This is (again) about our little girl. The one who carried music in her heart, all her life, quietly and persistently. For those of you who’ve read my old posts, there is no need to explain who she is. For those of you who haven’t: part 1 was published on 16th May.
So, she grew up to be a big (serious) girl, with all due commitments for her age and marital status. Devoted to her responsibilities, she carried on with whatever life had in store for her – as was expected from a grown up girl. Music was always there in the background: either in the car stereo, or in the headphones of her mobile phone at the gym, or on the CD’s playing in the kitchen while getting on with her chores. Thank God (oops, humans!) for inventing the Internet, as how would you otherwise keep in touch with what’s going on in the (music!) world. Especially when you have no freaking time to follow MTV. Or Kerrang.
This is all the presence music had in her life: reading about it, listening to it, and loving it. A friend back in her home country, fellow rock music fan, asked her once, almost drooling in anticipation: ‘Now, tell me about all the concerts you’ve been to?’ And wouldn’t believe the answer she got: none. ‘Seriously? You live in the Mecca of rock, and haven’t been to any gigs?’ Which is when it hit home. Yes, she was so bogged down in her small (busy, but still small) life, that she had not even thought of the possibility to actually enjoy herself and did what she did when she was young and single: listen to her music live, without ear plugs, letting it hit her stomach and flow with her blood stream.
… A few years down the line, there she was: at The Mecca of Rock. The biggest stadium she could think of, heart pounding with the roar of amplifiers digging into her stomach. This is what music was for. Yes, she was enjoying it. Very much. And still, something was missing. The connection. As much as she loved the music she was there for, she did not engage with it. There was no connection. But never mind that; what mattered was that she was there!
Until one day it happened. She logged into her Twitter account (which she hadn’t done for… errr.. not sure how many weeks, months, no idea how long) – to find two follow requests. Oh well, someone wants me, big freaking deal. Until she saw those two names. Heart stopped. Her two most favourite singers wanted to follow her. Staring at her phone, she had no idea how to react. F**king hell. Needless to say, she accepted the requests and tweeted back in appreciation of whatever happened, whatever the hell that was: why would THEY want to follow… huh, her. Next day she opened up her social media again, only to realise that one of these follows was fake, as someone had hacked into the singer’s account. Oh well, welcome back to real life.
The other one, though, was real. No f**king way. And, still, it was. The rest happened as if in a dream. She had no idea what he’d been up to, as much as she loved his music: let’s not forget how busy her small life was. Until she checked out his website – only to find out he was back with her favourite band, and they were coming to town touring in… two week’s time.
That’s when it did hit her. This is what was missing. Connecting with her music was two weeks away. You can go to as many gigs you could afford or fancy going to, but still not feel it in your system. She knew this would not be the case this time. This was The Band. The one whose CD’s she had been stacking on her shelves for years. The one whose periods were longest in her life (as many people, she went through periods of continuously listening to the same band for days, weeks, sometimes months). With no hesitation she got herself a ticket. And waited. Patiently? Hell no. The following two weeks were a blur for her. What didn’t help was the mix-up with her ticket. Somehow she found out that the venue sold their tickets as VIP (meet’n’greet), whist the website she got hers from didn’t. As happens in the civilised world, though, nothing is impossible, so she was put on the VIP list to meet the band.
And the agony started. All she could listen to was The Band. In some strange, nearly surreal, anticipation. She had been at big bands’ gigs before, and still, this nervousness was new to her. This can’t possibly be happening.
Or can it. On the way to the gig she was trying to be logical. She was persuading herself that, after all, these are just five men, ordinary men, like everyone else. Not even that famous, for God’s sake, so what is this panic about. And still something in her refused to believe it. This was her band. Her music. This is what rocked her world. Even if only a handful of people turned up at the gig, to her this would still be The Gig of the Century. Because it was Them. And, let’s not forget: they were back together with The Voice. Double the fantasy.
At the doors of the club it started to feel real. And not quite. The doors were solid locked. No one cared about the meet’n’greet they were promised. Sound check? What sound check? No one cared there were ‘bodies’ there, patiently waiting to see the band. Hoping that the band was actually going to turn up – as, after all, they were supposed to have met them before the gig.
Well, the gig did start, and yes, it was all real. The grotesque dump called club. Everything looked like it was going to fall apart. Somehow this just didn’t tie up with what was about to happen in two hours’ time. She went out with some other fans who decided to give the first support act a miss. They went out for a wander, looking for some food. Until one of them stopped just outside a pizza place and talked to two ordinary guys coming out of the restaurant. ‘Hi guys, are you coming to the gig later?’ Who the hell is he talking to?? She stared at them, suddenly realising this was Them. Two of The Band. As surreal as this felt, this was actually happening. In real life. The connection was made.
Two hours later it all came true. The Band was real. So was their music. And it was as perfect as it could possibly be. The circuit was closed. The Magic was there. And it was there to stay.
P.S. All characters appearing in this work are not fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons is purely intentional.
The name of The Band is Royal Hunt. You can find them on http://www.royalhunt.com and