Was this to be their everyday? Another venue, another tired show. They were exhausted. They were living the dream?! They were after all BIG TIME. Well maybe they weren't big time, but they were big enough to earn an old school funk-a-fide living collecting the perks best had after dark on a work night filled with sex, drugs, rock and roll.
Concert tees. Cheap. A sweet memento. Prove to the world you are more than a suit and tie. Prove to yourself that you are more than the lovely nine to five. Concert tees. Cheap.
In the moment, touched ever so temporarily but nonetheless sincerely, the first note came alive and wild-drunken clarity struck. The entire audience rushed into the experience of music from outside the normalcy separating band and fan. Each individual, simultaneously apart from and within the togetherness of the scene, danced as hard as possible trying to break beyond everyday existence. We must slip outside this common-space of counting time, the collective seemed to cry.
The experience moved accidentally forward. There was no realizing the moment. We are still trapped somewhere between zen connection and claustrophobic day dream, the shared groove knew. If we could only bounce around the room harder, faster, longer, stronger, then surely we could make an escape. And so the silently dancing lied to themselves about how eternal it was all getting.
Outside the world trampled along, but here for a blink of another eye there existed -- surely it was real -- something bigger.
As smokey haze, liquid collapse, and the smell of yesterday fought for sensory perception against the crowd's side to side, the jig played on. Frightful sounds of a guitar on fire, drums pounding, keyboards dancing, and vocals communicating philosophically about nothing at all slid simultaneously on through to the other side of reason. Consciousness came and went, a tired soul got sick in the corner, a round of shots spilled across the floor, an older lady looked at her watch wondering how much longer, a couple pushed their way forward, and a youngster tried to melt away. In short, the show hammered on at full speed.
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Lights flashed, minds got bent, and for a breath or two it all seemed so real: they were on a spaceship trip ready to leave the planet's orbit with music as their only proper fuel. Hell, it was all an imagined journey going well beyond any possible frontiers once known to man. A slipped hand, a side-stage glance gone both ways; everyone forgot to take a set break and somehow they moved on to the next song without missing a beat.
"And this is special," some voice nearly spoke.
Kept their heads down. Fought hard against the breaking energy. Hoped the night would continue on well past sunrise. Pushed fervently against thoughts that might lead another show to end, or send them all back towards morrow. The band played forever, but was it even possible to know? Surely, they were on the verge of a world necessarily transformed: peace broke out, wealth got redistributed, madness abated, and global catastrophes faded.
A singular false note, harsh in its turn, and reality came spilling forth from an infinite number of sides once caught all around. Violence, hunger, death. The encore felt overly saturated, too planned, too plastic, like the band knew what was expected of them but lost their heart in the mixture.
Posters, stickers, concert tees, and other mementos. Cheap.
Some lingered, while others shuffled away. Connections unspoken got cut up in the way. Two or three here, another couple there. One or two even tried to make eye contact but got stunned by the general blur. Exhausted catches of conversation reiterated how wonderful the night had been, too bad the workday morning had to come chasing so soon. Frighteningly little left, but a sense of stale in the air.
Taxis waited at the door.
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