Obsessive Fandoms: Where Do We Draw The Line?

I'm no fan of One Direction. Sure, you'll occasionally catch me humming along to 'What Makes You Beautiful', and I have been known to say I'd be willing to see them live as long as I had a bag with which to cover my head, but I'm no actually a fan. They exist, and I am more tolerant towards them than I am towards the likes of David Guetta, but I don't go out of my way to listen to them. That said, however, I do respect them a bit for becoming such a phenomenon, in an age where kids are so wrapped up in trying to be cool that they avoid becoming passionate about anything. I mean, what really separates these young 'Directioners' from my own Victims? As it happens, a lot.

I'm accustomed to almost daily One Direction Twitter trends, and usually I don't even understand them, so I pass directly over them. Much the same way as 90% of the world reacted when the Victims managed to trend 'Inclement Weather'. But hey, cool, the fandom has inside jokes. Carry on.

Anyway, yesterday a few tweets involving One Direction and The Who caught my eye. Seems The Boys used a little bit of 'Baba O'Riley' as the intro for their new song, the super-smartly named (#sarcasm) 'Best Song Ever'. I took it upon myself to have a little listen, and yes, the intro is exactly the same. And so I allowed myself to explore the tweets, and was shocked at what I found. Now, it's one thing to stand up for your favourite band, if anyone insulted The Killers within 5 miles of me, they'd get a punch to the face (I'm still holding a grudge against Zebra & Giraffe after almost 4 years, for one tiny insult). It's a whole other thing to send the opposition death threats. "I will kill you and your whole band!" read more than one tweet. Well, honey, 50% of The Who are dead already, so you'd not have a very large job on your hands. Perhaps even worse were the "Who are The Who?!" and "They're so much less famous than 1D lol no one even knows who they are." Tweets. I mean come on! If you're not British, I might let it slide, but these little UK citizens who don't know who The Who are?! But I digress...

Today's Twitter trend shocked me even more. #RIPLarryShippers was a trend from early this morning, and - under the assumption that Larry Shippers might be some famous but unfortunate soul - I clicked on it. Well. Turns out Larry Shippers is not a person at all, but rather a group of One Direction fans who 'ship' (imagine a relationship between) two of the members - Louis and Harry. The Twitter rumour goes on to say that some unknown number - ranging between 14 and 100 - of these fans killed themselves last night.

Just absorb that for a moment.

Done?

Okay, let's continue. Rumour has it that after a documentary about the 1D fandom aired, these kids got a bunch of online hate and killed themselves. Said documentary apparently portrayed the fans as crazy, obsessive kids who do nothing but stalk the boyband all day, every day.

Now firstly, no one should be bullying anyone about their taste in music AT ALL. You may ask if that's not exactly what I'm doing here, and the answer would be no. I am writing an exploratory opinion piece on fandoms. You go ship whoever the hell you want.

Secondly, I 100% believe that this is just a rumour. I mean really, if there had been some sort of mass teen suicide all citing the same cause, we'd definitely have heard about it by now, right? This leads me to my third, and most disturbing point: if these kids did kill themselves over this, it's awful, and horrible, and just not okay, but if it's just a rumour, perhaps it's just as bad. What kind of disturbed human beings would make up a rumour about such a thing? And if they did, what is the reason behind it? To get a Twitter trend?

I meant to write a post about how crazy some of the One Direction fans are, but halfway through I realised that I'd answered my own question posed at the beginning: how different are they from the Victims? Haven't I flown across the world to see my favourite band? Haven't I trawled the streets wondering which hotel they're in? Haven't I taken photos with their road crew? Haven't I stayed up to ridiculous hours of the night to watch live streams and take part in Twitter Q & As? Some might call that pretty obsessive, but to me it doesn't feel creepy. And I'm sure that to the kids in the documentary don't think they're doing anything abnormal.

So where do we draw the line? What is okay and what isn't? I have a few guidelines:

- You need other interests. If you obsess over just one band, you'll miss out on other seriously good music. Have your favourite, have that one band you'd do anything for, but love other things too.

- Don't Tweet them obsessively. You also need to have some kind of limit on what kind of online content is appropriate and what isn't.

- Respect their privacy. It's one thing to wait outside venues hoping to meet your favourites, but another to stalk their houses. (Says the girl who went to Coldplay's studio.)

- It is completely fine to say that music saved your life. Because sometimes it's true. But really, nothing is worth suicide pacts and cutting (Beliebers, I'm talking to you).

- Do it for the music. Love your favourite band members like they're your family, but remember that you're never actually going to marry them. Love them primarily for the music. (Says the girl who refers to The Killers as her children).

Actually, you know what, ignore me. I'm just as bad as the worst kids on that 1D documentary, aren't I? Screw it, go find Harry's house and tell him I say hi.

Post-Concert Depression: It's Totally A Thing

In early 2011, I purchased three sets of concerts tickets: The Script, Kings of Leon and Coldplay. The latter two were both right at the end of the year, so as much as I was looking forward to them, it seemed like the time would never really come. By then time I'd see these two concerts, I'd be mere days away from the end of my university career and quite frankly I couldn't see anything beyond that at all. So, The Script came and went, and everything was still alright because I had two more concerts to look forward to! And so in the lead-up to Coldplay I experienced that strange emotion where you feel so overwhelmed you think you'll start crying everytime someone mentions the band's name. Wait, is it just me who feels like that?! Awkward. Anyway, after Coldplay I was too elated to be depressed, but three weeks later, once KOL was over, it was a different story. Yeah, I was feeling defeated after four fruitless years of studying, but PCD was part of it too. On the way back the next day, I felt panicked for hours for absolutely no reason at all. I just could not work it out! Why was I feeling this way? Was it because I had looked forward to this event for so long and suddenly it was over, leaving me with nothing to look forward to? Was it because I wished I had enjoyed the concert more while I was there?

How do you feel the day after a really good concert? No, I don't mean the day after a quick little gig in the local botanical gardens, or that cool club in town, I mean a real concert. Picture this: you've bought tickets to see your favourite band live for the first time, and for months and months everything leads up to that moment. Hysterical excitement, crazy screams, hyperventilation and then ... it's all over. And now what? Now it's time to come back down to earth and go back to real life. Also, what if you never get to see your favourite band again? What if the lead singer ODs, or the bassist hits the drummer over the head, leading to the fall out of the century? When it comes to bands, you can never quite be sure that "Oh well, I'll catch them again on their next tour, toodles."

People deal with the aftermath of concerts in many different ways. If you're a cool kid (...then get the hell off my blog, firstly), you'll probably post a couple of photos of you and your mates, holding a few beers and grinning like idiots. Then you'll tell everyone at the office that you had "a pretty kiff night, hey bru", and go back to your daily life.

But if you're not a Cool Kid (ie, you're a band kid), you'll most likely be left in floods of tears. You'll feel a horrible panicky feeling deep in the pit of your stomach, as though you're dreading something. And you will be dreading something: a life without the concert you'd so looked forward to. Perhaps you'll become even more obsessed with the band you just saw, tearing up at photos of wee Jared Followill, or setting an image of Dave Grohl's face as the background on every device you possess (of course, I have never done the latter. Ahem).

My first experience with real Post-Concert Depression (PCD) was something like that. When I saw The Killers live in 2009, it was also my first trip to Cape Town, about everything about that week was just plain wonderful. Upon my return home, I became positively obsessed with the band; listening to nothing but them, Twitter-creeping, finding out absolutely everything I could, and constantly thinking back to the concert. It was as though I had to keep reminding myself that I had actually been there, and that I could remember it. Maybe not quite PCD, but definitely some kind of strange PCR (Post-Concert Reaction).

Alternatively, like other forms of depression, you may feel the need to sit alone in your room and cry for a few days. And anyone who dares to say "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened" will get quite well acquainted with your fist. After my return from England, I was tired, my body had launched a protest against lack of food, lack of sleep and too much travel, but most of all, I was sad. I'd just seen a ridiculous amount of bands live, and now it was all over. Cue pulling my blankets over my head and hating my life for a full 12 hours before I had to be at work the next day. My life continued to be hated for several days after this.

Another manifestation of PCD is a feeling of dissatisfaction with your every day life. I mean seriously now, what could be better than going to a concert every night? Nothing. Nothing at all. But we've all got to face the facts; there are only a select few amongst us who get to do that for a living, and you're probably not one of them. "I'll just quit this piece of you-know-what job and become a groupie" is a thought that's crossed many a mind a day or two after a concert, but hold your horses for a just a little while so that PCD can wear off before you hand in that letter of resignation.

Perhaps the most bizarre way in which PCD rears its ugly head is in a full avoidance of any reminder of the band at all. Everytime you hear a song by the band you saw live, it may feel like you're being stabbed in the heart with a tiny needle. Ouch. Better to avoid The Shins altogether lest a flood of memories should knock you so hard you become a blubbering mess when "Bait & Switch" comes on your iPod in the car.

Yes, PCD is totally a thing. In fact, I'd been wondering why I was in such an awful mood today, when suddenly I realised that I am experiencing RHCP PCD. No, I don't hate my life, or my job, or my car... I simply hate the fact that I'm not sure when I'll get to hear 'Dani California' live again. Now where's my box of tissues gone...

Update (30/07/2013):

My own PCD is back in full swing, and this time it's worse than ever. It's been two full weeks since T in the Park, but it still plays on my every thought. I realise that I've never actually offered any solutions for curing PCD, so here are my top three tips:

1) Identification: As long as you know what you're suffering from, you've taken the first step to overcoming PCD. Every time you feel a little stab of pain, remember what it is, and remember the great time you had at the concert.

2) Desensitize yourself: It doesn't help to stop listening to the band because it reminds you too much of the concert for which you so long. Just suck it up, play your favourite song at full volume and pretend you're back at the show. Similarly, look at your photos often.

3) Plan another gig: As long a you have a concert on the horizon, you're sure to feel much better about life. I myself have Yellowcard and Billy Talent coming up within the next few weeks - they're not The Killers or Bruce or The Gaslight Anthem, but they're good enough.

London 2012 Part I: Take-Off and Landing

Before visiting the UK, I was told many lies about the place. The one that sticks out in my mind is “The Brits don’t drive, no one in England has a car.” Alright then. It would clearly be entirely possible to navigate London on the underground, but after booking tickets to see a certain favourite band of mine in Leeds, I began to get a little bit worried. Especially when I checked google maps (after the tickets were paid for) and realized that it was a four hour car journey from London. I flew into a panic when I found out that train tickets were no les than 70 Pounds per person for the round trip, and I really didn’t fancy spending 7 hours on a coach to save some money. Call me a snob, but I’m not used to being without a car. And so the hire car plan was born, and I must say it was the best idea I had ever had. Because the truth is, the Brits do drive, but enough about that for now…

The day had finally arrived. I’d been planning this trip for absolute months, but I had never thought that it would all actually come together. I mean, who in their right mind flies to another country for the sake of their favourite band? I bet there are people who aren’t even keen to drive from the Northern Suburbs to Green Point for Linkin Park! I know people judged me heavily for flying to Joburg twice within three weeks last year for Coldplay and Kings of Leon, but they were some of the best weekends ever, and anyway, YOLO so haters gon’ hate, right?

By the morning of the 10^th of August, I was all packed and ready, and I headed off to work with a smile on my face. Just a few hours and I would be on my way to the airport to board a flight to Dubai and then another to London. Was this really happening? I’d checked and re-checked everything a couple of million times, had all my reference numbers, all my ID, the cards used to purchase the tickets, my passport, and everything else I might need for the next two weeks. My suitcase was only half full – although I would later find out that bringing back 16.4kg of shopping was slightly ambitious to say the least.

But things never quite go smoothly in my life, and so by 10pm I was to be found dashing from the office after the shuttle service called to say that the road to the airport was blocked and that if I wanted to make my flight at 6pm I’d better get there immediately. (Dear Paul, if you’re reading this, I really am sorry for leaving so early, thank you for not shouting at me.)

Madness ensues, but eventually we make it to the airport – with only 5 and a half hours to spare. Goodness me, what am I going to do in an airport for 5 and a half hours? We spend a few minutes taking photos to document the process, then head off to the check-in counter to try and get rid of our luggage – but the attendant looks at us like we’ve completely lost it and says we can only check in at 2pm. Fantastic. We’re left with no option but to drag out extremely heavy - and extremely colourful -  suitcases to Spur with us, where we sit for ages eating lunch.

I’m not sure how we managed to waste two and a half hours in Spur, but we did it, and eventually it was check-in time. I have a boarding pass! It has my name on it, and says CT à DBX. Ah yeah!

At passport control I feel like a criminal. I know I’m not doing anything wrong, but I hold my breath as the dude stamps my passport. There is still so much that could go wrong and result in me not being right in front of Brandon Flowers’ face exactly a week from now. But all goes smoothly and then I’m sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair in the departures lounge, attempting to read my new Stephen King novel and munching away on a chocolate. I’m also counting down the minutes and trying to speed them up using only my mind. Hey, it was worth a try, right?

Eventually it’s boarding time, but the flight’s been delayed twenty minutes, and it feels like 20 years. Also, I’m exhausted. The plane, as it turns out, is well worth the wait. I even have my own little screen where I can choose from a huge selection of movies, tv series and music. Last time I flew internationally, I’d had a tiny set of headphones, and a button on the arm rest of my chair which allowed me to listen to Britney Spears on a loop – sometimes ‘Crazy’ still haunts me at night. So after consuming a decent supper – Thai chicken green curry – I select The Hunger Games, but Katniss isn’t even on fire yet by the time I’ve fallen into a restless slumber. I think I sleep intermittently for around 5 out of the 9 hours, and when I put my seat back in the upright position, my neck feels like it’s about to cause my head to part company with the rest of my body. Ouch. Remind me to get one of those blow-up pillows next time.

The pilot is saying we’re landing shortly but all I can see outside my window is a vast expanse of …. Well…. Nothing at all. Dubai is apparently 100km ahead when I finally start seeing the rivers of lava that I know to be illuminated roads. Aha. Civillisation! A touchdown that I barely even feel, and then we’re walking into the airport, and although we’re in one of those covered tunnel things, the desert heat hits me like a ton of bricks. It’s just after 3am, and the temperature outside is a good 37 degrees. Coming from 12 degrees in Cape Town, it’s been a while since I’ve felt warmth. But warmth is one thing, this is another altogether.

*click* A photo of the sign that says ‘Welcome to Dubai’, another of the LCD board displaying connecting flights. The security process which follows is arduous but effective (I hope). I mean, they even make me take my shoes off!

If you’ve ever seen Shelly Centre on Christmas Eve, you know what ‘busy’ means… now take that and multiply it by at least, oh, say 1000. That’s what Dubai airport is like. At frikken 3am. It’s literally difficult to walk – there are just so many people. Plus I’m hearing languages I’ve never even heard in my life. I’m relieved to catch a snatch of Afrikaans. And there’s Burger King! I haven’t seen on of those in 11 years. And there’s a Starbucks! I giggle and think of Rob, The Killers’ drum tech and lover of Starbucks lattes. I should tweet him. I wonder if there’s free wi-fi here? That would become my standard question for the next 18 days, and luckily the answer was usually ‘yes’. I believe that Dubai airport was where I first started to get fit – we walked for at least two kilometers to get to our boarding gate. Fine… maybe it was slightly less, but it was 3am, OK?! People-watching at the boarding gate must have been the most interesting experience of my trip up to then. There were those who were unmistakably students, passed out fast asleep on and under chairs, there were business men on their laptops, and there was the guy covered in a blanket, who was laying so still that we assumed he was a piece of luggage until someone who may have been his girlfriend kicked him and he moved.

When we boarded, the sun had come up, and the temperature had probably risen again, but by this time I was so excited that it could have been snowing pink glitter and I probably wouldn’t have even noticed. Get. Me. To. England. Now. Thanks.

On this flight, I occupied myself by watching a seemingly endless stream of episodes of Downton Abbey, until the English Channel was visible beneath me, and I could see tiny white things which may have been windmills in the water, and we were coming in towards the coast and I had to listen to The Killers, because I was doing this for them, and then we were over England and I was listening to Smile Like You Mean It, and my heart rate was accelerating, and we were finally almost there! And then we were flying over the country side and the little farms below all looked so adorable and it was like a green patchwork quilt below me (but I didn’t see any towns, they all looked like tiny villages, what was up with that?) and then the pilot’s saying we’re about to land, but why the hell haven’t I seen the Tower of London or Buckingham Palace or the Olympic Stadium below me yet? Just when I’m starting to wonder if Gatwick airport is out on someone’s farm – or if the United Kingdom is some giant hoax and I’m really back home in KZN – a runway appears and we land quickly. That’s it then. I’ve just touched down in London Town. 

How I Became A Fangirl, Part Three: Pure Love

Over the past year and a half, I’ve become completely embedded in The Killers’ fan community: The Victims. I’ve gotten to know amazing people that share my interests. I’ve sat up late at night, or woken up early in the morning to live stream a performance, I’ve listened to most UK radio stations through my computer to hear live sessions or interviews, I’ve posted on forums, I’ve experience the Countdown, I’ve been part of the spasm that takes place every time they tweet. It’s extremely heartwarming to think that four people that most Victims have never met can unite us just through their music. Just the thought that they are together somewhere in the world making music, is enough to make our days happy. When the fact that they’re playing anywhere in the world makes you happy, even if you can’t go, when just the smallest mention of them can bring a smile to an otherwise troubled face.  Being a true fan is not something you can achieve by buying a band’s CD, going to a concert, or reading their Wikipedia page. Being a true fan is a constant devotion to the band you love, it involves, time, effort and an undying interest and commitment. Being a fan of The Killers doesn’t mean you know the names of the band members, or the titles of the band’s albums! To me, being a true fan is knowing that “BF”, “BFlow” and “Beef” all refer to the same person, knowing why 621 is significant, knowing why Mark At The Airport jokes are funny, knowing that Ronnie is Unstoppable or knowing what Godfrey is. If you’re a fan, you know who Handsome Rob is, and you’ve checked out his new band. You know that Ray is the new Ted, you know who Jeremy Bates is, and you’d recognize Tommy Marth a mile away. All that aside, being a fan is about loving the band: people may ask how you can love people you don’t know…I can’t explain it, but I can say with 100% certainty that what the Victims feel for Brandon, Mark, Dave and Ronnie is nothing if not love. If I ever got to meet them and could only say one thing, I wouldn’t tell them that I love their music, that they’re beautiful, or that they’re my inspiration. I’d tell them to never stop doing what they’re doing, because by doing it, they’ve brought happiness to the lives of so many people that may otherwise not have had it. To people who may have been sad, they’ve brought a smile; to those who were lost, they’ve brought direction; to those who were too shy, they’ve given a voice; and to those who were too scared to be themselves, they’ve given courage. When you consider that all of this is possible simply through music, it is impossible to deny its power.  So, when you need a release from your troublesome mind, when you need to believe that everything will be alright, when you feel as though you’re losing touch, for reasons unknown, and when you close my eyes and see the place where you used to live, join me in smiling like you mean it, because, my dear Favourite Band In The World, I don’t shine if you don’t shine. 

Signs You Might Be A Fangirl (part ii)

• You know in-jokes related to your favourite band: A true fangirl is so deeply embedded in fan-culture that they are able to share a unique sense of humour with other fans. For example, if you're a Coldplayer, you'll know all about the LOLdplay movement, which now centers on Jonny Buckland's fan-made obsession with cake. If you're a Victim, you're likely to snort with laughter when Mark Stoermer tweets about being at the airport. My status: both of the examples, was well as countless others, apply to me.

• You've joined a forum related to your favourite band: This doesn't have to be an official fanclub, just somewhere where you can discuss all the latest news about your favourite band, find pictures, post articles, and just generally chat to other fans. Bonus points if you find yourself the admin or moderator of a forum, or if you've started a street team. My status: My fangirling status seems to be re-enforced by every single point I make...

• You have a username related to your favourite band: While omgmarrymechrismartin4815162342@whatevermail.com is quite unlikely, it is perfectly acceptable to use a reference to a song or a lyric as your username on sites such as twitter. It's also a great way to let other fans know instantly that you're one of them. My status: I'm a standard "Fairycat101" everyone on the internet, and for the information of my dear friends, my facebook password it not "brandonflowers".

• You can relate literally everything back to your favourite band, and I mean everything! A whole array of every day items could be a trigger for a serious fangirl spasm, you are likely to smirk or snort with laughter, and anyone around you is likely to cast an odd look in your direction. If seeing a clock will remind you of the Coldplay song, or when you're unable to glimpse a picture of a flamingo without lapsing into a fit of giggles because you're thinking of your favourite man's debut solo album, you know you've got it bad. My status: guilty as charged!

• You bring your favourite band's lyrics into everyday conversation. When you refer to travelling to any location in a roughly southerly direction as "going back down south now”¹ when you talk about someone who has left the room as being "long gone and moved on”^2, or you jump at the chance to squeal "dark clouds roll their way over  town!!!!”³every time you see bad weather approaching, you're probably a fangirl. Be warned, once again, anyone in the vicinity is likely to think that you're losing touch⁴... ah man, I just did it again! My status: I can no longer say the word "waterfall", it's now "wa-a-a-a-aterfall”⁵

1: Kings Of Leon- Back Down South. 2: The Script- Long Gone and Moved On. 3: Brandon Flowers- Crossfire. 4: The Killers- Losing Touch. 5: Coldplay- Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall

How I Became A Fangirl, Part Two: Concert

Finally, the time for our trip arrives

5 December 2009:

4am: we leave Grahamstown. I’ve never been so cold in my entire life, I’m literally shaking. Some of it may be from the excitement that’s finally kicked in though.

7pm: we arrive in Paarl. It must have been that 3.5 hour stop at the Cango Caves that made us take so long to get here. It’s still light though, and we manage to locate a McDonalds before getting lost trying to find our accommodation: Berg River Resort.

6 December 2009:

8.30am:  we leave our room and proceed up the driveway of Berg River Resort. Looking back, we see what looks like the back of a stage in the distance. Yes, we’re staying on the property adjacent to where the concert is taking place.

9am: we arrive at the venue to make sure we know how to find it. We see the stage from behind, it’s a large grey structure, covered in case of rain, which is likely. We’re told that people will start arriving to queue from 10am, but most won’t arrive till about 4pm, when the gates open. The concert is due to start at 8pm. We leave, but don’t go back to our accommodation: I don’t want to be able to hear the soundcheck.

10am: we eat a large breakfast in town. I’m not to know that I won’t eat again till lunchtime the next day. Everyone is talking about The Killers, the excitement in the town is tangible.  After breakfast we head up the mountain to Paarl Rock and the Afrikaans Taal Monument. In other words, we’re searching for high ground from which to better survey the polo field on which the concert is taking place. Our efforts are rewarded, we can see the entire field from here, photo’s are taken, and creeped thoroughly.  I’m not sure how we spend the rest of the day, but soon it’s time to get ready.

2pm: I straighten my hair, get dressed, and off we go. We pass a sign saying “Big Concerts Killers Concert”. I squeal a little bit inside.

3pm: we arrive at the venue, park, and approach the field, where a small line of people has already begun to form, snaking down a hill from the field. After a while, I walk up the hill to see how long the line really is: it’s gone around the field twice already. Oh.

4.30pm: the gates open. We make haste and manage to get the third row behind the barrier of general standing, slightly to the right but still relatively central. It’s not ideal, ideal would e barrier of golden circle, but it’s good enough. It’s 34^oC, the sun is baking down upon us, the lines for the portable toilets and for food are ridiculous, and anyway, I’m too scared to leave my place for fear of not getting it back. We eavesdrop on people around us, it’s really quite fun. But I’m frustrated, I just want to see the band! I am reduced to posting status on facebook abut where I am. No one comments on them.

8pm: the stage lights come on, even though the sun is only just beginning to set. The atmosphere becomes almost tense, every stands up and moves forward. The opening act eventually come on, play five songs, and then leave after the lead singer declares “you’re not here to see us” in a not-quite-joking tone.

8.30pm: I’m tired. Everyone is standing, but I need to conserve energy so I sit down right where I am. People around me start doing the same.

The background during "A Dustland Fairytale". I was screaming and jumping and dying, but somehow this one came out alright.

9pm: Eventually a countdown comes on the big screens which flank the stage, and we begin to hear music. I stand up. The crowd starts screaming. The first strains of “Human” can suddenly be heard, as The Killers make their way onto the stage. The crowd goes absolutely wild! Brandon starts singing, and suddenly nothing else matters. It’s perfect. Everything about their performance is perfect, polished, and professional. I scream my lungs out, jump up and down, sing and squeal for two hours straight. “Spaceman” has everyone jumping, and “A Dustland Fairytale” is likely to have reduced many in the audience to tears. After this song, I’m happy, it’s all I wanted to hear. Filled with so much beauty and emotion that it’s difficult to even describe. Brandon’s voice is flawless, and he runs around the stage with boundless energy. Even better than that, though, he’s smiling throughout the entire concert”. It’s beautiful. I hate to be one of those people who describes an event as ’life-changing’ but this one certainly was. I will never, ever, in my entire life get over that night, and there are just not enough words in the dictionary to describe what this band means to me.

How I Became A Fangirl, Part One: Discovery.

Read the whole post before you think I'm insulting my favourite band ;)

In 2005, I was 14, and into all sorts of music. Everything from Maroon 5 to Matchbox 20, Nickleback to Natasha Beddingfield, Will.I.Am to Westlife (well, maybe not Will.I.Am so much, but you get the picture).  One band I certainly was not into was The Killers. I mean seriously now, who calls their band ‘The Killers’? Surely they were a bunch of no-good axe-murderer types who went around killing people in their spare time. Thus, I was quick to press “skip track” every time their song “All These Things That I’ve Done” popped up on a compilation CD I owned. Anyway, what a name for a song…guilty much?

Fast forward to 2008. A song called “Human” is racing its way up the charts and causing a storm on the internet, where no one can figure out if the lyrics are “denser” or “dancer”. But the song is by these ‘Killers’ people, and I’m weary. I can’t avoid it forever though, the radio has an obsession with it, and soon I find myself singing along merrily. It’s a good song, I can’t deny that, and the lead singer- someone called Flowers- has a pleasant voice. I’ve heard that he wears eyeliner though, and that’s not acceptable. A couple of months later I hear a song called “Spaceman”. Opening with a bunch of “oh oh oh oh oh oh oh”’s and then marching straight into a verse that begins “it started with a low light/ next thing I knew the ripped me from my bed/ and then they took my blood-type”, the Flowers man’s voice is instantly recognizable. But this song is fantastic! Strange, but fantastic! I like it enough to get past my original doubts about this band, and start to listen to some of their older songs. “Somebody Told Me” is quite a winner, as, in fact, is “All These Things That I’ve Done”. In June of 2009, I acquire The Killers’ latest album offering, Day & Age. It takes just one listen of “A Dustland Fairytale”, and I know I’m hooked. These guys are going to be one of my favourite bands in the entire world. Day & Age takes up permanent residence in my car CD player for the next few months.

At the end of August, my mother mentions to me that The Killers are going to tour South Africa at the end of the year. (This, of course, was in the days before I became a fangirl and started checking Big Concerts’ facebook page every two and a half minutes). As most bands do, however, they had only scheduled dates for Johannesburg and Cape Town. Both cities were at least an entire day’s drive from me. This was not ideal at all. On the surface, I resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t get to see them, and vowed that one day I would live in a real city, where bands actually played. But deep inside, I couldn’t shake the thought of Brandon Flowers in all his feathery glory, singing his heart out on stage…in front of me.

Thus I mapped out a complex and downright sneaky plan to head to Cape Town. I worked out everything, costs, mileage, accommodation, as well as a plot to stop halfway and furnish my new flat while we were at it. Everything was perfect. Now came the tiny little issue of convincing my mother to undertake a two day drive to see a concert with me. It was easier than I had expected, and soon we were off to buy tickets. After many stress-filled minutes, during which we were told that the concert was not on Computicket’s system, and then that Golden Circle was sold out, we managed to acquire two of the last few general admissions ticket. We booked our accommodation, which was no mean feat, most of Paarl was fully booked that weekend, and it’s official, we were going to see The Killers live!

The next few months seem to drag. In my mind, I can’t see past the 6^th of December. I’m not thinking of anything else but that night, and yet it still doesn’t feel real, I can’t even seem to be excited about it, I think I’m in shock.

Part two:  Concert, coming soon. 

The Script- 26 June 2011

Irish boybands have always been a favourite of mine. Even as I've gotten older and become a fan of, well, indie rock and roll, I've retained an attraction towards bands such as Westlife and The Script. Personally, I think The Script are fantastic, merging a kind of boyband pop with melodic indie rock to produce a unique and fascinating sound. When they first burst onto the scene in 2008, I was captivated by them, especially with the songs "The Man Who Can't Be Moved" and "Talk You Down", and thus when Big Concerts announced that they would be touring South Africa in June this year, I was first in line for tickets- well, technically it was my mom, but under my instructions.

June took forever to arrive, but finally the time came, and my mom and I made the epic trip to Cape Town, taking a total of 3 days to get there. From previous experience with the venue, I was under the impression that we would not be allowed to form a queue until around 5pm. I was determined to get a spot at the barrier, and was planning to arrive at the arena just before 5pm. At 12pm, I did what I do best and went creeping at the door where I would need to queue later. To my absolute horror, I found a group of about 10 people already seated there...they were queuing! Cue (excuse the pun) a very fast lunch and a hasty changing of clothes and straightening of hair, so that by 1.30pm I was on my way to join the group of fans that I referred to in my head as 'The A-Team'. Sadly, my attempts to determine the location of the band by analysing their twitpics proved fruitless. We sat in the queue for about 5 hours before the doors opened, but the time went surprisingly fast. I struck up conversations with everyone around me...these people were all just like me. They didn't think that I was odd for queuing so early, for travelling so far, for knowing all the lyrics or for checking twitter every few minutes to see if the band had said anything new. To these people, I was normal, I was one of them.

Eventually, the gates opened, and I managed to obtain a barrier spot in front of where guitarist Mark Sheehan would later stand. It was now 7pm and the opening act, The Arrows were due to start at 8pm. This hour was the one that went the slowest, but I killed time by chatting to the girl next to me: she had been at the same Daughtry and The Killers concerts as me, and when Viva La Vida started blasting over the sound system, we turned to each other squealing "are you going to Coldplay?!". An official-looking man carrying a video camera also shoved a microphone in my face and asked me why I liked The Script. My response? "Because they're Irish.."

Finally the opening act began, they seemed as excited as the audience were, and successfully got us even more hyped up for the headliners. The Arrows performed just enough songs to entertain the crowd, yet not so many as to become boring. The drummer later stood next to me during the main act, and grinned hugely at me, as though she knew I was from the same part of the country as her or something...or maybe she just liked the pink streak in my hair.

A half an hour break, and then the lights dimmed...we could hear music starting somewhere on the stage, spotlights, screams, claps, and then Mark burst onto the stage, passionately plucking the strings of his guitar, and grinning like the happiest man on earth. The crowd went wild. Frontman Danny O'Donoghue entered the stage to thunderous applause and screams from every girl in the room. "I've been kicked right down, I've been spat in the face..." I sighed mentally, my guess for the opening song had been wrong! But it was beautiful, everything about the performance was fantastic. During "If You Ever Come Back" Danny made his way to our side of the stage, looked me directly in the eye and crooned "I wish you could still give me the cold shoulder, and I wish you could still give me a hard time..." Okay, he looked a lot of people directly in the eye, but still. I gripped the barrier tight, my legs shaking slightly, although this may have been a combination of adrenaline, low blood sugar, and the fact that I was standing right below the air conditioner. When I heard faint "ooooh, oooh oooh oooh"'s, I just knew that they were about to perform my favourite song of their's: Science & Faith. I screamed, squealed, and jumped up and down, it was perfect, better than I'd ever imagined it could be. A slow, almost acoustic version of "I'm Yours" probably reduced many in the audience to tears, and and appreciative laugh was induced when Mark talked about Danny's drunk-dialing problem which led to the song "Nothing". At one point, Danny ran onto stage draped in a giant South African flag, in response to which the audience, well, screamed some more. "The Man Who Can't Be Moved" was of course a big hit. Danny seemed to attempt the song and then give up and simply allow the audience to sing the first verse before re-starting the whole song. The response was phenomenal. After one encore, Danny, Mark and drummer Glen Power left the stage, and I assumed they were going to pull a Daughtry and not perform one of their biggest hits, namely "Breakeven". The audience was having none of this, however, and took up less of a chant, and more of a constant scream of "BREAKEVEN" until the boys came back onto the stage and began "I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing...", an amazing song to end off an amazing show. They had performed 17 songs, an impressive number for a band with only two albums under their belt.

Afterwards, I detached myself from the barrier with some difficulty, and attempted to make my way out of the venue, easier said than done. Ten thousand people trying to exit one door at the same time will always be difficult, and it was made worse by the fact that I could not exactly feel my legs. The rest of my body felt like death, all I wanted was my bed, but the Val de Vie-style* traffic jam of people made this impossible for almost 40 minutes. I got to my bed eventually, practically died on top of it, and was soon dreaming sweet dreams about marrying Danny (not really, but I'd have liked to).

Seeing The Script was a fantastic experience, their performance as well as their setlist was perfect, and as Mark tweeted later, the energy in the room was out of this world!

My next concert is only in October, in the meantime, bring on the post-concert depression.

(* the best way I can describe a huge traffic jam is by comparing it to the huge mess I encountered after seeing The Killers at Val de Vie wine estate. We sat in the car for four hours after the concert, attempting to exit the venue)

Signs You Might Be A Fangirl (part i)

This post is not intended to cause any form of offence to fangirls, I am proud to be one myself.

• You're friends with other fans. No, I don't mean that your bestie also digs your fave band, I mean that you've met people through a shared interest in a band. Whether you've met them over Facebook, Twitter, or at a concert, you've been united by the fact that you both adore certain music, and you actually consider some of them real friends. My status: I just went through Hard Rock Calling's photo's from The Killers' show on Friday night...I know half of the people at the barrier and I don't even live in England. Enough said.

• You join an official fan club. People declare their love for their favourite band in many different ways, but one of the best ways is to join a fanclub. You may have access to special benefits such as pre-sales or merchandise, and it's a great way to meet other fans. My Status: I paid actual money to become an official Victim, and it's totally worth it.

• You know every single song they've ever released. Many people may be able to recite the tracklist of their favourite band's album, but a true fangirl knows every word of every B-side, bonus track demo, EP track, cover or live version ever performed by the band of interest. Okay, hold on a second, if you're under the age of 50, give yourself a pat on the back for even knowing what a B-side or an EP is. My status: 'Who Let You Go', 'A Crippling Blow' and 'Shadowplay' are all very familiar to me. Done.

• You've had direct contact with someone related to the band. While I'm not saying you should be BFF's with the frontman, fangirls often have some kind of contact with a crew member, backing band member, or anyone else associated with their favourite band. Bonus points if your friend suggestions on Facebook have ever recommended your favourite rockstar's brother-in-law...My status: i'm friends with everyone from Rob Whited to Lindi Ortega on Facebook, and have been known to speak to them. As for the brother-in-law thing, been there, done that.

• You've discovered new bands through your favourite band. Be it side-projects, opening acts, or recommendations from band members, all fangirls are likely to discover new music that you wouldn't have otherwise known, because of the band you love. My status: Neon Trees, Most Thieves and many others are great bands, that I would never have discovered if they hadn't been associated with The Killers in some way or another.