... Shop, and explore a brand new part of London! Of course the town is far too big to cover in one trip, and although half of me feels like I've returned to my long-lost home, the other half feels like I'm in some kind of alien city.
You discerning individuals should be aware that Westminster Abbey and Westminster Cathedral are two different places, and we stumble upon the latter on our first excursion. With aching feet we sit down inside to 'admire the architecture', when in fact we're just trying to rest our broken bodies. Oh but yeah, the architecture is great too, thumbs up. Continuing on, we find our first M&S, where I get myself one of those flawless lemonades (I'm not actually entirely sure that I did get a lemonade at this point, but I know that I had intended to. What I do remember is getting a packet of salt & vinegar chips and being really confused because the packet was green and that's sour cream & onion colour). Photographic evidence suggests that it was cloudy with a chance of showers, and that I soon located some red phone boxes to Instagram.
The hotel, perhaps, deserves its own review entirely. Yes, there was wi-fi (even though I had to pay 5 Pounds for it); yes, breakfast was included (two slices of toast each served but a young Hungarian girl who may or may not have been a slave stolen from her motherland); yes, it was perfectly comfortable; but the one thing that got to me was the bathroom set-up: seems the designer had some irrational fear of shower curtains. The bathroom is a tiny box - walls and floor all tiled in brown - consisting of a toilet, basin and shower head. Yeah, that's right, just a shower head, chilling there opposite the loo. I raise a concerned eyebrow, and suggest that we check if the Premier Inn down the road has any availability. They don't.
At my current level of exhaustion, the furthest thing in the world from my mind is checking out the London nightlife scene, but at least the hotel room has a TV (and a kettle), which keeps showing re-runs of How I Met Your Mother, and a summer advert of sorts featuring Icona Pop's 'I Don't Care'. It's a pleasant way to fall asleep. And even if it wasn't, it wouldn't matter - because I'm in England.
Now, as much as I'd love to say that the next day dawned bright and sunny, it did not. The cloudy skies continued to threaten rain, and a biting wind caught us as we made out way to the nearest tube station (which, as it turns out, was not Victoria at all, but Pimlico). First stop is - of course - Camden. Ah yes, I want to drink their Starbucks, and wander around their markets, and just take in the general awesomeness. One step out of the station and a thrill runs through me - this is my place! This is where I belong, yo! It's a hot chocolate from Starbucks for me (and free wifi, yay), before we make our way through the markets, where I try my hand at bargaining with the vendors. Turns out I'm pretty good, I manage to get a 10 Pound jersey for 8, which is cheap even if I consider the exchange rate! Camden is just as wonderful as I had remembered, and at least this time I didn't feel the need to spend an hour looking for Coldplay's studio as I had last year - oh no, this time I was in search of Chris Martin's very neighbourhood. The internet tells me that the Martin-Paltrow's live in Belsize, which it then goes on to tell me is near Primrose Hill - a mere walk from Camden. Ha!
All creeping aside though, walking up Primrose Hill (which is barely an incline, let alone a hill) will give you the most stunning view of London, and you're sure to have quite an adventure trying to figure out just how each attraction relates to the next geographically. One minute you could swear your hotel is on that side of town, but at the same time you're positive it's somewhere near Big Ben, which is quite clearly on the other side of town. Hmm.
Back in Camden, we're ready to run for food at the nearest Micky Dee's, but luckily it doesn't come to that: Camden's bursting with Real English Pubs that serve Real English Food, and pie chips and gravy are the way to go. I try to avoid starring at the Amy Winehouse look-alike in the corner... Amy was from Camden after all, maybe her ghost haunts the local pub? Or maybe it's a distant relation of her's. Or maybe it's not.
We head off to the Tower of London in the afternoon, but find that the last tour has left about 3 minutes before - yeah, that's what we get for not checking the times online beforehand! So instead we head off to Baker Street and Abbey Road. The Rock n Roll Memorabilia shop on Baker Street was basically where my bank balance went to die (who doesn't need a set of Coldplay coasters, right?), and the Beatles store right across the road was a treat too. By now it's almost 6.30pm, but luckily the sun stays out until around 9pm during summer, so we take a stroll around the upper class Maida Vale/Abbey Road area. Besides the famous Abbey Road crossing, I have my heart set on finding a sign that says 'Violet Hill', like the Coldplay song - and anyone who knows me knows that once I get an idea in my head, I won't stop until I've completed it.
Turns out the Abbey Road pedestrian crossing is pretty easy to find: besides being on Abbey Road, right outside the studio, it's the only pedestrian crossing that groups of tourists are striding across in groups of four, much to the disgrace of the locals attempting to use the road to, you know, drive on. It takes a while, but eventually we have the money shot, and continue on our merry way through the suburbs. If you've ever thought that you couldn't live in London because it's a bit crowded, or run down or gross, think again: you could certainly live here. Oh no, wait, you wouldn't be able to afford to unless you had a farm of kidneys to sell whenever you needed to pay the rent. But anyway, I was on a mission to find Violet Hill, and I found it alright! It's a tiny road next to a park, and as I posed for a photo with the sign, the rain started - just a drizzle at first, and then picking up to a level where we needed to whip out that disgustingly cliche Union Flag umbrella we'd bought at some tourist shop (probably in Camden). We hit the bus and then the tube back, but before returning to the hotel, I had one more mission: find the TARDIS.
Yes, yes, I know I'm a geek, but what kind of Doctor Who fan would I be if I didn't try to find the real life TARDIS near the entrance to Earle's Court tube station? Whilst I'm pretty confident in my internet-creeping skills, I will admit that I did have my doubts, sloshing through the rain at 8.30pm on a Wednesday night, looking for a giant blue box. But HA! I found it! And a couple of photos later (and a quick stop at M&S to find dinner - of course I forgot to get a plastic fork, and was left eating my pasta salad with a teaspoon) and I'm satisfied that we can go back to our hotel and pass out.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
London 2013 Part 1: Are We There Yet?
Are we there yet? Apparently not. Apparently we haven't even boarded the plane yet. Sigh. How unfortunate it is that no one's invented teleportation yet - if there's one thing I could do without it's a 20 hour flight. But one does need to make certain sacrifices for the great good, and if there ever was a greater good, it's this trip to London.
London. Ever since I'd returned from my first UK adventure last August, I'd thought of nothing but going back. So let me thank my favourite band for announcing their Wembley headline show for June 2013, and giving me the perfect excuse to plan another trip! On some levels I couldn't even begin to comprehend going back - yes, it's exciting the first time you visit a new country, but for me knowing what I was in store for had me all the more excited!
And so day finally arrived: a cold and wet Cape Town morning saw us on the shuttle to the airport around 9am, for the flight which was to depart for Dubai at 1pm. Thankfully unlike last year, we were not 8 hours early, so were able to drop our bags off immediately (weighing 11.5kg and 14kg at the time - this was soon to change), but entertaining oneself in an airport for even three hours is a bit of a stretch.
After dragging Wimpy breakfast out for as long as possible, and a quick look around the airport shops, we find the boarding gate, and I begin Instagramming the most cliche of things (including my boarding pass and what I assume is our plane) because you know what? I'm going on holiday, and the whole world had better know about it! Emirates does always make for a comfortable, decent flight, but the issue here is that we're flying partly during the day and partly through the night, meaning we're sure to arrive in London without having slept in approximately 24 hours. Sigh. I get halfway through Les Mis before the food arrives and I decide that I need something involving slightly less brainwork so that I can try to nap after lunch/supper/whatever meal this is that has broken free of the constraints of time. Cue re-watching episodes of The Big Bang Theory and some Modern Family that I'm pretty sure I watched on last year's flight.
Upon landing in Dubai circa 10pm (only 29 degrees outside at the moment), we have exactly 40 minutes to get to our boarding gate. Now, whilst this may sound like a long time, have you ever been to Dubai airport? Have you had to remove half your clothes for security checks (I exaggerate only slightly), and then dash to what will most definitely be the very furthest boarding gate? No? Well it can take far more than 40 minutes. Mad dash ensues. Of course we make it, with about 15 minutes to spare, and join the group of exhausted-looking travellers attempting to control screaming five-year-olds, beg their phones to connect to the wi-fi, and generally keep themselves awake.
I'm not sure whether or not I ever actually fell asleep on the flight to England, but it seemed to drag on for even longer than its 7 hours. Longest. Flight. Ever. But it's all worth it when I see those familiar green fields and I know that we're coming in to land. Ah, Gatwick Airport. I'm finally here - back in my Sam's Town. It's around 7.30am on Tuesday morning, and my first order of business is a simple one: find the NME. With that done, I accept the fact that, despite my generally dislike of coffee, I need someone to inject caffeine into my veins before I simply keel over and die of exhaustion. Unfortunately there's no Starbucks at the airport, so I accept a Costa latte with a grimace - it will have to do. We've decided to do things a little differently this time - instead of a hire care, we'll be completely reliant on public transport, which could either work out a lot cheaper, or be a complete disaster. The best way to get from the airport to town is on the Gatwick Express (the bus is a lot cheaper, but even the lady at the bus kiosk said we should take the train instead), and it's bustling with people even at this early hour. So much so, in fact, that we don't manage to get seats, but rather stand next to our luggage for the duration of the 30 minute ride, whilst attempting to not spill aforementioned Costa latte.
Our hotel is - in theory - a five minute walk from Victoria Station, but in which direction is anybody's guess. North, East, South and West are helpful concepts only when one is possessed of a compass, which currently I was not (or so I thought). It also does not help that most of the maps in London are, for some unfathomable reason, upside down. In retrospect, pulling 11.5kg of luggage and carrying a 2.5kg backpack seems like kind of a joke (you'll understand later), at the time it was kind of a big deal. Also not forgetting the fact that we'd been travelling for 20 hours by now. The hotel, as it transpires, is really only about 8 minutes from the station, but seeing it's not even 9am (check in is at 2pm), the best we can do is drop our bags off and hit the road again.
So, what does one do on one's first day back in London, after 20 hours' worth of traveling? Why, one shops, of course!
London. Ever since I'd returned from my first UK adventure last August, I'd thought of nothing but going back. So let me thank my favourite band for announcing their Wembley headline show for June 2013, and giving me the perfect excuse to plan another trip! On some levels I couldn't even begin to comprehend going back - yes, it's exciting the first time you visit a new country, but for me knowing what I was in store for had me all the more excited!
And so day finally arrived: a cold and wet Cape Town morning saw us on the shuttle to the airport around 9am, for the flight which was to depart for Dubai at 1pm. Thankfully unlike last year, we were not 8 hours early, so were able to drop our bags off immediately (weighing 11.5kg and 14kg at the time - this was soon to change), but entertaining oneself in an airport for even three hours is a bit of a stretch.
After dragging Wimpy breakfast out for as long as possible, and a quick look around the airport shops, we find the boarding gate, and I begin Instagramming the most cliche of things (including my boarding pass and what I assume is our plane) because you know what? I'm going on holiday, and the whole world had better know about it! Emirates does always make for a comfortable, decent flight, but the issue here is that we're flying partly during the day and partly through the night, meaning we're sure to arrive in London without having slept in approximately 24 hours. Sigh. I get halfway through Les Mis before the food arrives and I decide that I need something involving slightly less brainwork so that I can try to nap after lunch/supper/whatever meal this is that has broken free of the constraints of time. Cue re-watching episodes of The Big Bang Theory and some Modern Family that I'm pretty sure I watched on last year's flight.
Upon landing in Dubai circa 10pm (only 29 degrees outside at the moment), we have exactly 40 minutes to get to our boarding gate. Now, whilst this may sound like a long time, have you ever been to Dubai airport? Have you had to remove half your clothes for security checks (I exaggerate only slightly), and then dash to what will most definitely be the very furthest boarding gate? No? Well it can take far more than 40 minutes. Mad dash ensues. Of course we make it, with about 15 minutes to spare, and join the group of exhausted-looking travellers attempting to control screaming five-year-olds, beg their phones to connect to the wi-fi, and generally keep themselves awake.
I'm not sure whether or not I ever actually fell asleep on the flight to England, but it seemed to drag on for even longer than its 7 hours. Longest. Flight. Ever. But it's all worth it when I see those familiar green fields and I know that we're coming in to land. Ah, Gatwick Airport. I'm finally here - back in my Sam's Town. It's around 7.30am on Tuesday morning, and my first order of business is a simple one: find the NME. With that done, I accept the fact that, despite my generally dislike of coffee, I need someone to inject caffeine into my veins before I simply keel over and die of exhaustion. Unfortunately there's no Starbucks at the airport, so I accept a Costa latte with a grimace - it will have to do. We've decided to do things a little differently this time - instead of a hire care, we'll be completely reliant on public transport, which could either work out a lot cheaper, or be a complete disaster. The best way to get from the airport to town is on the Gatwick Express (the bus is a lot cheaper, but even the lady at the bus kiosk said we should take the train instead), and it's bustling with people even at this early hour. So much so, in fact, that we don't manage to get seats, but rather stand next to our luggage for the duration of the 30 minute ride, whilst attempting to not spill aforementioned Costa latte.
Our hotel is - in theory - a five minute walk from Victoria Station, but in which direction is anybody's guess. North, East, South and West are helpful concepts only when one is possessed of a compass, which currently I was not (or so I thought). It also does not help that most of the maps in London are, for some unfathomable reason, upside down. In retrospect, pulling 11.5kg of luggage and carrying a 2.5kg backpack seems like kind of a joke (you'll understand later), at the time it was kind of a big deal. Also not forgetting the fact that we'd been travelling for 20 hours by now. The hotel, as it transpires, is really only about 8 minutes from the station, but seeing it's not even 9am (check in is at 2pm), the best we can do is drop our bags off and hit the road again.
So, what does one do on one's first day back in London, after 20 hours' worth of traveling? Why, one shops, of course!
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Climbing Those Stairs to Wembley
How do you summarize the day your entire life has been leading up to? I'm not even being that dramatic... everytime I see my favourite band live I feel like my whole life has led up to that moment when they walk on stage. Ever since that fateful Cape Town evening in 2009, my life had been a constant wait for the next time I would see them. I waited almost three years for the Leeds and V Fest show, and then commenced another wait. I never thought said wait would in fact turn out to be only ten months. Roll on Wembley...
Of course we hit London two weeks early - just in case there was a volcanic eruption/giant meteorite/new ice age or baggage handler's strike - so Wembley seemed like it was still very, very far away. It wasn't til the rest of the Victims began to descend upon the town the day before, that it started to feel real. Brandon was on the cover of the NME, I had my Victims t-shirt and Battle Born flag ready, and I was rearing to go. Is it time to queue yet? But of course it wasn't. Time seemed to pass slower and slower as the day progressed. A welcome distraction was going to meet Victim friend and now real life friend Amii off her coach at Victoria station as I was staying nearby... cue hugging and squealing - we're going to see The Killers!
Last year I'd managed second row at the Leeds warm-up by queueing from 10am, but now I was divided: on one hand, barrier at Wembley was much bigger - so I had a better chance - but conversely, there were roughly 70 000 more people at Wembley. So what time to queue? I'd thought around 9am, but began to think that earlier was better as I spoke to more and more Victims. I finally decided on waking up at 6am, dressing and hurrying down to Victoria station to catch the Victoria line to Green Park and then Jubilee to Wembley Park - I was getting SO good at this whole London Underground thing!
10pm the night before saw me still on Twitter joining in the mass freakout, and unable to sleep, no matter how many times I told myself that a good night's sleep is a must the night before a concert. It seemed that they had soundchecked 'The River Is Wild', which just happens to be my second favourite Killers song! Never having seen it live before, the very thought nearly reduced me to a shaking mess on the floor. But I refused to get my hopes up.
Being from SA, Saturday's chilly and somewhat drizzly weather required a coat, a hat, jeans and boots - and I was still cold! I missed my target of 7am by quite a long shot, still being on the train at 7.45am, but we made it to the stadium around 8am. We joined the queue at gates G/F as we were collecting tickets at the box office, but had been advised by Gigs & Tours that under the circumstances we would be allowed to use any gate (don't let me get started on what happened with this later - long story short they lied).
Aaaaand cue more squealing and hugging! Right near the front are Emma M, Sinead, Jess and Ryan (sporting raincoats after getting soaked through at Springsteen the week before - wish I'd done the same, I have nothing but a thin poncho which later became less useful than a plastic bag). And though you all told me it wasn't that cold, I could see on your faces that you were just as freezing as I was! (The duvet you were snuggling under was a giveaway too. As was the tent.)
So we join Amii in queue but by now it's most definitely breakfast time. My whole not-eating-on-concert-days thing is definitely a problem that I need to get over - force-feeding yourself because you're too excited to eat is far from ideal. I feel like I might be able to shove down a bacon roll though, and McDonald's isn't too far away, so we make the first trip of the day, stopping along the way at some sort of supermarket to look for a blanket/towel to sit on when that impending rain finally begins. We end up with a large, collapsed cardboard box - ah well, it's something.
Besides one concerned old lady's strange look (she either thought I was homeless or a protester, carrying a massive box), we manage to make it back unscathed - well, except for a large tomato sauce stain on my clean black jeans and half my cup of tea dripping down my arm.
Re-united with Amii & Shantell and Aaron in the queue, miss Neon Captain decides it's time for some queue videos ie: time for me to pose like a fool thinking she's taking a photo, only to watch the video and see myself going "Why aren't you taking a photo... OH are you videoing me?!" Hilarity ensues upon that large cardboard box where we are all trying to stay warm amongst a debris of umbrellas, plastic bags, and assorted flags (minus Aaron's Nevada flag, which has been tragically lost somewhere along the way). I also manage to drop 90 Pounds on merch including a hoodie, special Wembley T-shirt and absolutely stunning tour programme.
The queue starts to build up, and before long there are even more familiar faces milling around including Emma B (I love your accent, even though you don't!), Emma P (one day we really will meet Brian Fallon together, I promise), Ben (all the way from Miami), Leah, James, Andrea and even none other than Torey.
"Someone's taking photos....d'you think it's Torey?"
"It's Torey!"
Oh, hi, official band photographer. Amii and I pose in our matching Battle Born hoodies, but I decide that I need one with my SA flag too.
"Torey!" I say, jumping up and praying that he doesn't wonder how the hell I know his name. "D'you want to take a pic... flags... yeah great, thanks! Have a good day!" And I sit back down, having officially met yet another one of those people on that DVD that I've watched far too many times.
This is when the whispers start... whispers... whispers of... another DVD. Could it be? We're almost certain that we've heard it wasn't going to be recorded, but now Pulse films are tweeting, and the stadium isn't denying anything, plus there's a guy with a video camera trailing Torey and word from the other gates is saying that people have been interviewed. Is it really possible then? Could we all somehow feature on a DVD of our favourite band?
As gate time inches ever closer, we make a deal: there's Mark's side barrier or there's nothing. There can be no compromise. I'm shaking with adrenaline by the time the security guards start shepherding us forward like little sheep in a flock. Due to general chaos, it's quite possible to have been right near the front of the line and have 200 people get in before you....
My heart's in my chest and the security is being very strict about everyone staying calm and walking slowly - in retrospect I can see why they didn't laugh at my "I'm from Africa, this is how I walk!" comment a few minutes later. But we've finally being let in and everything is a blur - just make sure you're heading in the right direction; I don't care that I can have my water bottle back, just keep the damned thing; no, I don't have any weapons; okay, yeah that's the entrance; where are we?; right at the back, now move it; yes, yes, I'm walking, I'm from Africa - this is how we walk. And then finally we're second row Mark's side, along with Amii, Natalie and Duncan. It's not barrier, but it's pretty darn close.
The stage is massive and it takes a while to actually take everything in: the Nevada state flag logo above the stage, the two massive lightning bolts on either side, large contraptions that are clearly confetti ('K'onfetti, perhaps?) cannons... oh, and the fact that we're in the second row for our favourite band's biggest headline show ever
It's not long to wait now... possibly two hours or so, and those two hours seem to drag even slower than the rest of the day, which somehow went quite quickly. There's not too much one can do to stave off boredom once inside the stadium, so after trying (unsuccessfully) to wave to Emma and James in the seats, Amii and I take to repeating "We're seeing The Killers... The actual Killers." every few minutes, just in case we'd forgotten.
But we hadn't. And by the time James came on, many of us were ready to ask them to kindly turn around and march back off because we wanted The Killers already! But us Victims are such a lovely bunch that we'd never have done anything of the sort. And so we watched politely as the singers danced and thrashed and convulsed upon the stage, backed up by a gnome-ish man on the drums (I credit Amii for re-naming them Gnome On The Drums), and gave them a cheerful round of applause after they played the one and only song I knew last.
Of course we couldn't get by with only one opening act, but at least next up was my second favourite band in the world: none other than The Gaslight Anthem. Brian's cheeky sense of humour came out early on when he asked the crowd "You're here to see The Killers? You like that? That 'Mr Brightside'? 'All These Things That I've Done'?" and then went ahead and giggled at himself before telling us that they're the best band from Vegas, and a good way to spend a Saturday night. If I wasn't in love with this New Jersey boy and his neck tattoo already, I sure was now. They played a standard short set including new songs 'Mullholland Drive' and 'Handwritten' and old hits like 'The '59 Sound', but unfortunately did not cave to Jess and I begging them on Twitter to play 'Even Cowgirls Get The Blues'. I have seen TGA four times now and am yet to see this song, fail.
Enter the likes of Rob, BLP, Matt Bruenig and the rest and we knew the time had almost come. Then there was the issue of the pesky little setlist that had been taped to a camera in front of us, and despite my best efforts to not look, I ended up seeing what the first two songs were. Wow, now that was sure to be something. Opening with 'Enterlude' and launching into 'When You Were Young' was not something I'd ever seen live before, but it was definitely set to blow the audience's minds. Whilst I maintained that the entire band should sit behind a curtain which should then be raised as they sang 'Enterlude', we knew it would consist of BF alone behind his piano, and we were not disappointed.
The thrill that runs through a crowd this size when the band is about to come out, is indescribable. I'm getting chills just thinking about it over a month later. The stadium was full, the atmosphere was charged, and we were more than ready to do Battle. And before we knew it, the Battle had begun...
"We hope you enjoy your stay, it's good to have you with us even if it's just for the day..." started off a grinning Brandon Flowers, before he was joined by the rest of his powerhouse of a band to screech off into 'When You Were Young' at high speed. The crowd was mad, our feet were off the floor, heads banging, fists pumping in time, and not a single word missed. These were the fans who had dedicated years to this band, and boy did they make us proud. By the time 'Spaceman' came around, the audience was on another planet, and our 'oh, oh's could have deafened half the population of London.
'The Way It Was' is the first of the new songs to show up, and even if the general population weren't sure of every lyric, the Victims sure made up for it - screaming along to every single beat just as enthusiastically as if it had been 'Mr Brightside'. A highlight of this song is certainly Ted's backing vocals towards the end, super cool live effect and very different to the CD version of the song.
Even though the show is just getting started, Brandon's excitement is visible in his face and his actions. Jumping on top of whatever he can find, flashing that perfect smile so often that you begin to wonder how he's even managing to sing, and criss-crossing the stage like a maniac. Mark's getting into so much that I swear I see a little grin, and Ronnie's smashing the drums with such abandon that one begins to wonder if he's going to smash right through them. Unfortunately I have almost no view of Dave except when he takes to the spotlight for Brandon to lavish praise upon his 'brother', David Brent Keuning.
"I'm going to give you just a little taste..." Brandon says, firing up his synth and the Bolt lights up in neon for the beginning of the infectious 'Smile Like You Mean It', a favourite of mine. By the time they really do start 'River', it's enough to send me over the edge, and if I possessed tear ducts, they would probably have been working around now.
Although I have nothing in particular against the Joy Division cover, 'Shadowplay', I do wish they'd cut it from the setlist and replace it with one of their own songs. In my humble opinion, if I wanted to see Joy Division I would buy a ticket to-- oh, bad description, but you know what I mean. I'd prefer 'This Is Your Life', 'Sam's Town', or indeed 'Sweet Talk'. Amii's in agreement about the last one, so we band together and scream 'PLAY SWEET TALK' before lapsing into giggles and proceeding to sing along to 'Shadowplay' all the same.
Although 'Here With Me' is enough to reduce almost everyone around me to tears, 'From Here On Out' offers some fun in the way of Brandon taking it in turns to ask each of his bandmates if they're ready to dance. "Mark Stoermer," he says, eyes shining, "Have you got your dancin' shoes on?" Mark's murderous expression is enough to let BF know that he certainly does not have his damned dancing shoes on, but Brandon giggles anyway. After a quick riff by Dave and a shouting drum solo by Mr Ronnie Unstopable Vannucci Jnr, they launch into the countrified song. Whether you're a fan of this polarising song or not, you get out those dancin' shoes and you danced.
Roll on my favourite song in the world 'A Dustland Fairytale' (the song I credit with changing the entire course of my life, but I won't get into that), and I'm barely able to sing, but rather stand with my hand over my heart, entirely at peace with the world for those four minutes. Utter bliss. What I don't know is that the biggest surprise of the night is about to jump out at me like a three-headed monster.
Wembley Song. That's what it's called and that's what it is: a special song written just to mark the joyous occasion that is The Killers playing Wembley Stadium. An ode to the stadium, a memorial to the artists who have played before, a trip down memory lane through the band's history, and a thank you. We are the only 73000 people who will ever hear this song live, and I'm honoured.
We seem to be heading towards the end now, and 'All These Things That I've Done' explodes in a shower of 'K' and lightning bolt-shaped confetti, which we all scramble to grab. And then Ronnie's throwing some drumsticks, and they're gone far too soon. But we know not to move a muscle. The crowd manages to sing a quick Happy Birthday to an impressed-looking BF before the encore erupts to life with 'Flesh and Bone', 'Jenny', 'Battle Born' (cue whipping out of a few hundred Nevada state flags) and finally Mr Brightside. By the end I'm lost in the crowd, not attempting to take photos or indeed to keep my feet upon the ground. It's been 24 songs, and we're still flying.
By the time the band leave for good, we're all covered in a mixture of sweat, tears, confetti and raindrops, and I for one wouldn't have it any other way. Quick goodbye hugs to everyone I can find (including Jess and Sinead who now have a Ronnie drumstick) and quick hello to Sarah a few rows behind me, and then we're off. It has been the most euphoric, unbelievable night of my entire life,shared with thousands of people all united for the same reason. And though I dashed across London just too slowly to make it into the secret show afterwards, I have no regrets. I'd change nothing, especially the amazing people who made queueing for 13 hours seem like something I'd quite like to do every weekend. Nothing can change this perfect night.
Of course we hit London two weeks early - just in case there was a volcanic eruption/giant meteorite/new ice age or baggage handler's strike - so Wembley seemed like it was still very, very far away. It wasn't til the rest of the Victims began to descend upon the town the day before, that it started to feel real. Brandon was on the cover of the NME, I had my Victims t-shirt and Battle Born flag ready, and I was rearing to go. Is it time to queue yet? But of course it wasn't. Time seemed to pass slower and slower as the day progressed. A welcome distraction was going to meet Victim friend and now real life friend Amii off her coach at Victoria station as I was staying nearby... cue hugging and squealing - we're going to see The Killers!
Last year I'd managed second row at the Leeds warm-up by queueing from 10am, but now I was divided: on one hand, barrier at Wembley was much bigger - so I had a better chance - but conversely, there were roughly 70 000 more people at Wembley. So what time to queue? I'd thought around 9am, but began to think that earlier was better as I spoke to more and more Victims. I finally decided on waking up at 6am, dressing and hurrying down to Victoria station to catch the Victoria line to Green Park and then Jubilee to Wembley Park - I was getting SO good at this whole London Underground thing!
10pm the night before saw me still on Twitter joining in the mass freakout, and unable to sleep, no matter how many times I told myself that a good night's sleep is a must the night before a concert. It seemed that they had soundchecked 'The River Is Wild', which just happens to be my second favourite Killers song! Never having seen it live before, the very thought nearly reduced me to a shaking mess on the floor. But I refused to get my hopes up.
Being from SA, Saturday's chilly and somewhat drizzly weather required a coat, a hat, jeans and boots - and I was still cold! I missed my target of 7am by quite a long shot, still being on the train at 7.45am, but we made it to the stadium around 8am. We joined the queue at gates G/F as we were collecting tickets at the box office, but had been advised by Gigs & Tours that under the circumstances we would be allowed to use any gate (don't let me get started on what happened with this later - long story short they lied).
Aaaaand cue more squealing and hugging! Right near the front are Emma M, Sinead, Jess and Ryan (sporting raincoats after getting soaked through at Springsteen the week before - wish I'd done the same, I have nothing but a thin poncho which later became less useful than a plastic bag). And though you all told me it wasn't that cold, I could see on your faces that you were just as freezing as I was! (The duvet you were snuggling under was a giveaway too. As was the tent.)
So we join Amii in queue but by now it's most definitely breakfast time. My whole not-eating-on-concert-days thing is definitely a problem that I need to get over - force-feeding yourself because you're too excited to eat is far from ideal. I feel like I might be able to shove down a bacon roll though, and McDonald's isn't too far away, so we make the first trip of the day, stopping along the way at some sort of supermarket to look for a blanket/towel to sit on when that impending rain finally begins. We end up with a large, collapsed cardboard box - ah well, it's something.
Besides one concerned old lady's strange look (she either thought I was homeless or a protester, carrying a massive box), we manage to make it back unscathed - well, except for a large tomato sauce stain on my clean black jeans and half my cup of tea dripping down my arm.
Re-united with Amii & Shantell and Aaron in the queue, miss Neon Captain decides it's time for some queue videos ie: time for me to pose like a fool thinking she's taking a photo, only to watch the video and see myself going "Why aren't you taking a photo... OH are you videoing me?!" Hilarity ensues upon that large cardboard box where we are all trying to stay warm amongst a debris of umbrellas, plastic bags, and assorted flags (minus Aaron's Nevada flag, which has been tragically lost somewhere along the way). I also manage to drop 90 Pounds on merch including a hoodie, special Wembley T-shirt and absolutely stunning tour programme.
The queue starts to build up, and before long there are even more familiar faces milling around including Emma B (I love your accent, even though you don't!), Emma P (one day we really will meet Brian Fallon together, I promise), Ben (all the way from Miami), Leah, James, Andrea and even none other than Torey.
"Someone's taking photos....d'you think it's Torey?"
"It's Torey!"
Oh, hi, official band photographer. Amii and I pose in our matching Battle Born hoodies, but I decide that I need one with my SA flag too.
"Torey!" I say, jumping up and praying that he doesn't wonder how the hell I know his name. "D'you want to take a pic... flags... yeah great, thanks! Have a good day!" And I sit back down, having officially met yet another one of those people on that DVD that I've watched far too many times.
This is when the whispers start... whispers... whispers of... another DVD. Could it be? We're almost certain that we've heard it wasn't going to be recorded, but now Pulse films are tweeting, and the stadium isn't denying anything, plus there's a guy with a video camera trailing Torey and word from the other gates is saying that people have been interviewed. Is it really possible then? Could we all somehow feature on a DVD of our favourite band?
As gate time inches ever closer, we make a deal: there's Mark's side barrier or there's nothing. There can be no compromise. I'm shaking with adrenaline by the time the security guards start shepherding us forward like little sheep in a flock. Due to general chaos, it's quite possible to have been right near the front of the line and have 200 people get in before you....
My heart's in my chest and the security is being very strict about everyone staying calm and walking slowly - in retrospect I can see why they didn't laugh at my "I'm from Africa, this is how I walk!" comment a few minutes later. But we've finally being let in and everything is a blur - just make sure you're heading in the right direction; I don't care that I can have my water bottle back, just keep the damned thing; no, I don't have any weapons; okay, yeah that's the entrance; where are we?; right at the back, now move it; yes, yes, I'm walking, I'm from Africa - this is how we walk. And then finally we're second row Mark's side, along with Amii, Natalie and Duncan. It's not barrier, but it's pretty darn close.
The stage is massive and it takes a while to actually take everything in: the Nevada state flag logo above the stage, the two massive lightning bolts on either side, large contraptions that are clearly confetti ('K'onfetti, perhaps?) cannons... oh, and the fact that we're in the second row for our favourite band's biggest headline show ever
It's not long to wait now... possibly two hours or so, and those two hours seem to drag even slower than the rest of the day, which somehow went quite quickly. There's not too much one can do to stave off boredom once inside the stadium, so after trying (unsuccessfully) to wave to Emma and James in the seats, Amii and I take to repeating "We're seeing The Killers... The actual Killers." every few minutes, just in case we'd forgotten.
But we hadn't. And by the time James came on, many of us were ready to ask them to kindly turn around and march back off because we wanted The Killers already! But us Victims are such a lovely bunch that we'd never have done anything of the sort. And so we watched politely as the singers danced and thrashed and convulsed upon the stage, backed up by a gnome-ish man on the drums (I credit Amii for re-naming them Gnome On The Drums), and gave them a cheerful round of applause after they played the one and only song I knew last.
Of course we couldn't get by with only one opening act, but at least next up was my second favourite band in the world: none other than The Gaslight Anthem. Brian's cheeky sense of humour came out early on when he asked the crowd "You're here to see The Killers? You like that? That 'Mr Brightside'? 'All These Things That I've Done'?" and then went ahead and giggled at himself before telling us that they're the best band from Vegas, and a good way to spend a Saturday night. If I wasn't in love with this New Jersey boy and his neck tattoo already, I sure was now. They played a standard short set including new songs 'Mullholland Drive' and 'Handwritten' and old hits like 'The '59 Sound', but unfortunately did not cave to Jess and I begging them on Twitter to play 'Even Cowgirls Get The Blues'. I have seen TGA four times now and am yet to see this song, fail.
Enter the likes of Rob, BLP, Matt Bruenig and the rest and we knew the time had almost come. Then there was the issue of the pesky little setlist that had been taped to a camera in front of us, and despite my best efforts to not look, I ended up seeing what the first two songs were. Wow, now that was sure to be something. Opening with 'Enterlude' and launching into 'When You Were Young' was not something I'd ever seen live before, but it was definitely set to blow the audience's minds. Whilst I maintained that the entire band should sit behind a curtain which should then be raised as they sang 'Enterlude', we knew it would consist of BF alone behind his piano, and we were not disappointed.
The thrill that runs through a crowd this size when the band is about to come out, is indescribable. I'm getting chills just thinking about it over a month later. The stadium was full, the atmosphere was charged, and we were more than ready to do Battle. And before we knew it, the Battle had begun...
"We hope you enjoy your stay, it's good to have you with us even if it's just for the day..." started off a grinning Brandon Flowers, before he was joined by the rest of his powerhouse of a band to screech off into 'When You Were Young' at high speed. The crowd was mad, our feet were off the floor, heads banging, fists pumping in time, and not a single word missed. These were the fans who had dedicated years to this band, and boy did they make us proud. By the time 'Spaceman' came around, the audience was on another planet, and our 'oh, oh's could have deafened half the population of London.
'The Way It Was' is the first of the new songs to show up, and even if the general population weren't sure of every lyric, the Victims sure made up for it - screaming along to every single beat just as enthusiastically as if it had been 'Mr Brightside'. A highlight of this song is certainly Ted's backing vocals towards the end, super cool live effect and very different to the CD version of the song.
Even though the show is just getting started, Brandon's excitement is visible in his face and his actions. Jumping on top of whatever he can find, flashing that perfect smile so often that you begin to wonder how he's even managing to sing, and criss-crossing the stage like a maniac. Mark's getting into so much that I swear I see a little grin, and Ronnie's smashing the drums with such abandon that one begins to wonder if he's going to smash right through them. Unfortunately I have almost no view of Dave except when he takes to the spotlight for Brandon to lavish praise upon his 'brother', David Brent Keuning.
"I'm going to give you just a little taste..." Brandon says, firing up his synth and the Bolt lights up in neon for the beginning of the infectious 'Smile Like You Mean It', a favourite of mine. By the time they really do start 'River', it's enough to send me over the edge, and if I possessed tear ducts, they would probably have been working around now.
Although I have nothing in particular against the Joy Division cover, 'Shadowplay', I do wish they'd cut it from the setlist and replace it with one of their own songs. In my humble opinion, if I wanted to see Joy Division I would buy a ticket to-- oh, bad description, but you know what I mean. I'd prefer 'This Is Your Life', 'Sam's Town', or indeed 'Sweet Talk'. Amii's in agreement about the last one, so we band together and scream 'PLAY SWEET TALK' before lapsing into giggles and proceeding to sing along to 'Shadowplay' all the same.
Although 'Here With Me' is enough to reduce almost everyone around me to tears, 'From Here On Out' offers some fun in the way of Brandon taking it in turns to ask each of his bandmates if they're ready to dance. "Mark Stoermer," he says, eyes shining, "Have you got your dancin' shoes on?" Mark's murderous expression is enough to let BF know that he certainly does not have his damned dancing shoes on, but Brandon giggles anyway. After a quick riff by Dave and a shouting drum solo by Mr Ronnie Unstopable Vannucci Jnr, they launch into the countrified song. Whether you're a fan of this polarising song or not, you get out those dancin' shoes and you danced.
Roll on my favourite song in the world 'A Dustland Fairytale' (the song I credit with changing the entire course of my life, but I won't get into that), and I'm barely able to sing, but rather stand with my hand over my heart, entirely at peace with the world for those four minutes. Utter bliss. What I don't know is that the biggest surprise of the night is about to jump out at me like a three-headed monster.
Wembley Song. That's what it's called and that's what it is: a special song written just to mark the joyous occasion that is The Killers playing Wembley Stadium. An ode to the stadium, a memorial to the artists who have played before, a trip down memory lane through the band's history, and a thank you. We are the only 73000 people who will ever hear this song live, and I'm honoured.
We seem to be heading towards the end now, and 'All These Things That I've Done' explodes in a shower of 'K' and lightning bolt-shaped confetti, which we all scramble to grab. And then Ronnie's throwing some drumsticks, and they're gone far too soon. But we know not to move a muscle. The crowd manages to sing a quick Happy Birthday to an impressed-looking BF before the encore erupts to life with 'Flesh and Bone', 'Jenny', 'Battle Born' (cue whipping out of a few hundred Nevada state flags) and finally Mr Brightside. By the end I'm lost in the crowd, not attempting to take photos or indeed to keep my feet upon the ground. It's been 24 songs, and we're still flying.
By the time the band leave for good, we're all covered in a mixture of sweat, tears, confetti and raindrops, and I for one wouldn't have it any other way. Quick goodbye hugs to everyone I can find (including Jess and Sinead who now have a Ronnie drumstick) and quick hello to Sarah a few rows behind me, and then we're off. It has been the most euphoric, unbelievable night of my entire life,shared with thousands of people all united for the same reason. And though I dashed across London just too slowly to make it into the secret show afterwards, I have no regrets. I'd change nothing, especially the amazing people who made queueing for 13 hours seem like something I'd quite like to do every weekend. Nothing can change this perfect night.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Travel Tips: Before You Leave
It's almost time for my next around-the-world-concert-creeping mission, so I spent much of today running around the shops in a complete panic, because I'd forgotten to do a bunch of stuff. Here are my top tips for prepping for any overseas trip - concert or no concert.
1) Up the limit on your bank account. R1000 a day ain't going to get your very far in a country such as England, where they charge you R14 to use the loo. Increase your limit to the maximum amount possible (or realistic), and take it upon yourself to call your bank if your card does happen to go missing. Also, tell the bank you're going to be out of the country - you won't be very impressed if the fraud department block your account because someone in Scotland has just bought a Mumford & Sons hoodie on your card.
2) Activate roaming on your phone. And control your temper when the guy in the shop says he doesn't know how, and that you should call customer care instead.
3) Find an international power adapter. Believe it or not, not all power outlets are the same, and your phone charger might not fit into the socket in Dublin. It'll also suck if you miss out on that photo op with your favourite band member because you couldn't charge your camera battery.
4) Pour all of your toiletries into teeny tiny little bottles. No more than 100 ml of liquid is acceptable on overseas flights. Because if I took 101 ml, I'd most definitely be up to something...
5) Check the weather forecast. Think you're escaping Cape Town's 13 degree highs for a lovely sunny summer in London? Think again. London and Cape Town have had just about the same temperatures for the past week or so, so I think I'll skip my high-waisted shorts and crop tops, and pack some boots and a scarf. Remember that time I went on a 'summer holiday' with nothing but t-shirts and skirts, and left Grahamstown in 4 degree weather? Let's not repeat that.
6) Check and re-check the important documents. I don't just mean that you should be sure your passport is still valid, but also that you have all your concert tickets, confirmation emails, train tickets, bus tickets, confirmation for other internal flights, and the credit card that you used for all of the above. Last thing you want is to pitch up at the T in the Park box office and not be able to collect your tickets because that confirmation email is chilling in the depths of cyberspace, and you have no laptop.
7) Pack in advance. You'll forget the most basic things (like comfortable shoes and your toothbrush) so pack three days in advance so that you have time to make sure you have everything. This also gives you time to run to the shops when you realise you don't have a travel-sized hairbrush or a universal adapter.
8) Make travel plans before you leave. So, you board your plane in Cape Town, disembark at Gatwick... and then what? Be sure to check coach and train timetables and routes so that you know exactly what to do. If you're hiring a car, print out directions to the place you're staying beforehand.
That's it for now, but I'm sure to add more as I begin my marathon packing session tomorrow.
"I packed my case,
I checked my face,
I look a little bit older,
I look a little bit colder"
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
In-Store Music - Get Me Out Of Here!
I do not currently have a job. Don't panic, I'm not going to start shouting about the economic tragedy that resulted in my being an unemployed graduate - on the contrary, I quit my job so that I could go to England to-- no, nothing, I mean I resigned because I just did, OK?!
Moving swiftly along. I have been without a job for exactly two days, and I'm so bored that I'm ready to start pulling my hair out strand by strand. (For a full account of my unemployed adventures, follow me on Twitter, but be warned, it is primarily an account of my strange new eating habits.) To occupy myself today, I took a wander down Kloof and Long Streets in central town, in the hopes of finding some interesting clothing items in the little hipster shops. (Not that I was planning on buying anything, this London trip ain't paying for itself.) Standing at the doorway of a promising-looking shop, I suddenly found myself being pulled away by the irresistible gravity of music. Yes - the neighbouring shop was playing something that sounded far more interesting, so off I popped. If you would believe it, this clothing store had drawn me in because of its music! OK fine, it was only Band of Horses, and I didn't end up buying anything, but it does pose an interesting question: does music effect how you shop?
Let's look at another example from later in the day: I was drawn into another shop when I heard the unmistakable sound of dearest Chris Martin, wailing the lyrics to 'Speed of Sound'. Ah yes, it was enough to make my heart beat faster. Fast forward three minutes to the beginning of the next song: it was David Guetta, and I hightailed it out of there faster than you could say "Where dem girls at?".
Music does, of course, set the tone for any kind of shop or public place: a designer boutique is much more likely to play Michael Buble than Rihanna, you're unlikely to hear Usher in your grandma's favourite home industry, and any hipster-shop owner with a brain in their head would leave the freaking David Guetta at the door! Seriously now, play some Foals, Imagine Dragons or Alt-J, and leave the dance vibes to the keeper of the swimsuit store down the street.
And one last thing: if a customer is shamelessly singing along to a song, they are clearly enjoying it, and you should refrain from changing it. This is not at all aimed at that shop in Canal Walk that cut The Killers' 'Runaways' short and replaced it with Rihanna halfway through my Glee-style enactment. BUT if it was, I'd have only one word for you: rude.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Coolest Music Pins
With 12 days left until I board my plane to London, I’m in
that annoying phase where I literally. Cannot. Sit. Still. Or I may explode.
From excitement. Ohmygosh!
I don’t really know what I want to write about… argh… OK,
fine, I’ll write about… no, I really can’t think of anything. This sucks.
Let’s just do top five coolest music music-related things
I’ve seen on Pinterest recently.
5) Na - Na- Na- Na- Na- Na- Na: Forgotten the words to ‘Hey Jude’? No worries, this
flow-chart ensures you’ll be able to memorise them in about four easy steps.
And remember, it always comes down to getting the amount of ‘na’s right…
4) Literal lyrics: I’m pretty sure no one really kissed
the left side of Pat Monaghan’s brain, but this cool design is one interesting
way to illustrate the lyrics.
3) Lyrics around your neck: Sometimes a song just speaks to
you on such a level that you wish you could tattoo it upon your brain – or at
least wear it. Well, Etsy has this pretty necklace emblazoned with lyrics by
one of my very favourite bands: The Shins.
2) I don’t always dance…: Making fun of the popular meme, who
cares if it even makes any sense or not… he’s The Boss!
1) Because you’re mine: Yeah, Johnny Cash is the man, don’t
even argue! I love country music and everything associated with it, so I wouldn’t
hesitate to have this pink lyric-boot printed and mounted on my wall.
Monday, May 27, 2013
London 2013 Plans!
I bet everyone is sick of hearing about my concert plans by
now, but for those of you who are not, here’s my plan of events for June and
July:
10 June:
Leave Cape Town for London. Well, assuming of course, that
Cape Town’s heavy fog and London’s recent spate of terror attacks allows me to
even leave the country. Theoretically, I
should arrive at Heathrow sometime on the 11th. Once again, weather
and terror-permitting.
15 June
Bruce Springsteen at Wembley. It’s one of those bucketlist
things that everyone has to do once in their lives! It’ll be my first show at
Wembley, and even though my seats are so far away that The Boss himself will
look about the size of an ant, I’ll still be there, dancing the night away. In
the dark.
16 June
Leave London for Dublin. I’ve even booked a flight! I leave
Stanstead at 10am, mercifully late enough to allow myself a decent amount of
hours sleep after Bruce. Heaven forbid I caught the 6am out of Luton, which
definitely would have seen me passing out from exhaustion before I saw my first
leprechaun.
18 June
The Gaslight Anthem at the Olympia Theatre in Dublin. I saw
Gaslight at Reading last year, and nearly fell to the floor in hysterics when I
found out that they were supporting The Killers at Wembley this year, but
nothing compares to seeing a band at a show that is 100% their own. The timing
for this was almost too good… we’d planned a Dublin trip anyway, and Gaslight
just happened to fit in perfectly!
19 June
Leave Dublin for London. Return, sleep, build up my energy
for The Killers day, which is sure to be the greatest of my life thus far.
22 June
The Killers at Wembley! Enough said. This will be their
biggest show to date, and probably the highlight of their career. You know
you’ve made it when you can play Wembley. I look forward to a day of meeting up
with Victim friends, hunting down the nearest Starbucks, chatting with roadies…
oh, and the actual concert should be pretty cool too.
Gap for general awesomeness.
12 July:
T in the Park, Kinross, Scotland. Yes, I said Scotland. Yes,
I am perfectly aware that the average temperature for Scotland in July is 12
degrees. Thank goodness for weekend non-camping tickets, and warm, cosy hotel
rooms. Highlights I’m looking forward to here are: Mumford & Sons, Jake
Bugg, Of Monsters and Men (who I slept through at Reading), Imagine Dragons,
The Script, Snoop Lion (haters gon’ hate), The Lumineers, Ke$ha (once again,
haters…), Foals, Two Door Cinema Club (I will not miss them a third time),
Hurts (I still can’t believe I’m really seeing them!), former The Smiths
guitarist Johnny Marr and… of course, The Killers.
15 July
Fly back. Die of post-concert depression. And exhaustion.
Start planning next trip on plane back.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Let The Beliebers Be?
If you were fortunate enough to attend the Bon Jovi concert in Cape Town this Wednesday, you would have had to drive past the Waterfront to park your car, and would have been in for a treat when passing the One & Only Hotel. A crowd of young Beliebers had gathered (Justin was to perform the next day, and they'd somehow found out where he was apparently staying), posters, Bieber shirts and all, and stood squealing outside, waiting to catch a glimpse of their favourite star.
I know what you're thinking: pathetic. Hold your horses for a second, before you make any judgements. If you are reading this, I assume you are like me, to a certain extent. You are either a fangirl of sorts, or you at least appreciate music and all that comes with it. So hear me out, then, when I ask this: wouldn't you act the same if it was your favourite band or artist?
Not everyone has the same taste in music (thank goodness), so just because Nirvana was your favourite band when you were 14, doesn't mean everyone else feels the same way. At least the kids are appreciating music in some form, even if it's not quite your cup of tea.
I'm no Belieber, but personally I was excited for all of these youngsters who got to see their idol live. And so what if they were standing out in the cold and the rain for 12 hours waiting for the concert? If it makes them happy, let them do it. I'd do it for my favourite band, without even a moment's hesitation.
Concerts change lives, and if Justin Bieber is the one who changes these kids' lives for the better, then let them go ahead and Belieb. To all of the people freaking because "OMG, that child missed a day of school!", sit the hell down. So what? That child just had the best experience of his or her life - one missed school day is a small price to pay.
I know what you're thinking: pathetic. Hold your horses for a second, before you make any judgements. If you are reading this, I assume you are like me, to a certain extent. You are either a fangirl of sorts, or you at least appreciate music and all that comes with it. So hear me out, then, when I ask this: wouldn't you act the same if it was your favourite band or artist?
Not everyone has the same taste in music (thank goodness), so just because Nirvana was your favourite band when you were 14, doesn't mean everyone else feels the same way. At least the kids are appreciating music in some form, even if it's not quite your cup of tea.
I'm no Belieber, but personally I was excited for all of these youngsters who got to see their idol live. And so what if they were standing out in the cold and the rain for 12 hours waiting for the concert? If it makes them happy, let them do it. I'd do it for my favourite band, without even a moment's hesitation.
Concerts change lives, and if Justin Bieber is the one who changes these kids' lives for the better, then let them go ahead and Belieb. To all of the people freaking because "OMG, that child missed a day of school!", sit the hell down. So what? That child just had the best experience of his or her life - one missed school day is a small price to pay.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Bon Jovi - Live In Cape Town
Let's get three things straight before we begin:
1) Jon Bon Jovi does not age. The only thing separating the man from his late 80's self is a haircut.
2) Jon Bon Jovi has the teeth of a toothpaste model. Falsies or not, his dentist did good.
3) Yeah, that buddy playing guitar? Not Richie.
If you could get through the hoards of Beliebers knee-deep in the vicinity of the Waterfront, the Bon Jovi fans were easy enough to spot: dads and daughters, 30-something couples, groups of over 40s - a down-to-earth, simple-looking crowd minus the bells and whistles of the Beliebers.
I often say that my first concert experience was Savage Garden when I was 9, but that's not quite true. Yes, that was the first concert I attended, but the first concert that ever made an impact on me was Bon Jovi in 1995. Of course, I was 4 years old and far too young for concerts, but I remember my mom going and coming home on a complete musical high. That was the impact of a concert. These were the songs I grew up on. You know that feeling of not really knowing what a song means, and then going back 15 years later and finally realising? Plus, of course, figuring out that the lyrics are not actually "Feeling like a Monday Sunday on a Saturday night", and that there are no such things as "Holy Ghost ears"...
So 18 years later, here I was, at the stadium for Bon Jovi. Having seats as opposed to fighting for a barrier is always an interesting change, but it was handle-able. After the two opening acts (Idols runner-up Mark Haze who seems on a mission to become the next Dave Grohl - this is a compliment - and Idols winner Elvis Blue), we had quite a wait before the main men, but as soon as the lights dimmed, we forgot just about everything besides those New Jersey men.
Opening with new song 'That's What The Water Made Me', Jon Bon Jovi, the long-haired keyboardist, the old-looking drummer and the dude-who-wasn't-Richie* moved straight on to 'You Give Love A Bad Name', much to the delight of those of us who had barely listened to anything since 'Cross Road'.
Flashing teeth that should make an appearance in the next Colgate ad, Jon grinned at his adoring fans and launched into a speech about how 18 years was far too long to have waited to come back to SA. Damn right it was.
The classics - 'Keep The Faith', 'I'll Be There For You', 'Bed of Roses' - were interspersed with 'newer' songs including 'We Weren't Born To Follow' and 'It's My Life'. True rockstars.
After 20 songs (which felt like 10), the band left the stage, and I waited in anticipation for 'Someday I'll Be Saturday Night' and 'Livin' On A Prayer'. Unfortunately half the crowd seemed to be down a few brain cells, and started to leave before the encore. Now, I don't care if you wanted to avoid the traffic, if you were tired, or if one of your legs had fallen off - you paid money and you waited months for this concert, you suck it up and stay til the end. If you left before 'Livin' On A Prayer', you need to re-evaluate your life.
"You've gotta hooooooold onnnnn" cue what was left of the crowd going nuts. Sing-along for the chorus and then the band launching back into their most well known song. 'Livin' On A Prayer' was an absolute spectacle. Something everyone needs to experience once in their life. This seemed to be the conclusion of the encore, and the rest of the audience started to leave in drove.
I, myself, was about halfway through putting on my pouting face because they hadn't played 'Someday I'll Be Saturday Night', when Jon returned to the mic, grinning. The lights dimmed as he said "Well, you came to see me play, I'll play for ya... we got one more, it's called 'Always' " and after that was done they finally decided that it was time to play the song I'd been waiting all night to hear. Thanks, Jon and company. Though it may have felt short, I later discovered that the setlist had been 25 songs in length - they hadn't lied about two and a half hours!
And of course the next morning the complaints rolled in about the sound, but quite frankly I am yet to experience a stadium show with poor sound quality. There's just one thing I'd like to say to Bon Jovi - don't leave it another 18 years before visiting SA again.
"I'm not as pretty as Justin Bieber, and I can't dance as good as Justin Timberlake, but I've been around longer than both of 'em!" Said Jon Bon Jovi. Keep the faith, boys, let's hope you're still only halfway there.
* I'm being facetious, I know all their names: David Bryan, Tico Torres and the dude-who-wasn't-Richie.
1) Jon Bon Jovi does not age. The only thing separating the man from his late 80's self is a haircut.
2) Jon Bon Jovi has the teeth of a toothpaste model. Falsies or not, his dentist did good.
3) Yeah, that buddy playing guitar? Not Richie.
If you could get through the hoards of Beliebers knee-deep in the vicinity of the Waterfront, the Bon Jovi fans were easy enough to spot: dads and daughters, 30-something couples, groups of over 40s - a down-to-earth, simple-looking crowd minus the bells and whistles of the Beliebers.
I often say that my first concert experience was Savage Garden when I was 9, but that's not quite true. Yes, that was the first concert I attended, but the first concert that ever made an impact on me was Bon Jovi in 1995. Of course, I was 4 years old and far too young for concerts, but I remember my mom going and coming home on a complete musical high. That was the impact of a concert. These were the songs I grew up on. You know that feeling of not really knowing what a song means, and then going back 15 years later and finally realising? Plus, of course, figuring out that the lyrics are not actually "Feeling like a Monday Sunday on a Saturday night", and that there are no such things as "Holy Ghost ears"...
So 18 years later, here I was, at the stadium for Bon Jovi. Having seats as opposed to fighting for a barrier is always an interesting change, but it was handle-able. After the two opening acts (Idols runner-up Mark Haze who seems on a mission to become the next Dave Grohl - this is a compliment - and Idols winner Elvis Blue), we had quite a wait before the main men, but as soon as the lights dimmed, we forgot just about everything besides those New Jersey men.
Opening with new song 'That's What The Water Made Me', Jon Bon Jovi, the long-haired keyboardist, the old-looking drummer and the dude-who-wasn't-Richie* moved straight on to 'You Give Love A Bad Name', much to the delight of those of us who had barely listened to anything since 'Cross Road'.
Flashing teeth that should make an appearance in the next Colgate ad, Jon grinned at his adoring fans and launched into a speech about how 18 years was far too long to have waited to come back to SA. Damn right it was.
The classics - 'Keep The Faith', 'I'll Be There For You', 'Bed of Roses' - were interspersed with 'newer' songs including 'We Weren't Born To Follow' and 'It's My Life'. True rockstars.
After 20 songs (which felt like 10), the band left the stage, and I waited in anticipation for 'Someday I'll Be Saturday Night' and 'Livin' On A Prayer'. Unfortunately half the crowd seemed to be down a few brain cells, and started to leave before the encore. Now, I don't care if you wanted to avoid the traffic, if you were tired, or if one of your legs had fallen off - you paid money and you waited months for this concert, you suck it up and stay til the end. If you left before 'Livin' On A Prayer', you need to re-evaluate your life.
"You've gotta hooooooold onnnnn" cue what was left of the crowd going nuts. Sing-along for the chorus and then the band launching back into their most well known song. 'Livin' On A Prayer' was an absolute spectacle. Something everyone needs to experience once in their life. This seemed to be the conclusion of the encore, and the rest of the audience started to leave in drove.
I, myself, was about halfway through putting on my pouting face because they hadn't played 'Someday I'll Be Saturday Night', when Jon returned to the mic, grinning. The lights dimmed as he said "Well, you came to see me play, I'll play for ya... we got one more, it's called 'Always' " and after that was done they finally decided that it was time to play the song I'd been waiting all night to hear. Thanks, Jon and company. Though it may have felt short, I later discovered that the setlist had been 25 songs in length - they hadn't lied about two and a half hours!
And of course the next morning the complaints rolled in about the sound, but quite frankly I am yet to experience a stadium show with poor sound quality. There's just one thing I'd like to say to Bon Jovi - don't leave it another 18 years before visiting SA again.
"I'm not as pretty as Justin Bieber, and I can't dance as good as Justin Timberlake, but I've been around longer than both of 'em!" Said Jon Bon Jovi. Keep the faith, boys, let's hope you're still only halfway there.
* I'm being facetious, I know all their names: David Bryan, Tico Torres and the dude-who-wasn't-Richie.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Do Bands Need Anyone But The Frontman?
OK, I really wanted to call this post 'F**k The Bass Player', after a song by a delightful French band called The Inspector Cluzo, but then I remembered that I'm a respectable young lady, and respectable young ladies do not swear. Ho hum.
Anyway, I had a most entertaining conversation at work today, and it went something like this:
Colleague: "Bon Jovi is going to be great! I just want to see Sambora, you know, his fingers."
Me: "Um, Sambora's not coming."
Wait, what? Yes, Richie Sambora seems to be skipping the SA leg of Bon Jovi's current tour due to 'personal issues'. Now whether he's in rehab, or the rest of the band have just gotten damn sick of him after 30-odd years, the point is the band is down a guitarist and still continuing the tour as planned (much to the dismay of said colleague: "Who's going to do the talkbox on Livin' On A Prayer now? Huh?!).
But the question remains: should they have cancelled? Where does one draw the line between "Oh, he's just the guitarist, we'll get a session dude in" and "He's the lead singer, there's no way we're playing this show!" Every time Brandon Flowers strains his delicate voice, The Killers postpone a show or two (and rightly so, no one else can pull off those vocals), and Green Day pulled out of an entire tour when Billie Joe finally stopped saying "no, no, no" to rehab. But here we have Bon Jovi continuing sans Sambora. But once again, rightly so. Imagine what the thousands of South African fans would say if the band pulled out after we'd waited 18 years to see them.
And this gets me thinking: what if Coldplay pitched up to a show without Jonny, Will and Guy? Would it still sound the same? How about if The Killers replaced Dave, Mark and Ronnie with Ted, Bobby and Rob? And now this all begs the question: can a solo frontman continue to perform just as successfully by himself, without the rest of the band?
Anyway, I'm just speculating and thinking out loud here. Of course band members besides the frontman are important. But just how much will Bon Jovi's sound differ without Richie? Should the promoter issue an official statement? How many people will even notice that it's a different dude headbanging next to Jon? Do you know what all the members of your favourite bands look like? I won't lie, I went to see The Kooks two weeks ago, and I wouldn't have known anyone but Luke Pritchard if they'd thrown a pack of 5 Gum at my head...
Anyway, I had a most entertaining conversation at work today, and it went something like this:
Colleague: "Bon Jovi is going to be great! I just want to see Sambora, you know, his fingers."
Me: "Um, Sambora's not coming."
Wait, what? Yes, Richie Sambora seems to be skipping the SA leg of Bon Jovi's current tour due to 'personal issues'. Now whether he's in rehab, or the rest of the band have just gotten damn sick of him after 30-odd years, the point is the band is down a guitarist and still continuing the tour as planned (much to the dismay of said colleague: "Who's going to do the talkbox on Livin' On A Prayer now? Huh?!).
But the question remains: should they have cancelled? Where does one draw the line between "Oh, he's just the guitarist, we'll get a session dude in" and "He's the lead singer, there's no way we're playing this show!" Every time Brandon Flowers strains his delicate voice, The Killers postpone a show or two (and rightly so, no one else can pull off those vocals), and Green Day pulled out of an entire tour when Billie Joe finally stopped saying "no, no, no" to rehab. But here we have Bon Jovi continuing sans Sambora. But once again, rightly so. Imagine what the thousands of South African fans would say if the band pulled out after we'd waited 18 years to see them.
And this gets me thinking: what if Coldplay pitched up to a show without Jonny, Will and Guy? Would it still sound the same? How about if The Killers replaced Dave, Mark and Ronnie with Ted, Bobby and Rob? And now this all begs the question: can a solo frontman continue to perform just as successfully by himself, without the rest of the band?
Anyway, I'm just speculating and thinking out loud here. Of course band members besides the frontman are important. But just how much will Bon Jovi's sound differ without Richie? Should the promoter issue an official statement? How many people will even notice that it's a different dude headbanging next to Jon? Do you know what all the members of your favourite bands look like? I won't lie, I went to see The Kooks two weeks ago, and I wouldn't have known anyone but Luke Pritchard if they'd thrown a pack of 5 Gum at my head...
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