Wednesday, December 20, 2006

'What The Fuck?' (Or 'the one where I wait for the hate mail')

'What The Fuck?' (Or 'the one where I wait for the hate mail')

*does finger to lips, shushing like we're in a library motion* "Can you not sing, I want to hear [Griffin]"

There's a moment when I do a little double check. Gayle and I exchange looks. Are we at the opera? At a musical? Has the upstairs room of the Independent turned into the Bedford without my noticing? But no, I'm at a gig.

I do a little mental recount of my favourite moments of the parade of gigs I've been to this year. 'No Tomorrow' in Newcastle, 'Ashes' in Birmingham, 'Run' in Millennium Square, 'You're All I Have' in Dundee, 'Final Request' in Coventry in a room barely bigger than this. And what unites these moments? The swell of the crowd, those disparate voices creating that soaring choir as the song verberates around the venue, singing the words back to where they came.

I don't even need to go that far. I can think back to the Clapham Grand and Griffin's Missing Miles concert, of the almost choir that even today flashes a memory of happiness across my retina. Because this is music, this is performance, this is how it should be. If you want perfection and silence, stay at home and listen to the CD.

And rather than silence I do the only thing I can do. I sing louder.

*Title copyright Gayle.

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