The Secret Life of a Fangirl

It’s strange to think that I was not always as open about my fangirlishness as I am now. In fact, for a long time I was far too embarrassed to ever post links to my blog on my Facebook, or anywhere for that matter. I felt like I had to hide my true self to be cool. Last night, after listening to another fangirl rant, my digsmate reminded me of how I used to think I was so odd for being interested in bands. Now, the idea is laughable, but it wasn’t always so…

In the lead up to the 29^th of April 2010, my favourite band – The Killers – ran a countdown on their website. What it was counting down to, no one was sure, but it sure captured the attention of fans worldwide. A slowly unveiling image of a billboard, overlayed with a tune to which another layer was added every day, the band were certainly up to something.

Twitter was abuzz with speculation over the news, and I had just started to follow a few fellow fans, meaning that I had people to discuss the excitement with, oh boy! I was sure that when the countdown finally reached zero, I’d be planted in front of my computer screen, awaiting the reveal. Never did I think that the perils of a social life would strike. Invited out with a group of new friends that I was eager to impress (Mariska, if you’re reading this, you were one of them… remember that first time we went to Spur?) And as time drew closer to 8pm (reveal time) I wondered how I was going to make my escape in time. I mean really now, what was I supposed to say? “Thanks guys, I had a great time, but my favourite band are making an announcement and I have to go see what it is.”? In retrospect, that’s exactly what I should have said, but instead I invented an essay that I had to finish, and sped home in record time to catch the announcement.

I suppose you could say that I was hiding who I really was, to look cooler. And that’s not where it stopped. Twitter became a place where I could speak to people on the other side of the world about things that interested me; things that people I knew in real life didn’t care about. It was my haven. But I was so worried about seeming odd, that I locked my Twitter account, for fear that anyone I knew in real life would find it, and see how odd I was.

Months before, I’d roadtripped to Cape Town for the sole purpose of seeing The Killers live in concert. But had I told anyone? No, of course not. Those who I did mention the concert to, got my standard “They were in Cape Town when I just happened to be there, so I went to see them.” No, that was a lie. I had gone with the express intention of seeing the concert. But, of course, that wasn’t cool.

I was the girl who would turn off her music when someone else entered the room, because what if someone thought that listening to the Bee Gees was odd? I’d quickly switch back to Katy Perry. “What were you listening to?” “Oh, nothing.”

So convinced I became, that I had long conversations about how gosh-darned odd I was with the only friend who I thought might not think that I was that weird (Lauren – you did fly across the world with me to see bands, so perhaps we’re the same level of odd?). “It’s not that you’re odd, it’s just different interests.” But did I listen? No. Do I ever listen? And so came the day that I decided to go cold-turkey on all of my favourite music for a week. No talking about them, no posting on Facebook or Twitter about them, no counting down days until I was going to see Kings of Leon live. I lasted 24 hours.

So what changed somewhere between the end of 2011, and March 2012, when I was to be found screaming and jumping up and down because I had just booked ticket to see my favourite band in England? Was it that I stopped caring what others thought? Was it increased self-confidence? I don’t need anyone to think I’m cool, because I know that I am?

Yes, I flew to England to see my favourite band. Yes, I did it twice. Yes, I’ve met people that I knew through Twitter in real life, and they’ve become actual friends (Amii, Jess, Ryan, Sinead, Emma, I’m looking at you lot and so many more). Yes, I fangirl over Doctor Who and Lost, because they are amazing. No, I was not drinking tea during my break at work the other day, I was watching a live stream of Coldplay. Am I ashamed to fangirl on Twitter? No. Do I care if you lot all read that my most recent Tweet is an analysis of the similarities between ‘You Raise Me Up’ and ‘Danny Boy’? No. Hell, even my bosses follow me on Twitter. Do I care that you don’t think it’s cool that I like Westlife and Johnny Cash? No. Am I keeping it on the down low that I made my dinner last night whilst listening to Cliff Richard? No. Why? Because if my interests are stupid, then so are yours. Then surfing, playing rugby, modeling, photography, running, gyming, making out with your boyfriend, dancing, drinking, cooking, sleeping… they’re all stupid too. And are they? Why no, no they are not. 

Five Songs That Had A Worse Day Than You

Having a bad case of the Monday Blues? Oh go on then, tell me what happened! Did you collide with some heathen on your way out of Starbucks/Vida and watch your very expensive latte tumble towards the ground and seep through your brand new shoes? Did you oversleep and have to endure five full minutes of the boss shouting at you in front of 20 co-workers who were trying their hardest to conceal their sadistic giggles? Or did you, perhaps, experience a flat tyre in peak time traffic, and almost get taken out by a wayward taxi whilst standing on the side of the road, wailing for a knight in shining armour to rescue you? Oh, I know what it was, your cat brought up a massive, technicolour hairball on the freshly-laundered rug in your living room. I get it - your life sucks. But believe me, the lives of the characters in these five songs suck even more. Happy wallowing.

5) Boomtown Rats - "I Don't Like Mondays": Let's start with the obvious, shall we. As long as you didn't shoot up anything this morning, your Monday is still going way better that this kid's. Just as soon as that silicon chip inside your head sets itself to overload, please just take a walk around the block so that you don't feel the need to teach anyone that the lesson today is how to die. [No offence intended by any of these comments, school shootings should not be taken lightly]

4) Foster the People - "Waste": Depression. The subject here clearly has some problems: 'devil on your back', 'speak or scream' and 'monsters' all evoke fear, sadness and anger. Luckily they have a supportive friend/significant other/family member (the speaker) who is willing to stick with them through all of it, and 'help [them] see it through'. Let's hope that if you're ever in a similar situation, someone does the same for you.

3) Coldplay - "The Scientist": Christ Martin at his melancholy best. I've heard a few interpretations for this song, but in my mind it is quite universal in meaning. There are many things that nobody said would be easy, but no one ever said would be this hard. The one that immediately springs to mind is leaving home for the first time, a situation in which you would often prefer to "go back to the start". But then again, any goodbye, a death, the end of a relationship, or a major life change can invoke these kinds of emotions. There's just something about this song that hits me right in the heart, and causes me to experience these awful things known to most as ... feelings 

2) The Smiths - "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now": You can always count of Morrissey to bring a little tragic comedy into your life. The lyrics of this song are so pathetically sad that it almost makes one want to laugh. Whether your loneliness makes you miserable whenever you happen across a pair of lovers, or the job which you so desperately sought leaves you in constant mental anguish, The Smiths get you, yo. I'm sure Moz and I aren't the only people in the world who have wondered why we smile at people whom we'd much rather kick in the eye...

1) The Shins - "Australia": I sense your confusion, what the hell am I on about? Whilst it is debatable as to whether or not we really are just born to multiply and gaze into night skies, I'm pretty sure we've all dreamed of just one more Saturday. When you really look deeper into this song, you'll be able to tell that it's about hating your job. Wait, back up. Yep, hating your job. Don't believe me? Let's take that deeper look then:

We're born to produce offspring and look at the pretty stars, but we're so tied into our work that all we want is one more weekend! But until that happens, some company is going to pay for the use of the hours of your life. And everytime you feel like you could really achieve something... you realise you're stuck in that same dead-end job and that you're going nowhere. The 'selfish fool' is then, of course, your boss, and you'd be damned to be just another of his employees. You've been alone since the day you started working (at 21), because you have no time for relationships. And sometimes, you feel like you'd be better off just jumping out the window. Now, if that doesn't make you feel better about your own Monday, I don't know what will. 

5 Artists Who Covered The Smiths

I'm on a little bit of a Smith/Morrissey kick at the moment. I first got into them around October 2011, simply because I was following so many Brits on Twitter, who seemed to think that this band was just the bee's knees. I had to investigate for myself, and when I did, I deemed them nothing short of awesome, if something of an acquired taste. What followed was several weeks of flipping between watching six seasons of Doctor Who and listening to 'The Very Best of The Smiths' whilst drinking my tea. Proving, once again, that I was born to be British.

Fast-forward to July 2013, when I find myself in a tent at T in the Park in Scotland, beholding none other than former Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr belt out his solo work in front of my face. We're also treated to a few Smiths classics, including 'There is a Light The Never Goes Out', 'Stop Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before' and the impossibly brilliant 'How Soon Is Now?'. It is during this performance that I make friends with none other than Ted Sablay of The Killers, who tells me all about Marr and Bernard Sumner (of Joy Division and New Order) and Las Vegas. Instant besties. And cue tiny Smiths obsession. Who cares if they were popular when my mother was my age? Truly good music is timeless. 

Moz himself released an autobiography towards the end of last year, and it took about two months for the thing to actually be released in SA - and another two for me to read the thing to completion - but I'm almost at the end, and my love for his music grows more and more every day. Although loathed by some (for being too outspoken? For fears that his seemingly outrageous statements are actually frighteningly true?) Morrissey and co are admired by many musicians, and have been covered time and time again. So here's my list of Top 5 Artists Who Covered The Smiths.

1) Noel Gallagher: To be honest, I'm just putting this on the list because I like Oasis and I like The Smiths and yayyyy 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out'.

2) Coldplay: On a dark, grim morning on my way to work (at 3am, no less), my iPod played quietly through my car radio, and when I stopped at a robot, I heard the sweet sounds of Chris Martin's voice serenading me. But... huh... why did it sound like he was singing a song that I'd heard live not two months before? I hadn't been to any Coldplay concerts recently, but... "stop me, oh oh oh stop me, stop me if you think that you've heard this one before..." Hold up, Coldplay covered The Smiths? Yes, they did, and they performed it live with Oasis. You're welcome.

3) The Killers: okay, it's a Morrissey cover, but it definitely still counts. 'Why Don't You Find Out For Yourself' was some kind of special, limited edition B-side from the Hot Fuss days. After not paying much attention to it for my 4+ years of Killers obsession, it came on shuffle on my iPod one day, and I decided that I really quite liked it. I felt like singing along, so I googled the words and my mind was blown when I found out that it was originally by Morrissey. 

2) Death Cab For Cutie: Although they got the words wrong, Ben Gibbard and his mates did a pretty interesting cover of 'This Charming Man'. I first heard it in my pre-Smiths days, leading me to believe the the lyrics were about being "on two bicycles", and being "just a country boy". But just like Leona Lewis's 'Run' (originally by Snow Patrol), I felt like the song was missing something, and a little bit of digging revealed the original, which is, of course, far better.

1) Love Spit Love: never heard of them? Neither had I (I just googled them, they were founded by the lead singer of the Psychedelic Furs and now I feel stupid), but I had been singing along to their version of 'How Soon Is Now?' for years upon years. The band recorded a cover of the song for the film 'The Craft', and it was later used as the theme song for the TV series 'Charmed', which I was a huge fan of. Too bad pre-teen me had the words down as "I am the sun... and the air...". Sigh.

Top Ten Songs: The Killers

Yesterday, an intern and friend at the office (yes, Andrew, we’re friends again… if you promise to give up RiRi) told me that he had looked up The Killers on iTunes to listen to ‘A Dustland Fairytale’ (cue me falling on the floor in spasms of joy) and had seen that their most downloaded song was none other than ‘Mr Brightside’. While I’m not at all surprised at this, it got me wondering what my top ten songs by my favourite band would be. Now, my first instinct is so sob and say that I could never choose (with the exception of ‘Dustland’, which is a head and shoulders above all the rest), because everything my little darlings do is perfect, I’m the first to admit that this is a lie. ‘Deadlines & Commitments’ for example, is about as far from perfect as the blister on my smallest toe, as is their decision to cover ‘Shadowplay’ at every freaking live show. I mean no offence to Ian Curtis, nor am in any way thanking the kitchen table (10 points if you get that reference) but if I’ve paid 70 Pounds to see my favouite band, I’d rather see their own songs. But as always, I digress.

And so I shall attempt to create this list. My top three are pretty much locked down, but the other seven are sure to cause some tears as I try to decide. Here goes nothing:

10) ‘The Cowboy’s Christmas Ball’: Just for the hell of it. The 2011 charity single is by far my favourite so far. Ever since then the Christmas singles have gone downhill (in my humble opinion), and I only listened to last year’s one a grand total of twice. But what more could anyone want out of life than Brandon Flowers brandishing a gun and a few alien spaceships taking up residence in the Nevada desert? In fact, I even managed to theme my friend’s 2013 Christmas dinner after this song … without her even knowing.

9) ‘Battle Born’: Mainly for the fact that Brandon Flowers decided to hope the hell off his stage at Wembley and grab hands with his adoring fans – and I touched his sweaty arm during this very song. Oh, it’s also one of the album of the same name’s strongest tracks, but Brandon’s sweat – priorities please.

8) ‘Everything Will Be Alright’: Because whenever I go through a depressive patch, I stick this on repeat until I eventually begin to believe it. Through months of lectures and projects and homesickness, I’d return to my flat every night, make my dinner and do my dishes with this in the background to remind myself that everything really would be alright.

7) ‘This is Your Life’: Besides the super catchy tune, the thing that really gets me about this song is the crowd interaction when it is performed live. I take great pride in getting my “no one gives a damn about her haaaaaiiiir” action in perfect synch with Brandon’s, and even when I listen to the song whilst driving, I feel my arms itching to reach towards the sky and wave back and forth at just the right moment. It’s been ingrained into my head, see.

6) ‘Jenny Was A Friend of Mine’: How can you not love this song? From the opening search helicopter sounds to the synth, to the I-didn’t-murder-my-girlfriend pleas, it’s perfect for late night driving on dark highways, with no idea what might be in store. It’s also perfect in general. Now every time I write one of my never-finished short stories, I name my main character’s best friend Jenny, simply so that I can include the line “Jenny was a friend of mine”.

5) ‘Smile Like You Mean It’: Oh, the Hot Fuss days of a chubby-cheeked Brandon Flowers, and a Mark Stoermer who looked just slightly less like Jesus. A synth section so addictive that it makes you sing along to wordless parts of the song (yes, it’s possible), and lyrics so perfect that they make me want to brand them onto my skin forever more (no kidding, I’d get a ‘smile like you mean it’ tattoo) make for a phenomenal song.

4) ‘Sweet Talk’: Because B-sides deserve some love too. Included only on the B-sides compilation album Sawdust, this song is one of the band’s best, and was 15 times better than most of the songs on Sam’s Town or Day & Age. If released on an actual album, I have no doubt that it would have racked up far more fans, besides those obsessives such as myself who scoff at anyone who only listens to singles.

3) ‘Miss Atomic Bomb’: Battle Born was the first album released after I became a superfan. I saw one live version of the song on Youtube long before it was released, and at the Leeds warm-up show, I was lucky enough to see it live. Cue instant love. Seriously, it was the best thing I’d ever heard. The 30 second clip of the final recorded version that was released a few weeks later disappointed me slightly (they picked a boring part of the song to preview), but when I finally got my hands on the full album, there it was in all its glory. Definitely the best song on the album by far.

2) ‘This River is Wild’: Oddly enough, I never really bonded very well with this song when I first heard it. It was only after I really listened to the words and analysed them, that it started to resound with me. The anthem of any lonely social outcast (read: anyone like me), the line “should I just get along with myself? I never did get along with everybody else” made me stop and think. Perhaps it’s best to me my own best friend. A rarity live, they pulled this one out of the archives for Wembley, and nearly landed me on the floor in fits of tears. Luckily I don’t have a heart.

1) ‘A Dustland Fairytale’: What can a person say about the song that changed their life? I don’t mean in a cheesy-Oprah-this-book-changed-my-life way, I mean in a literal sense: it changed the course of my life. Confused yet? I’d liked this band for a while, but they day I heard this song, I was really hooked. It stayed on repeat for about a month. When I found out they were coming to SA, I travelled two days across the country to see them. And so sparked the idea in my head that travelling further than South Coast to Durban for a concert was not completely nuts. At the same time, I fell in love with Cape Town, so two years later I moved here. After the concert, my obsession grew and I joined fan communities. I learned to use Twitter properly and taught myself all about social media and media in general, as well as the music industry. I wanted a career in the field. And so I moved to the town where this song had led me, and applied for a job in the field I’d taught myself, and now here I am. Plus I made friends in the UK, next I travelled there, and now I plan to move to London eventually. It’s all because of that one song: the lyrics, the images, the emotion, the sadness, the happiness and the sheer beauty. 

"The Things We Lost..." (Our Minds Amongst Them): Meeting Bastille

It's always exciting when a band comes to the country. If you're anything like me, you've got a feed going with all their tweets, facebooks and instagrams, you've analysed the pics to figure out which hotel they're at, you've lurked around the stage door and equipment vans in hopes of catching a glimpse, or you've made besties with the roadies in the local Starbucks (but that's another story altogether).

But then sometimes, the band just comes straight to you, without you having to make any effort whatsoever. Yes, fellow fangirls, an international band were so within my vicinity that I had to do no more than conveniently wander across the office in order to meet them. Take away some of the fun, doesn't it? There's no feeling of victory left, is there? Ah, but there is.

So after I'd seen one whole song ("fire, fire, fire...") of Bastille's live at T in the Park this year before dashing from the Radio 1 Stage to King Tut's to grab my barrier spot for Hurts, I was very excited that they were to perform in SA. But really, I only knew who they were because I have a thing for random British music, and they had a song called 'Pompeii' which was pretty awesome because, well, because it was about Pompeii. And everything about Pompeii is pretty darn awesome (minus the death and stuff, whatever, I digress).

Sure, I'll buy tickets to see them, but there's no way they'll sell out, so I don't have to be in queue an hour before tickets get released and take my Rescue pills with me lest I stop breathing a minute before I reach the front of the online queue. Three days after tickets go on sale I decide that I might as well just buy the thing already... and to my horror the next day I find out they sold out that same night. Close call, but I'm sorted.

Cue filing e-tickets somewhere in my inbox to print out and deal with at a later date. A far later date. Tickets bought in September, show in January. In fact, it's so far away that I might as well forget about it.

Until the end of December when I hear whispers about the band coming into the studio (some background: I work for a live TV show, studio = office). Hmm. Interesting.

Fast-forward to show day, I hit Kirstenbosch Gardens (in my Reading hoodie, which says 'Bastille' in tiny writing on the back somewhere near my kidneys because they played a tiny stage the year I was there) around 7pm and have only a short wait before the opening act Bed on Bricks (featuring Dan of Bastille's cousin, apparently) and then the headliners. Opening with 'Bad Blood' and then 'Things We Lost in the Fire' and ending with 'Pompeii' (cue massive crowd reaction) they were great and everything, but this ain't a concert review. Oh, Dan also ran through the crowd at one time (cue crowd surge and influx of females vowing to marry him, ahem).

So we've already seen Bastille by the time they come to our studio, and three hours before the fact, everyone is ending every single sentence with "fire, fire, fire". Forget Pompeii. I vow to be completely free of work when the moment comes, so that I can do what I do best: watch the band. This is A-level celeb stuff here, we've got people who are still on leave coming into the office just to catch a glimpse of Dan and his cronies. I mean, not even John Black got this kind of groupie love when he paid us a visit back in 2012! We're allowed on set to watch the performance once the interview is done, and there is absolutely nothing like a toned down version of 'Pompeii' on keyboards, with at least 30 people trying to crowd into a tiny space and take as many photos are humanly possibly - because Bastille.

The band are on a super tight schedule and need to rush off to a radio interview, so we're told they can do some group photos, as long as it's really quick. I watch them take photos with the presenters, and mutter under my breath that I want a photo toooooo :(. Luckily my boss comes to my rescue and we all pile into a photo together.

"We saw you guys last night." I tell Dan bravely. Call me socially awkward, but I'm unstoppable when it comes to making buddies with bands members (besides that time I ran screaming out of Starbucks because I ran into The Killers' drum-tech, but that's another story...). "Oh yeah?" "Yeah, and then I came to work at 3am, so it was real dedication." "Whaaat, no way! How do you survive on like no sleep?" Dan wants to know. I don't know, so I change the topic while we smile for another picture. "I actually saw you guys at T in the Park last year." I tell Dan, trying to be casual. "Oh yeah! What other festivals have you been to?" "Reading... you guys played Reading, right? And V Fest in 2012...." I know full well they played Reading, 'Bastille' is written in tiny font at the bottom of my Reading 2012 hoodie, remember? "You ever been to Rocking the Daisies?" "Yep, year before last." Ha. Dan and I are having a full-on conversation!

And so we thank them and all make our way back to our desks, eagerly anticipating uploading those photos to Facebook. The band are packing up their things and heading for the lift... I was going to leave pretty soon anyway...

"Oh no, don't hold the lift for me, I'll take the next one!"
"No, there's space, come on in." Replies a band member.

Downstairs, I can't help myself... "Dan, can we have a selfie?" And so we grin at the camera together, and I click. There you have it, a casual selfie with Bastille. Just another standard day at the office.

Bruce Springsteen Live in Cape Town

A week seems like just long enough to wait before blogging about a concert. The PGD has all but faded (although I did nearly cry last night when hearing the word 'vision' reminded me of the Thunder Road lyric...), and it's time to face the facts: it's been seven days since my last Bruce fix. I haven't listened to him since, in fact I haven't even listened to my iPod or any CD much at all, preferring to rather torture myself with the radio for fear that any song may break my little bubble of Boss-happiness.

So Springsteen and co ('co' this time including Tom Morello, Jake Clemons, Nils Lofgren, Steve van Zandt, Soozie Tyrell and all the rest of the 18-piece E-Street Band) descended upon my town during the last week of January 2014. The Boss himself arrived in his private plane, and by the time I saw the Instagram of said plane I was already plotting just how I was going to take a casual drive past the One & Only, where I was pretty sure he was staying. Luckily it was a Friday afternoon, and I could assure myself that it wasn't at all creepy to do my weekly grocery shopping at the V&A Waterfront, necessitating a ride past said hotel on the way home. Luck was, unfortunately not on my side. Fail.

Fast-forward to Sunday when I receive a photograph via email from my actual boss (not Boss), who happens to be at the Bruce press conference. I don't wanna talk about it.

And so arrives Tuesday the 28th of January, a day that will go down in my history books for all time. Bruce day. Not like I haven't seen him before, but whatevs. I've managed a half-day at work to facilitate queuing and well, not being dead tired, and rush out at 8.30am sharp, already clad in my specially printed Born in the USA tour shirt, a la Courtney Cox circa 1984.

My attempts at a morning nap are thwarted by a) a neighbour knocking on my door just as my New Jersey-esque musings are threatening to take wings and become actual dreams and b) the fact that I'm just too gosh-darned excited. Besides, sleep is for those who have the time (read: those who aren't seeing a legend in just a few hours).

I manage to restrain myself and not go queue at 9am, although it goes against everything I stand for, and every fibre of my being is trying to fight its way to Bellville as I try just as desperately to hold it back. 1.30pm sounds like a fair departure time, however, and since the venue is 30 minutes away by car, 2pm is positively late for me when it comes to concerts. We're almost at the turn off to the N1 when disaster strikes: one of those nifty little Cape Town highway billboards tells us that the N1 is closed, please use alternate route. Hmm. Now I'm not willing to take any risks (the back streets of Goodwood are probably worse than the back streets of Naples - 50 points if you get that song reference), so we take a serious detour via the N2 and halfway to Kuils freaking River. Either way, our directions are pretty much spot on, and we land in a non-descript parking lot, filled with small clumps of people who don't see to be queuing at all...

I'll spare my rant about the pit system (basically, first 450 people to arrive at the show get priority standing, and despite the number of times I asked if this would be the case at this show, I was denied an answer). But I'm number 311 in line, and although I have no intention of actually going into the pit (friendship wins over fangirling any day, and miss Lauren won't make it before about 7pm), I meet the most wonderfully interesting people.

I'm not really a member of the Bruce fan community, but I can liken it to my own Victims. A crowd of people from all corners of the globe coming together in support of just one mutual passion - and becoming the best of friends. One guy is from Turkey, one from Sweden, and we strike up the conversations of old friends - it's almost magic. They're all dressed in previous tour shirts and are more than eager to tell anyone who will listen that they've seen the Boss 156 times. What a privilege it must be to have followed him since the early days of his career: when Big Man and Danny Federici were still around, when the Stone Pony was the biggest venue the band had played, ahhhh.

So we're led in before gates officially open (around 5.30pm) and herded into seats marked with each of our numbers, despite my protests of "I am not a cattle!" The two fans who seem to be in charge are not amused by me, and become more like a cross between drill-sergeants and retired headmasters with every loud exclamation. Nonetheless, it is fantastic fun.

A few minutes later I've secured a barrier spot between pit and general, and the security guard assures me that I want to stay just where I am. I don't really dare to believe that the little arrows on the floor near my feet are to mark where Bruce is going to run if he jumps off the stage...

Cue dimming of the lights and an immense roar from the crowd as the E-Street band troop onto the stage. The roar grows as Nils and his top hat take up their position, and squeals ensue for Jake Clemons (clearly as popular as his uncle once was), but it's the arrival of Steve van Zandt that nearly blows the roof off the Bellville Velodrome. Oh, and then there's Springsteen.

It's really almost all too much for me, and I stare in awe as my hero kicks his show off with a tribute to Nelson Mandela, followed by a little walk around the front of the stage to gather sign requests. We get 'No Surrender', 'Two Hearts' and 'The Ties That Bind' before being treated to the brand new cover of 'High Hopes', which yes, I knew all the words to after listening to the album non-stop for a solid week.

"Can you feeeeeeel it?" Bruce asks. "Can you feel the spirit?" and I die a little inside, knowing what's coming. 'Spirit in the Night' is done justice by the horn section, but I'll admit to losing concentration on the song when Mr Springsteen casually jumps from the stage and runs down a little path that ends right in front of my face. Oh. He's standing on a tiny platform ten centimeters from me and I am touching him. Oh. He's singing one of my favourite of his songs into my face. Oh. Then he runs away, and what am I supposed to do? Scream? Cry? Faint? I settle for gripping the barrier as if my life depends on it, and trying not to let my shaking legs deposit me flat on the floor. I've touched Bruce Springsteen.

'41 Shots' is an emotional highlight, and as much as I love it, I find myself unable to cheer for it. I can sing, yes, and clap, but cheering and shouting just doesn't seem right. Regardless, it's beautiful. 'The Promised Land' (my favourite Springsteen song) nearly sends me over the edge, 'Shackled and Drawn' makes me want to dance my face off, and clearly even the local audience know the drill of passing Bruce a kid for 'Waiting on a Sunny Day'. Then we're onto 'Lonesome Day', 'Badlands' (during which I make besties with the girl next to me) and a rare full version of 'Born in the USA'. It's not usually one of my favourites, but tonight it sure it. 'Born to Run' sees Lauren and myself fangirling so much we may actually injure ourselves, and 'Dancing in the Dark' has me on another high. Setlist-wise, my main disappointments are the lack of 'Thunder Road' and 'Hungry Heart', but I've seen them at Wembley, so I'll survive.

It's over far too quickly, and peeling myself away from the barrier I can barely move my legs to walk to the car. But I'd do it all again. I'd do it right there and then. If the band had played another 27 songs, I'd have been there, front and center.

A 64-year-old man effortlessly entertains a crowd of 12000 for 3 hours (and yes, I touched him two more times), never losing the attention for even a split second. He commands the stage like something from another world, and indeed, maybe he is. There's something magic about this guy, something unexplainable, something that can only be felt by those who witness his performance in person. How can one person possess a talent and an emotion so strong that he can captivate three generations of people all at the same time? He's a legend, a musician so enduring that I have no doubt about whether my generation's grandchildren will still be worshipping the ground he once walked upon. In 50 years time, I can look back and say "You know, I saw Springsteen live"... and they'll all dance to his music like spirits in the night.

Venice, Verona and Very Broken Luggage

Once again, I'm unsure what country I'm in. The city is definitely still Geneva, but the airport may or may not be back across the French border. Oh well. All I know is that I'm hungry, and I have 25 gosh-darned Swiss Francs that I know I won't be able to get rid of anywhere else. I inspect the long lines of dry-looking baguettes on display in the airport food stores (aha, we are back in France after all), grimance, and eventually settle on something called "tonna"  because it looks like it involves mayonnaise. And it could be tuna. Which it is.

We're in for an unpleasant surprise upon arrival at the boarding gates: boarding starts in 10 minutes, and our flight has been cancelled. They'll try to put us on the next flight, which is only 2 and a half hours from now. Can we get a car and drive to Venice? No, apparently not.

We're airbourn approximately 4 minutes before the 2.5 hour cut-off time after which the airline would have to provide some form of compensation to us. Granted, said compensation would probably have been a 3 buck voucher to cover a quarter of one of those awful baguettes, but still.

And so the Alps give way to the rolling Italian countryside, and before long we land at Venice's Marco Polo airport. I can't say I remember disembarking (it's now November, this was very late May), but I do remember arriving at baggage claim to find a suitcase with no wheels, no handle and a broken zip. Cue carrying said suitcase through airport like some kind of grossly disfigured humanoid child.
We locate the correct bus into Mestre (surprisingly easy, given that everything is in Italian) and  hop aboard - to find that our only fellow passengers are a South African couple headed to Venice to board a cruise! The world is ridiculously small.

The hotel is supposed to be 200m from the bus station, but it feels more like 200 miles, with said suitcase. We take turns dragging the thing, and luckily spot a store packed with cheap suitcases along the way. This is surely a done deal before leaving Venice, we can certainly not continue to travel this way.
Hotel = located, and the Italians at the front desk do speak some English. Obtain wi-fi password and proceed to drag the Suitcase of Death up the stairs to our room. Collapse, and then realise we're hungry. Walk to the nearest restaurant. Find they only open at 7pm. McDonald's it is, then. Sigh. If I never see another Micky D's again, I will be a happy human being.

For some unfathomable reason, sunlight in Italy just seems a lot brighter than sunlight anywhere else I've ever been, and we wake up early the next morning to a beautiful day. Finally, no coats required. Apparently people in Italy eat cake for breakfast, but I'm definitely not complaining. Plus, they have TEA here. English breakfast tea has never tasted so good.

Board bus into central Venice, experience typical Italian driving skills, dropped off in parking lot next to canals - and off we go! Venice looks just like the pictures, books and tv depict it, but rather than float around in a gondola all day, it is perfectly possible to navigate the town without doing too much water travel. We take the waterbus accross the Grand Canal, with no real idea of where we're going. I should mention that whilst this is a pleasant experience on the whole, these waterbuses have absolutely no braking system - they stop when they collide with the dock, and some unfortunate young man is left to tie the ropes to secure the things whilst the passengers disembark.

Despite the internet saying different, there's really only one part of Venice that smells a bit funky - the fish market. Avoid at all costs! We wander through the cute little streets for absolute hours, eating gelato and avoiding the ridiculously-priced designer shops. My main purchase of the day is a sailor hat that is destined to adorn my head for at least the next week. We dine on pasta hilst Avril Lavigne screeches her latest chart topper on the radio. Some things are no different, no matter where you are in the world.
Aroud 4pm we head back to the parking lot to catch the bus back. Aching feet is definitely a small price to pay for a day in such a stunning city.

Verona. It's the creepy hidden track at the end of Hurts' 'Water'. It's the place The Killers headlined that festival called something about Life or Love or Beautiful or Wonderful... (it's called 'A Perfect Day', I had to google it later). But over and above that, it's the city in which Romeo & Juliet was set. Now, whether or not the story was based on any vague form of fact, tourists are 100% happy to trek all the way out here from Venice (an hour on the train) to see what is billed as Juliet's Balcony. Would you judge me if I said I was one of those tourists?

After an hour of walking in the wrong direction in the boiling hot sun  (thanks, mom) we finally walk back to the train station and attempt to catch a bus going in the right direction. What we don't factor in is that today is Sunday, and apparently buses don't run here on Sundays. Cue more walking. We do finally make it into the tourist part of town though, and immdeiately feel the need to feed our stomachs. The internet says that you should never eat meat in Verona, because what is billed as beef is actually horse. Great to know. I settle for a margharita. The pizza that is, not the cocktail. One of those would have bankrupted me.
Streets are wandered, and shops are stared into, but the real point of this excursion is trackign down the famed balcony. And thanks to phenomenal navigational skills (read: following the crowds of people in front of us) we are able to do just that. While we can't deal with the queues (or the 10 Euro) to actually go onto the balcony, we're prefectly content with pretending to be Romeo and starring up at it from the ground.
And so the Venetian leg of our journey must come to an end - tomorrow, the Italian travels continue: on to Florence we go!

The Four Categories of Club Music

A crowd of young zombies gather in a dark room, their bodies pulsating to some beat only they can hear. Their minds are blank as their vacant stares and their eyes open and close at irregular intervals. They're ingesting an unknown substance to keep them alive - without it, the dark room would become poisonous, and they would be forced to evacuate or be driven immediately insane. Suddenly, bright lights flash on, and a terrible noise fills the air, causing the small group of humans left to shriek and block their ears. But it's too late, the zombies have spotted them and move in for the kill, arms outstretched towards the poor human girls. A zombie grabs the nearest girl by the shoulders. Her dress twirls out as she spins towards him, trying but failing to fight the irresistable pull of the zombie. He hands her a volume of the unknown substance and motions for her to drink it. Then, in the final moments, she lets herself go and allows him to touch his lips to hers, in a kiss of death. She is a zombie now, and her friends look on in horror, knowing they are unable to save her. 

If you think this sounds like something out of the latest straight-to-DVD zombie comedy-horror, you'd be wrong. It's simply a scene from my trip to local party hotspot, Tiger Tiger last night. No, there was no zombie theme party, use your imagination for goodness' sake. 

The zombies in this instance are the young adults, the magic substance is their drink of choice. Because in all honesty, the only way yo survive such hangouts is with the help of some serious vodka. Unless you're me... in that case, no amount of shots can make this mini-apocalypse survivable. 

But this is a fangirl blog, and I intend to examine the music played at these clubs, above all other things. Club music falls into about four distinct categories, so let's examine them.

So, we start off with a rave beat, no words, no discernible tune, just doof-doof-doof coming from the DJ booth. The young zombies seem not to even notice the music, but they sure do move to it. The head-bop, the arm-move, the leg-bend and the twerk are amongst such moves. The zombies seem hypnotised. I'm ready to launch myself off a bridge.

We then progress to a range of mind-numbing, stomach-turning chart toppers including that song Pitbull bee's re-recording and trying to pass off as a new hit every few months for the past five years, a little bit of Pink, and even some One Direction. It's really not that bad, if you know the words, you can scream them to your friends and continue your head-bopping. Even better is when it's a good song, like Florence's 'The Dog Days Are Over', which has a great beat, meaning it doesn't have to be remixed (more on that coming up). At least singing will keep you entertained and stop you from glancing around the room, lest you make eye-contact with a lonely zombie scoping the edges of the dancefloor for fresh meat. *Shudder*

Next we're on to remixes of songs that should never be re-mixed. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to break Imagine Dragon's 'Radioactive' into pieces split by Avicci-style bass-drops? Also, slapping a dance-y backing track onto 'I Will Wait' does not make it okay to twerk to Mumford & Sons! Have you ever listened to this band's lyrics? You have? And you still want to shake your ass to them? Now, I love Mumford & Sons, so obviously I get excited when I hear their songs start to play, but I dancing to 'I Will Wait' just felt wrong. Dirty. Ugh.

And so we reach the final category: the oldies. At this particular club, the pure rubbish takes a break about once an hour, for one or two great singalong 'oldies'. Now, I use the term 'oldies' loosely, simply because no, we're not dancing to The Platters, but then again 99% of these people wouldn't know what they were. 2000 is way old for these kids. So in the first hour, we're treated to 'All The Small Things' and 'Teenage Dirtbag' - the latter of which is so bad that it should have been outlawed by 2001, yet it's still 100x better than the rest of the night's music - and in the second hour it's Journey's (yes, Journey, not Glee) 'Don't Stop Believing'. Remarkably, the zombies come alive at these singalongs. Belting out every word, the dancefloor comes alive with bouncing, singing, smiling human beings.

It really gets me thinking - maybe people do have better music taste than they care to admit. Maybe they don't even really dig the latest David Guetta jam, and would much rather be listening to Journey, but of course they could never admit that. They'd lose all their street cred. Either way, I'm more than happy to step into my car at 2am and blast some Springsteen all the way home. My street cred's long gone. 

More Concerts For Cape Town!

A few unfortunate things happened when I went to T in the Park this year. Quite aside from being hit on the head by all those cups of what I certainly hope was only beer, I had to make some pretty tough decisions when it came to what bands to watch. Beady Eye vs Rihanna was an easy one, but others were less so: I could watch all of Bastille's set and then risk being stuck at the back of another stage for Hurts straight after, I could forfeit barrier for The Killers to watch more of Foals... seriously, it was a nightmare.

Whilst I managed to break the Two Door Cinema Curse (don't ask), I did manage to miss 90% of Bastille's set in favour of a barrier spot for Hurts, and I ditched Foals one song in for the love of The Killers. Festivals are, unfortunately, always a trade-off. But never fear, for Cape Town is just as awesome as the UK when it comes to music.

Firstly, rock fans all around the country rejoiced when Ramfest announced Biffy Clyro and Foals would headline in 2014. All bets were on Biffy, but I'd tipped Foals to be at Synergy rather than Ramfest. I'm very excited to see both bands, and definitely need to brush up on my song knowledge so that I'm not that awkward kid who only sings along to 'Mountains' and 'My Number'.

Then today, out of nowhere, Seed Experiences and 5FM magically announce that Bastille are coming! This announcement is completely out of nowhere, and I'm not sure what to do with myself. It's too much all at once! Funny thing is, I hesitated to buy myself a R6 chocolate this morning, but think nothing of spending R1000 on tickets to these concerts. Addicted, you say? Never...

Ramfest tickets here.
Bastille tickets here.

Panic Station: A Tale of Terror

Here's another short story based on lyrics! See if you can guess what song this is:

An abandoned tube station was, perhaps, not the most normal place for a first date. But hey, Donna was quirky and different like that, and if that's what she wanted, Alex could dig it. 

He'd fancied her for months, but had never plucked up the courage to speak to her until three days ago. He'd asked if he could walk her home from school, and she'd  clearly picked up on his feelings.She'd smiled coyly, flipped her waist-length black hair over her shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. 

"If you want to ask me out, just do it." Her grey eyes flashed, and she winked one heavily made-up eyelid at him.

Alex hadn't known what to say. "I-I-I ... I mean..."

She had grinned widely and said "Friday night, the old Panic Station, meet me there."

Panic Station. Between Burnt Oak and Edgeware, on the outskirts of the Northern Line, Panic had been closed since before Alex and Donna were born. It was something of an unspoken rule that you just didn't go down there: rumours ranged from rat infestations to crowd of the homeless, to the occasional crazy person who thought it was haunted. In reality, it was probably just dark, cold and flooded, but no one had taken the chance and gone to check it out. 

But instead of meeting down the local pub or on Hampstead Heath, Donna had wanted to meet Alex at Panic Station. And Alex ignored his misgivings, fastened the buttons on his coat and headed out the door, calling a vague "See you later, I'm meeting some friends" to his mom and dad, who were seated at the kitchen table. 

Being mid-January, the winter freeze had long ago set in, and Alex's breath came out in wreaths of steam and he jogged down the main street. It was 6.55pm, and Donna had wanted to meet at 7pm - he couldn't risk being late for his first real date ever. He picked up the pace as the entrance to the old station came into view.

Alex's high-top sneakers thudded heavily on the stairs down to the platforms, the rhythm almost formed a beat in his head, and it helped to calm his nerves. She was only a girl. He had no reason whatsoever to be nervous.

"Donna...?" He called. His voice echoed into the silence Donna-na-na-na-na.

No answer. He checked his watch: 7.10pm. It was fine, she was just running a bit late. Maybe girls always ran late.

It was creepy down here, though. And freezing. Shivers ran down Alex's spine, and he began to shake uncontrollably. He rubbed his hands together to warm them up, but it was as though he couldn't even feel them touching. And he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched...

"Donna? Is that you?" He leaned up against a wall, acting casual. No answer, but a scuttling noise made him jump. It sounded like multiple, light-footed people. There was, without a doubt, something coming towards him from the depths of the station. What if it was some crazy man with an axe, or a gun? Alex pressed his body against the wall, trying to make himself invisible. He tried to breathe softly, but his heart was pounding out a symphony is his chest. Surely anyone could hear it. The noise kept coming towards him... suddenly it was on top if him. Alex closed his eyes and tried to stop his body from shaking. Something light brushed his leg and he jumped. OH GOOD GOD, IT HAD EYES.

He could have sworn! The thing that had touched him had eyes! Not just two eyes, either. It had been low to the ground, and a reflection of light from outside had caught in its eyes - it had looked like a spider but surely no spider in the world was a foot tall. It was all part of the nerves - the dark was playing tricks on Alex's mind. It had surely just been an old crisp packet, blown towards him by the wind, or at a push, maybe it had been a rat.

That was when everything lit up.

For a second, Alex's mind turned off, he couldn't understand what was happening... and then he heard the familiar rumble of the train, and realised where the light was coming from. But that made no sense! When Panic Station had been closed, they'd dug up half the Northern Line and re-routed the train tracks - the station wasn't just closed: it wasn't on the line anymore! In fact, the Southern end of the platforms had been bricked up - there was no way for a train to pass through at all. Then how could it be that a red and white London Underground train was now speeding towards the platform - in a Southerly direction - with no signs of stopping? 

Alex stared, transfixed, as the train drew level with him. It seemed to be empty. He watched it pass the platform, and now the front was approaching the wall, the back was just passing him... Alex whipped his head around when a flash of movement in the rear window caught his eye. A small skeleton was propped up at the back of the train, eyeless sockets seeming to mock Alex, standing alone on the platform. Alex felt a scream build up in his throat and quickly tried to suppress it. Instead, he let out a feeble squeak and shut his eyes, telling himself that the skeleton had been someone's idea of a funny joke. It was exactly the same as the one in the bio labs at school: nothing to be afraid of.

Alex opened his eyes in complete darkness. The train had disappeared through the brick wall on the other side. He shook his head and tried to focus his mind. Obviously the wall only covered part of the exit from the platform. A train simply could not pass through a wall and disappear. The skeleton was a toy, and the wall had been broken down, that was the only explanation. The time was, however, high to get out of here. He would call Donna as soon as he got home and ask to re-schedule. 

He started towards the stairs, he could just make them out, now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. A deep growling sound stopped him in his tracks. To his right, he could hear something pacing, it seemed to have claws, which clicked against the old cement floors. It was also growling in a regular rhythm.

Alex inched his way towards to exit, holding his breath and praying that his footsteps were light enough for the creature to miss. He was about ten steps from the staircase when the growling suddenly stopped. The creature's feet clicked in an irregular pattern: it was turning to face him. RUN!

Adrenaline kicking in, Alex sprinted to the staircase, and took the steps 3 at a time, until he emerged, panting back on the main road. To his surprise, Donna stood across the road, idly twisting her hair between her fingers and looking slightly bored. When she caught sight of him, however, she threw her head back in a terrible laugh.

"Donna! Something's down there, Donna, we have to get OUT OF HERE!" Alex screamed, panicking.

She smiled widely, eyes full of life. "I know what's down there, Alex. If we were a couple, I'd have to hang around with all your friends at school... I was just making sure that you got along with mine."

* 'Panic Station' - Muse.