with the catchy choruses and repetitive lyrics, and toned down the crazy stage antics. If they had focused on musical ability and vocal talent instead. And I was blown away. <br /><br />But before I could become too contemplative, we were back to normal, rocking Modern Way and my own favourite, Never Miss A Beat, and then a band member selection. Peanut chose Time Honoured Tradition, but only after Ricky reminded him in a stage whisper to please choose something the new drummer knows how to play… “Why are you all shouting ‘Ruby’?” Ricky asked the crowd, sounding genuinely amused, “We’re going to play Ruby!” And they sure did, following their biggest hit with arguably their best song, I Predict A Riot.<br /><br />Now, sometime during the day, I’d read an NME article about a video of Dave Grohl which was being played before the encore during KC’s tour. From the way NME put it, it was real footage filmed when the two bands toured together, of Dave losing his temper with Ricky and co. Instead, we were treated to an obviously staged video of Dave employing every swear word he had ever come across, insulting the hair-dos of every Kaiser Chiefs member, and ripping into Ricky for judging the X-Factor. I tried not to cry from laughter. I also tried not to imagine Dave laughing his ass off and apologising to the rest of them as soon as the director yelled “Cut!”<br /><br />The three song encore ended, as usual, with Oh My God, and I had the time of my life singing along, because as we all know, I really have never been this far from home. <br />
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<br /><br />Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-63543132296868770922015-02-19T20:30:00.000+02:002015-02-19T20:30:01.385+02:00Kodaline Live at the Roundhouse <div style="text-align: justify;">
Nothing could have prepared me for the emotional rollercoaster that is Kodaline. I'm not even just talking about their gig at Camden's trendy Roundhouse on Tuesday, I'm talking about the band in general. </div>
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It was around April or May 2014 when I settled down to watch some Coldplay videos on YouTube, and because I'm a sucker for punishment, I watched 'The Scientist' on repeat about 5 times, before deciding to try one of the 'suggested videos', which just happened to be something called 'All I Want' by Kodaline. Ohhhhh, the <i>emotions</i> I'd felt by the end of that video! I mean, that <i>poor </i>freak in the office! And the girl who fell in love with him <i>no matter what anyone else though</i>! It was just so <i>beautiful</i>! And IF I'd been an emotional human being, I'd have been sobbing into my teacup because the world <i>just isn't a nice place</i>. But, I'm not an emotional human being.</div>
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Anyway. I was as impressed with the rest of the band's album 'In A Perfect World', and what almost <i>did</i> make me sob into my teacup was the delayed realisation that this band, that I was now firmly in love with, had in fact played at T in the Park 2013, which I had attended, without knowing who they were. Oh, the regret. I had spent my afternoon falling asleep to Earth, Wind & Fire rather than crying to 'All I Want'? Great. Either way, I stuck their album on repeat for the next few months, all the while marvelling at the fact that I somehow felt like I'd known this music for my entire life. There are few bands that produce music I'd class as 'so beautiful it hurts', and I'd discovered three: Coldplay, The Shins, and now Kodaline.</div>
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It was with a surge of OMG that I find out that Kodaline would be playing in London in mid-Febraury 2015. Unfortunately for me, I slacked and tickets sold out in 30 minutes. Fortunately for me, I was spared having to pay 60 Pounds for a re-sale due to a very useful connection managing to help me get one at face value. </div>
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And so I showed up at the Roundhouse to a queue to rival anything I've ever seen at Wembley. Seems I've been completely underestimating this band's popularity. </div>
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Queue or no queue, we managed a spot about 6 rows back, and I had a chance to take in my surroundings. Well, they sure weren't lying when the named the venue. The room is completely circular, with seats in a circle above the back of the standing area - it's basically a mini Royal Albert Hall. Kind of. </div>
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I feel that two opening acts are unnecessary for such a small gig, but luckily they both were entertaining - despite the inability of our group to agree on 'which of the Mispers was the hottest'. Moving along...</div>
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Kodaline themselves finally ambled onto the stage in all their Irish glory, and opened with 'Ready', off of their brand new album, 'Coming Up For Air', then straight into 'Love Like This', cue crowd going wild. But it wasn't until 'High Hopes' that I really realised the impact of the band. For I could barely hear them over the sound of the crowd, singing along to every single word. Even me, I almost felt emotions! And the band were just loving it - they love having this kind of power over their poor, defenceless audience!<br />
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Whilst we all held our breath and prepared for 'All I Want', they decided to keep playing games with us and instead play 'Brand New Day', and a new song called 'The One', which Steve wrote for a friend's wedding (<i>can you imagine being at that wedding? Can you imagine being that friend?? The emotions, I tell you!)</i>. </div>
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They warned us that 'Love Will Set You Free' was their last song, and we waited with baited breath (again) for them to come back and play new single 'Honest', and that elusive 'All I Want'. In fact, someone in the audience took it upon themselves to start singing the chorus of the latter, and soon the entire crowd was singing along. I could just imagine the band backstage, giggling little Irish giggles.<br />
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It was really quite rude of them to play with our emotions to such an extent as to save 'All I Want' for last. A collective 3000 tried to disguise their tears as 'something in my eye' as Kodaline, accompanied by the Mispers' violinist, broke 3000 hearts. </div>
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And so I braved the tube back home, grumbling about the fact that it's almost impossible to get from the Northern Line to the Hammersmith and City, but at the same time quite pleased that way back in 1998, it had been another Irish band - with a singer called Steve - that had sparked my love for music, and now, in 2015, the Irish were still going strong. </div>
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Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-54164383349234004282015-02-12T21:00:00.000+02:002015-02-19T17:29:08.761+02:00Imagine Dragons Smoke + Mirrors Album Launch I used to say that I never win anything, but since the Dave Grohl Incident, I’ve had to eat my words slightly. Still, I don’t win things often. Not at all. Remember the Two Door Cinema curse? Yeah? When no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t acquire tickets to see TDCC at their win-tickets-only gig in Cape Town three years ago? (Yes, it’s been three years and I’m still extremely bitter…) <br />
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Anyway. When I entered to win tickets to see Imagine Dragons play an exclusive gig at the House of Vans in London, I did so without even considering that I might actually win them. But hey, I moved to London to go to concerts, so I may as well try. <br />
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Imagine (ha ha ha) my surprise when I got the email saying I’d won tickets! My first choice for a plus one was, of course, Amii who absolutely adores Dragons, but seeing she couldn’t make it down from Birmingham. In the end, I was accompanied by a Victim named Sam, along with Sinead and her friend Abbey. <br />
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It must be part of the fun of exclusive gigs, that they’re never in normal venues. From TDCC in a silo somewhere near Cape Town airport, to The Kooks under a highway in Joburg and in a warehouse in the wilds of Salt River, it’s all the more exciting to be dumped into a hipster-cool venue. Dragons held their show at House of Vans, a mix between a skate park and an abandoned train tunnel, next to Waterloo Station. With the walls covered in lumo graffiti, and the inside exuding the kind of industrial-cool that wouldn’t be out of place in Cape Town’s Woodstock area, it was the perfect place for an album launch gig.<br />
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After failing spectacularly at the photobooth, we managed a second row spot behind another groups of Victims (seriously, I felt like I was seeing The Killers, which is never a bad thing), and prepared ourselves for the hour and a bit wait until the band came on stage. Thankfully, the gig was live streaming around the world, so they had to be on time.<br />
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At precisely 9am, the band trouped onto the stage, and began a slow chorus of ‘It’s Time’, with frontman Dan Reynolds holding out his microphone for the audience to sing along. Somewhere between this opening chorus and the actual beginning of the song, I burst into maniacal laughter, somehow unable to believe that I was really standing here, in the middle of London, at an exclusive gig by one of the best new bands in the world, with said band less than 2 meters away from my face. And then I lost myself in the music. <br />
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The last time I saw Imagine Dragons was from the very back of a very hot, very crowded and very dusty King Tut’s Tent at T in the Park 2013. I was stuck behind the VIP platform and couldn’t see anything besides the fact that one member had Mark Stoermer-length hair. They were good back then, but this time, they were phenomenal. Intimate gigs are just that much more special. In addition to old favourites like ‘Demons’ and ‘On Top of the World’, we were treated to new material, and it went down a treat with the audience, many of whom knew all the words to ‘Gold’ already, much to Dan’s surprise. “YOUTUBE” we shouted back, when he asked how we knew it. ‘I Bet My Life’ is a million times better live than recorded, even ‘Shots’ sounds great, as does another new song called ‘Summer’. But one truly stood out for me, and that’s ‘I’m So Sorry’. It’s not often that I take to new songs when I hear them live before hearing a recorded version, but I already know that this is going to be my favourite Imagine Dragons song ever.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yds6am7KWRE/VOYBJwEpujI/AAAAAAAAAQI/AWhsms8uwjg/s1600/IMG_6568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yds6am7KWRE/VOYBJwEpujI/AAAAAAAAAQI/AWhsms8uwjg/s1600/IMG_6568.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hi there, Dan.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Closing with ‘Radioactive’, during which Dan beat the hell out of a massive drum on the stage, unfortunately no amount of screaming could bring them back. And so ended my first gig in London for 2015, and believe me, it’ll take The Killers to better it. Or maybe Taylor Swift. <br />
<br />
Because yes, that’s why I moved to London. I moved here so that I can do ridiculous things like see Imagine Dragons at an exclusive gig on a Wednesday night. So that I can eat a 99p MacDonalds burger for dinner because I’ve spent all my money on tube fare to get there. So that I can leg it across Waterloo to the tube so that I make it back home before midnight. So that I can forego a leisurely stroll to work the next morning in favour of a mad dash because I’m so exhausted and chose to sleep an extra five minutes. So that I can spend the next day recovering before I see another band. That’s why I’m doing this. Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-54918911117437191652015-02-03T19:07:00.002+02:002015-02-03T19:07:56.188+02:00Fangirl In Looooooondon<div class="p1">
Everyone in London smokes. I’m not kidding, literally EVERYONE exhales little puffs of white smoke when they breathe, eat, speak, or just generally open their mouths. It may have something to do with the fact that the average temperature since I’ve been here has been minus three. Maybe that’s also why I haven’t blogged. I mean, this morning I was literally too scared to get out of bed for fear of the cold. I’m thinking that a onesie might be an EXCELLENT idea right about now, but I can’t afford one of those at the moment…</div>
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Right, so, a week and a bit ago, I picked up my entire life and traipsed across the globe, all by my lonesome self, to live my dream in London. And I’m not going to lie, it’s been difficult. I mean, I don’t have the arm muscles to drag 40kg of luggage up three flights of stairs, nor do I have the patience to explain to the lady on the other end of the Virgin Mobile helpline just why the billing address for my debit card is different to the home address I just gave her. The struggle is real, man. So real.</div>
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I’m being facetious here, of course. So far, things have been going pretty swimmingly, with the exception of a few little snags here and there. The cellphone situation was the worst (imagine being stuck in a new country with absolutely no way to contact home because Virgin won’t sell you airtime if you don’t have a UK bankcard). The cold has also been something to get used to. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be warm when I’m outside. I’m pretty sure my extremities (read: every bit of my exposed at all to the air outside) are in danger of developing frostbite any day now, and I can say with certainty, that 11 degrees in London does NOT feel like 11 degrees in Cape Town. It feels like someone left off the ‘minus’. </div>
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After packing my suitcase so full that not even plonking my mother’s very fat cat on top of it would allow the thing to close, I prepared for the worst and stepped onto the scale holding my bag (with serious difficulty). According to my calculations, the combined weight of my two bags was only 27.5kg! I had 2.5kg to go! But yeah, that’s what I get for trusting a scale older than myself, and at the airport, my checked luggage actually weighed in at 31kg. Somehow, I managed to pass it off as the weight of the cling wrap I’d paid R60 to have wrapped around my bag in case the zip broke. Phewwww.</div>
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My mother had jokingly asked me not to cry at the airport, and I’d regarded her with a look of disgust, but I could tell that she and my gran (with grandpa safely across the airport in a book store) were bracing for the worst (i.e.: me high-tailing it back to the car [side note, it hurts just to type the word ‘car’ right now, but we’ll get to that later] and swearing never to leave the safety of the Lower South Coast EVER again). They were pleasantly surprised (and so was I) when I waved goodbye cheerily and lined up for security. </div>
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Halfway through security, the zip of my handbag decided to give up on life. Seriously? It was a while 24-hours-old, and I’d searched high and low for something big enough to fit my laptop! Argh. I grumpily hit passport control and then spend the next hour (successfully) attempting to fix my zip and listening to voice notes from a certain friend who is ADDICTED TO VOICE NOTES (I say this in the best possible way). </div>
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The flight is long, by the time we’re somewhere over East Africa, I’ve watched so many episodes of the Big Bang Theory that it’s <i>just not funny anymore</i>, my neck is is pain, I’m tired but I can’t sleep, and nor can I stop sneezing. I fear the worst, and as soon as I’m in Dubai airport I find a pharmacy and nearly overdose on flu pills. I’m taking NO chances. Benefit of these is that they put me to sleep verrrrry nice - approximately 5 minutes before boarding. Great. </div>
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The flight to London is filled with <i>more </i>of the freaking Big Bang Theory because Emirates doesn’t have the latest season of Downton Abbey. Seriously. I also try to sleep somewhere along the line here. Passport control at Gatwick is as awful and un-airconditioned as I remember, and even though I <i>do </i>have nothing to declare, I still sneak through customs as though I’m doing something very wrong. And then, as I take my first step outside, I’m exposed to British winter for the first time. And damn, it’s cold. It’s not that the temperature is very low in terms of degrees (its 7 or 8), but it <i>feels </i>like I’ve just walked head first into the freezer section of Pick n Pay (or Tesco’s, if you will…) I stare out the cab windows, straining my eyes for a glimpse of snow, but there’s none anywhere. In fact, it’s nine full days before I get a taste of actual snow. </div>
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Anyway, it’s nine days in, and I’m still alive. The issues? No one will give me a bank account; it’s completely impossible to get internet installed quickly; and no matter how I stick to my recipes, food here is just plain tasteless; and I can’t afford all the clothes in H&M. Also, it gets dark at 5pm, and that’s not okay. </div>
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The good stuff? Primark exists (and it’s cheap, even with the exchange rate. R180 for a pink, faux-leather jacket that would have cost me R700 in Woolworths? Yes, please); Starbucks exists; the tube is still kind of fun - and by fun, I mean fun for people who enjoy slow torture - AND LAST NIGHT IT SNOWED. </div>
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There is, however, something I miss terribly about home. I mean, yeah, I miss my friends and family and cat, but there's something else, something that aches deep within my soul. I find myself glaring at the families as they tuck the small children into the backseats of their cars, laughing and joking on their way out to enjoy dinner. So what is it that I crave so? Is it human companionship that I’m missing by living alone, completely isolated? Is it the joy of family? The longing to be joined by a partner? Haha. Lol. No. It’s my car. Yes, friends, an inanimate object is what I miss most about my country of birth. The ease and simplicity of getting behind the wheel and taking myself somewhere. The way I could get absolutely anywhere I needed to get, safely ensconced within the drivers seat, from where I controlled the heater and the music. Oh man, I’m a spoiled brat unaccustomed to public transport, and it sucks. I mean, an hour and a half across London on the tube? PLUS having to walk? No, no thanks. I don’t care how many people tell me it’s not worth the hassle and the expense, I’d feel far better if I could hop in my automobile and drive to Birmingham this weekend rather than hop on a train, thanks very much. </div>
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PS: I am guilty of muting people on Facebook when they do too many cool things/seem too happy/get married/have a baby/go travelling, because it can get exhausting, so in order to not become one of those people, I'm trying to shut up about London on there (well, <i>trying </i>is the operative word here) so if you really want to keep up with my adventure follow me on Instagram, Fairycat101.</div>
Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-43605325259921001752014-12-11T19:52:00.000+02:002014-12-12T12:09:51.359+02:00Foo Fighters Live in Cape Town - Meeting My Hero<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RXYS5YLrPYA/VInZQs64RmI/AAAAAAAAAOM/h5Q5sqtUqpI/s1600/1505391_10152653851427762_418085408929342809_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RXYS5YLrPYA/VInZQs64RmI/AAAAAAAAAOM/h5Q5sqtUqpI/s1600/1505391_10152653851427762_418085408929342809_n.jpg" height="356" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excuse me whilst I faint, that's me and the Foos</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Late Wednesday afternoon, I watched a convoy of
men on motorbikes head up the driveway of the One&Only Hotel. One had a
beard. </span><i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Maybe it's Dave Grohl</span></i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">, I thought, rolling my eyes, completely certain that it
really was not - seriously, one of the biggest legends in rock music history,
casually riding around Cape Town hours before his first ever South African
show? Unlikely. A quick browse of social media, however, told me that I had
been wrong - it was, in fact, Grohl, and suddenly excitement hit me like a ten
tonne truck: I was seeing the Foo Fighters.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I'd always said that there were four celebrities I would love to
meet: Brandon Flowers, Chris Martin, Bruce Springsteen and Dave Grohl. And I'd
almost achieved the first three, having stood metres from Martin, and grasped
hands with Springsteen and Flowers during concerts. Closest I'd ever been to Mr
Grohl? About 50 metres from the stage, separated from <i>My Hero</i> by
a few thousand rowdy British youths at 2012's Reading Festival, an hour outside
London. He was unattainable. Some kind of supreme being, who - despite being
lauded as the nicest guy in rock and roll - just didn't seem to really exist.
Imagine my surprise when Big Concerts said I could meet him after winning a
competition. Oh, that will be nice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But let me back track to what I was doing outside the hotel in the first place, and what competition this is that I'm referring to.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Every now and then something completely freaking ridiculous happens. You sit at the Edinburgh airport, too tired to even cry about your post-concert depression, then you look up and see your favourite band's private jet taking off. You meet a touring band member in a Starbucks and they recognise you from the internet. Stuff like that, ya know? And when Big Concerts announced that I was the winner of their meet and greet competition, I felt like something inside my head broke. I spent the next two days constantly on the verge of a breakdown, rocking back and forth whispering 'Dave Grohl'. It registered somewhere in my barely-functioning brain that the last time I'd felt this kind of weird, anxious, almost-in-tears excitement was in the lead-up to 2011's Coldplay concert. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial;">But onto the hotel....of course, everything goes back to The Killers. Years after I'd been to see them in Paarl, I had found out (read: done some creeping and found out) that they had stayed at the One & Only in Cape Town. Several more years of creeping revealed that this was one of the only hotels in town where the Big Bands are accommodated. Now, I can put two and two together, and figure out that the Foos would be staying at this exact hotel. But, alas, no, I did not stand outside their hotel for hours on end, decked out in a Foo Fighters t-shirt and "I Heart Dave" poster. In fact, I was at the hotel for a legitimate reason - it happens to serve the best high tea in Cape Town, and it's my birthday next week, I love tea, you can see where I'm going with this. The deposit for my tea was due, and by a miracle sent from the gods of the internet, my EFT payment refused to work, and I was forced to go into the hotel to pay and secure my tea booking. Total co-incidence that it's right at the Waterfront, where I was headed to park for the concert. So, in I stroll, still perhaps wishing to bump into the Foos, but of course not expecting too - things like that just don't happen. I should have learned my lesson from a certain Rob Likes Lattes in a Starbucks in Leeds, circa 2012: things like that <i>do </i>happen. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial;">We're halfway to the restaurant reservations desk, when my mother begins to elbow me furiously. "<i>Drummer, drummer, Taylor, drummer." </i> Sure enough, Taylor Hawkins stands in the lobby, grinning and chatting to a few burly bodyguards. I try to act cool and avoid his eye, pretend I don't know who he is, but he grins in our direction: "Hi, ladies." <i>And I just died</i>. I'm not sure if I said hello back or not, but I calmly proceeded to pay my bill and then high-tailed it out of there before any other Foo Fighter could surprise me like that. We're down the driveway and across the road when the aforementioned convoy of bikes pulls in, and we're sitting down to lunch when I take a squizz at Facebook and find out that it really was Dave. Now I'm sitting in the Spur, hand over my mouth, giggling like a lunatic, because I just saw Dave Freaking Grohl. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then it's the trek to the stadium, and so somehow I find myself first in a line of about 40
people, separated from the Foos by only a thin black curtain. Cue mild
hyperventilation - <i>what if I see Dave Grohl and just die? Right there
on the floor - die!</i> But I don't. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One of the most surreal sensations I have ever experience was at
the moment when said black curtain parted, to reveal the Foo Fighters in all
their glory, Dave Grohl grinning broadly at me, sticking out his hand and
saying "Hi, I'm Dave, and these are the Foo Fighters." Thanks for
telling me your name, Dave. AS IF I DIDN'T KNOW! Taylor grins shiftily and says "Hey, I saw you guys earlier", and we're basically already best friends. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial;">The meet and greet itself was
short but absolutely fantastic. We shook hands with all of the band members,
and posed for a photo, before thanking them for coming to SA and being led from
the room.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Only down side of having met Dave Grohl an hour before the show?
It meant missing the first half of support act, Kaiser Chiefs' show, a pity
because frontman Ricky Wilson is known for his incredibly energetic
performances, and is guaranteed to entertain. After making it into the crowd as
the band began 'Never Miss A Beat', I could see Wilson immediately barrelling
down the T-shaped stage like a cannonball, and couldn't restrain himself from
climbing some scaffolding during 'The Angry Mob'. They ended off with their
standard, 'Oh My God', which must have rung true for them - "Oh my god, I
can't believe it, I've never been this far away from home..." and though
they had played in SA before, Cape Town Stadium must have been a whole new
experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">At exactly 9pm - right on time - the main act appeared like
visions. Shiflett, Smear and Mendel smartly dressed and semi-formal, Hawkins
looking like he'd just rolled off Camps Bay beach, and Grohl himself grinning
that same toothy grin that characterised the 20-year-younger version of himself
in his Nirvana days. Let it be said though, the smile is the only thing still
reminiscent of the weedy Nirvana drummer - Grohl has aged like a fine wine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The band wasted no time, launching straight into 'All My Life',
then 'Rope', with barely a breath in between. Still with that manic grin, Grohl
roared up and down the stage, like some kind of inhuman being, that is,
perhaps, too talented to be real. Too much of an idea. Too far removed. But
I've met him, and I know he's real. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The hits came thick and fast, with arguably their most
well-known song, 'The Pretender' going down a storm amongst the crowd, as did
'My Hero'. And of course my very favourite, 'Arlandria'.... <i>you and what armyyyyyyyy? </i>Just when we began to wonder when we might get a taste of the band's
new material, 'Congregation' started. Inspired by the Nashville's country
roots, and with subtly religious undertones, it has to be one of the greatest
Foo Fighters songs ever. Other new songs were 'Something From Nothing', which
has recently soared up the local charts, 'Outside' and 'In The Clear'. At one
point, the young man next to me tapped me on the shoulder and asked "Do
you know the lyrics to <i>all</i> the songs?" "Pretty
much" I replied, although I wanted to say "What, don't you?!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And if you were wondering if Grohl lived up to his reputation as
the 'nicest guy in rock and roll' - he sure did. Having met Springbok Nude
Girls' Theo Crous the day before, Dave invited the local musician onto the
stage to perform Cheap Trick's 'Stiff Competition', with Grohl taking to the
drums, and drummer Taylor Hawkins taking over vocals. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Dave Grohl's stage presence is absolutely astounding. He thrives
on being on stage and the passion of all five bands members is evident
throughout the set. "We're simple guys, we don't do all this firework and
confetti sh*t, we just play rock and roll!" And somehow, this simple rock
and roll has an almost universal appeal - from the older couple we met outside
the gates ("Bucket list stuff!" the lady had said, high-fiving me) to
the group of teens behind us ("We've been queueing for two
hours!"), <i>everyone </i>loves Foo Fighters. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">25 songs later, Grohl and company were finally ready to leave
the stage. They ended with the absolutely spectacular 'Everlong', evoking
emotion in every single crowd member. "We've got a long night ahead of us
- we're not nearly done!" they had repeated throughout the set, much to
the delight of the golden circle ticket holders who most definitely got their
R960's worth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But the three-hour-long set took its toll on an audience clearly
not accustomed to such long performances. The young lady next to me - who began
the show headbanging so violently that I became concerned she might give
herself a concussion - was found to be using her sister next to her's shoulder
as a pillow before 11pm, and the bro next to her had sat himself firmly on the
ground, back against the barrier, where he stayed until 'This Is A Call' gave
him something of a second wind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yes, it was a long set, and the feet of the best of us were left
protesting feebly by midnight. But was it too long? Would I have traded it for
the world? No, of course not. If it were up to me - and the band, if their
enthusiasm was anything to go by - the Foo Fighters would still be on that
stage, playing their hearts out. In fact, I'm trying very hard to restrain
myself from sneaking up to Joburg for Saturday's show - Gauteng sure is in for
a treat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Adapted review also on <a href="http://www.whatsonincapetown.com/post/review-foo-fighters/">What's On In Cape Town</a>.</div>
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Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-47808658277292056832014-11-27T13:19:00.002+02:002014-11-27T13:20:36.708+02:0030 Seconds to Mars Cape Town Review<div style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Rockwell, Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
30 Seconds To Mars graced Cape Town with their presence for the third time, this weekend. Or perhaps it was ’20 Seconds To Mars’, as third member Shannon Leto was noticeably absent – ill, explained his brother, frontman Jared Leto.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Rockwell, Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
By 6pm on Sunday evening, the Echelon (read: The Serious Fans) were already queuing in droves, and those who had purchased meet and greet tickets, could be seen sprinting from GrandWest’s Good Hope Suites clutching signed posters and hyperventilating. Can’t say I blame them. What would any sane human do when faced with Jared Leto? Cry, surely.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Rockwell, Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
Cape Town’s own Beatenberg were given the opportunity to open for the American rockstars, but unfortunately they did little to excite the crowd. Whilst their music is catchy and popular, their fan base and that of 30 Seconds To Mars clearly did not overlap. Although a few younger people sang along happily to ‘Chelsea Blakemore’, crowd interaction was minimal, and the band seemed slightly lost on such a major stage.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Rockwell, Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
Cue dimming of the lights and loud, dramatic music – ‘O Fortuna’ from Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana – and a long-haired figure wearing a long white coat and crown emerges into a patch of light on the stage. Is that you, Jesus? No, it’s Jared Leto. But to those present they’re pretty much the same thing.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Rockwell, Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
Opening with ‘Up In The Air’, from their latest offering, Love Lust Faith Dreams, Leto immediately electrified the crowd. Jared Leto is acutely aware of his reputation as a sex symbol. “Who wants to sleep with me tonight?” he asked the predominantly female crowd, cheekily. The answer? EVERYONE. He later took the opportunity to lift his shirt revealingly, teasing the group of girls to the right that if they kept shouting for him to take it off, they might just get more than they bargained for. But, we were here for the music, of course…</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Rockwell, Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
And it was music we got. 30 Seconds to Mars have an incredible way of producing extremely powerful music, and it becomes, perhaps, even more powerful when performed live. From ‘This Is War’ to ‘Kings and Queens’ (the latter written right here in Cape Town), Jared Leto’s stage presence is faultless, and it’s clear that his passion is performing live. Setlist highlights included ‘City of Angels’, the stand out track from their latest album, and a stripped-down-to-the-bones version of ‘The Kill’. All too soon it was over, in a snowstorm of white confetti and flashing lights.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Rockwell, Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
A glance at Big Concerts’ Facebook page reveals nothing but disappointment with the Johannesburg show (held two nights previously). Shannon Leto was absent, Jared Leto’s voice was not up to standard, the sound at the Coca Cola Dome was shocking, and – perhaps most disturbingly – the crowd was full of people who were more interested in “drinking wine and going on Facebook” than watching the show. But the Cape Town show could not have been more different. The<a href="http://www.whatsonincapetown.com/post/grand-arena-grand-west/" style="color: #338fab; outline: none; text-decoration: none;"> Grand Arena </a>is an impeccable venue, with excellent audio, and even though it was a true rock concert, I was not left with ringing ears the next day.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Rockwell, Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
As Jared Leto so sincerely told us, South Africa is truly a special place for his band. Yes, all bands engage the crowd with shouts of how happy they are to be in the ‘best country in the world’, but somehow, I believe him more. Maybe it’s because he looks a bit like Jesus.<br />
<br />
<i>Review also published on <a href="http://www.whatsonincapetown.com/">www.whatsonincapetown.com</a></i></div>
Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-41211616952501910952014-11-01T15:51:00.001+02:002014-11-01T15:51:53.095+02:00Taylor Swift: '1989' Album Review OMG, I just DIED! #RIPme! Tay Tay has a new album out! If you're not sure what's going on - or if you think I've just regressed from quite a serious 23-year-old lady to a squealing 13-year-old girl -, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kGVg6gjBJ2w">check this out </a>and then come back.<br />
<br />
Yes, it's sure, country-pop's sugar-sweet little Taylor dropped her much-anticipated album '1989' this week. No, I did not converge at a friend's house that very night for a listening party, because I am an adult, and that would be weird...<br />
<br />
I must admit, my hopes were not high. After my strong feelings of dislike for most of 2012's 'Red' - which I took as a personal insult, after being completely obsessed with 'Speak Now' - and my outright hatred for 'Shake It Off', I had begun to sink into that deep depression of human beings who disregard the girl as just another awful pop star. A bit of a joke. Did I mention awful? Well, I was about to be proven wrong.<br />
<br />
THE ALBUM IS A MASTERPIECE. (Yes, caps are needed)<br />
<br />
It is, indeed, a pure pop album, without a hint of the country style that had defined her early career, but somehow it's edgy, with barely discernible hints of indie-rock (largely, I'm sure, due to her work with fun.'s Jack Antonoff). While most of the album is filled with highly-listenable tracks, I do have a few favourites:<br />
<br />
1) 'Wildest Dreams': This turns me into a complete fangirl. I can just imagine crying on the floor if I ever had to see this song live. I'm dead. DEAD. It's tinged with poignance and sadness, but still comes back down to Taylor's favourite themes of girls in pretty dresses, crying after boys and begging them to remember her. It's probably even set at Tay's favourite time of day: 2am.<br />
<br />
2) 'Blank Space': Taylor Swift ripping off Taylor Swift - can it get any better? "Got a long list of ex-lovers, they'll tell you I'm insane..." It's also dead catchy.<br />
<br />
3) 'Out of the Woods' - Nope, I am never going to be out of the woods. An obvious stab at Harry Styles, it shows off Taylor's slightly darker side - one can almost imagine her singing "Remember when you hit the brakes too soon, 20 stitches in the hospital room" with a sadistic little smile on her face. And with an electronic chorus that is bound to stick in anyone's head for weeks, it's a favourite among many.<br />
<br />
All in all, I think Taylor has done great. She remains my guilty pleasure, so far removed from any of my other favourites, that some people think I'm joking when I say I love her. But really, who cares? Haters gonna hate.<br />
<br />Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291922987359096231.post-13576278428626554452014-10-14T12:24:00.000+02:002014-10-14T12:24:08.167+02:00Taylor Swift - Out of the WoodsIt's my lunch break, and I've just gobbled down last night's Chinese takeaway leftovers in 3.4 minutes flat so that I would still have time to write this post.<br />
So let's cut to the chase...<br />
<br />
Taylor Swift has a new song out.<br />
<i>Why would anyone care? </i> You might ask. Good question. After feeling strong dislike towards most of Taylor's 'Red' album, and downright hatred for 'Shake It Off', why the hell am I still listening to the girl? Argh, old habits die hard, I guess. Back in 2009, I was completely obsessed with the 'Fearless' album, and even more so with 'Speak Now' the following year. I didn't care how people wrinkled their noses and frowned when I told them that she was my guilty pleasure - completely on the other side of the spectrum to the rest of my favourites: The Killers, Springsteen, Coldplay. I guess that my inherent sarcasm and cynicism makes some forget that deep down I am still a young female human being who wants to float down staircases in sparkly dresses, whilst singing 'Sparks Fly', dammit!<br />
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Anyway. Taylor's new song 'Out of the Woods' is absolutely nothing like her early country music ('Tim McGraw', 'Tied Together With A Smile', 'Our Song'), but it's also a slight departure from the pop atrocity that is 'Shake It Off'. Perhaps she's found herself. Perhaps her cat had a good, long sit-down with her and explained that twerking is just not okay. Whatever happened, she's come out with <a href="http://www.justjared.com/2014/10/13/taylor-swift-out-of-the-woods-full-song-lyrics-listen-now/">this song </a> that's got a bit more of an electro-pop-rock feel to it.<br />
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Here are a few things I learned from the new song:<br />
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- Taylor is obsessed with the month of December. At least the snow mobile crash wasn't at 2am.<br />
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- She's got a little bit of a dark side - just listen to the way she sings about the hospital trip. Mwahahaha.<br />
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- She's still experimenting with different styles of music...<br />
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- ... but she's stuck with her tried and tested my-relationship-failed lyrics.<br />
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- She's still got it. Hell yes, she does.Fairy Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05417548580908457400noreply@blogger.com0