Space They Cannot Touch
This is the prologue to a new fic I've been working on. It's looking like another epic, so that's my free time sorted for the next six months.
Title: Prologue: Time is Running Out
Pairing: Matthew/Dominic
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A Muse gig comes to an unexpected end.
Disclaimer: I do not own Muse. The events within are entirely fictional. Thankfully.
Author's Notes: The prologue is told from the point of view of a fan in the crowd, and takes place at a fictional London gig.
Betas: The dynamic duo: millionstar and dolce_piccante
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort
Bury it
I won't let you bury it
I won't let you smother it
I won't let you murder it
Our time is running out
Our time is running out
You can't push it underground
You can't stop it screaming out
How did it come to this?
Time is Running Out - Muse
It’s stupid really, worrying about turning up to the wrong place. I’ve only checked and double-checked my ticket a million times, searched online for the quickest route, and insisted that my parents write the date and the time on every available surface in our house. What can I say? I’m a worrier. Thankfully, my fears are soon forgotten when I step out of the car and find myself facing a group of girls all wearing Muse shirts.
Right station then.
One of the girls looks over at me and smiles, and I return the gesture eagerly. In that moment we are no longer strangers; we are musical comrades, forever connected through our love of the greatest band in the world. Mum, on the other hand, glances around anxiously, and for one awful moment I am convinced that she is going to change her mind and insist on chaperoning me all the way to the arena.
“Remember what we talked about,” she says firmly, wringing her hands and looking to my dad for support.
He places a calming hand on her shoulder, and smiles at me. “I know you’re going to have a wonderful time Ella,” he says warmly. “You make sure to cherish every moment, and we’ll look forward to hearing all about it later tonight.”
“Thanks Dad,” I reply, hugging both of them. “I’ll send you a message to let you know I’m there safely. I promise.”
Mum looks marginally more relaxed at this. Dad pats me on the shoulder. “Go on then. Mr Bellamy awaits.” He looks exceptionally pleased with himself for getting the name right, and it’s so cute that I can’t help throwing my arms around his neck and hugging him again.
Finally, I manage to pull away and join the stream of people heading into the station. At the archway I turn around to wave at them one last time. Dad gives me the heavy metal salute, like the big dork he is, and I burst out laughing. A feeling of community washes over me again as I step through the doors and into the station. I have never met these people before. I don’t know their ages, their sexuality, their political views, but that doesn’t matter because for this one glorious day we are united in a common goal.
Muse. 12th November, 2009. London.
My first time travelling into London without my parents. My first proper rock show. My first time seeing a band that has consoled me through the ups and downs of adolescence. A day I have been longing for since the day, five years ago now, when my older brother handed me a copy of Origin of Symmetry and told me to listen to some real music for a change.
To say I’m excited would be something of an understatement.
“Ellie!”
The voice is barely audible over the chatter of the crowd around me, but I recognise it instantly. I whirl around to find my best friend making her way towards me. Her long black hair has been streaked with blue, and she’s grinning like an idiot. She bounces up to me and clasps my hands in her small ones.
“We’re going to see Muse!” she cries, jumping up and down. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I soon find myself joining in.
Even in my excitement, I can’t help noticing the group of older fans watching us with disdain.
“Twilighters,” one mutters scornfully as another rolls his eyes.
I stop jumping immediately, and I can feel a deep blush flood my face. If I wasn’t so shy, I’d go over there and give them a piece of my mind for lumping Lizz and I in with those silly fangirls. Lizz notices my discomfort, and squeezes my hand supportively. “Forget them,” she says quietly. “Today is too good a day to let idiots like that ruin it. You and me know the truth, and that’s all that matters.”
I nod. She’s absolutely right, as usual.
“You look hot!” Lizz gushes, wisely changing the subject.
I shoot her a sceptical look and attempt to tug my t-shirt further down over my jeans. It had been Lizz’s idea to wear skinnies to the gig, and she wouldn’t hear any of my protests about my not having the figure for such attire. I didn’t even own skinnies until the other day, when she dragged me all over town in search of the perfect pair. Lizz looks incredible, as usual. Her bright purple jeans accentuate her slim hips and minuscule waist. She’d been so happy when she found them, proud that she’d managed to find a colour that a certain drummer hasn’t yet been sighted in. My own black jeans make me feel more like a particularly lumpy sack of potatoes, but at least I manage to get out of wearing the red ones she had originally picked out for me. The less attention I can draw to myself, the better, as far as I’m concerned. Both of us are wearing our favourite Muse shirts and battered Converse, and carrying the smallest bags we could reasonably get away with.
“Picture time!” she exclaims suddenly, pulling her camera out of her bag and snapping a picture of me. I retaliate by taking one of her on my camera, wanting to capture as much of the day as possible for posterity.
“Have you got your ticket?” I ask, checking my bag once more to make sure that mine is still there.
“Sure do,” she replies, tucking her arm through mine as we begin to walk through the station to our platform. We stop at a little newsstand to buy some snacks for the journey, and I take another picture of Lizz standing in front of the train, and then it is time for us to take our seats.
The group of people sat behind us have obviously seen them before, and are loudly relieving the experience. Lizz and I listen quietly for a moment, and then look at each other and grin. Lizz glances at her watch.
“In exactly eight hours we are going to see the best fucking band on the planet,” she whispers excitedly. My leg bounces up and down with anticipation.
“What do you think they’ll be wearing?” I ask, feeling like a vacuous fangirl the moment the question leaves my mouth. Who cares what they’re wearing? It’s the music that counts.
Lizz just grins at me. “I know what I’d like them to be wearing,” she replies with a wink.
“Spiderdom!” we both exclaim, giggles bursting out despite our best efforts to control them.
Lizz’s eyes glaze over at the mention of the blond drummer, and I indulge her daydreaming for a moment before nudging her to draw her back into the conversation. “Braces,” I say solemnly. “As long as Matt is wearing braces, I don’t care what else he has on.”
“What if he wears one of those hideous Hawaiian shirts he used to wear?”
“I don’t care,” I insist, though the mental picture makes me wrinkle my nose in disgust. To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I saw him wearing braces, so chances are I’ll have to settle for a pair of tight trousers and one of those t-shirts that he seems so fond of these days.
We soon move off clothes and onto more important matters. “Do you think they’ll play Bliss?” I ask hopefully.
As we start fantasising about our perfect setlist, the train pulls slowly away from the station. The group behind us celebrates by opening a packet of chocolate biscuits and handing them around the compartment. Lizz disappears to fetch us both a cup of tea, and I’m left alone with my thoughts as the countryside whizzes by. When Lizz returns we pick our where we left off, arguing over the best song to finish on.
The journey is only a short one, but it seems to take forever. Understandable really; when you’re looking forward to something time always seems to slow down. The train eventually comes to a stop and we all spill out onto the platform. People rush up the stairs and I grab Lizz’s hand to ensure we don’t get separated. Outside, we join more fans making their way to the arena. The energy kicks up a notch as our destination draws closer. We stop briefly to take more pictures of the madness before joining the crowd again, weaving in and out in a desperate attempt to get as close to the front of the queue as possible.
My heart sinks as we come to a stop. There are hundreds of people in front of us. We don’t stand a chance of getting anywhere near the barrier. I’m short, even by female standards, and Lizz isn’t much taller. If some big tall guy ends up in front us, we are both royally screwed.
“It’ll be fine,” Lizz says confidently, sensing my growing agitation the way only a best friend can. I frown slightly. Lizz has seen them before - twice - so tonight isn’t as important for her as it is for me. I don’t say that though. There’s no sense in spoiling the day with my whinging.
I thought the train ride was bad, but it is nothing compared to the agony of queuing outside the arena. We’ve still got a good three hours before the show is about to start, more than that before Muse take to the stage. I pull out my phone and give my mum a quick call, assuring her that Lizz and I are both safe. She tells me again to be careful before bidding me farewell. Lizz and I stand for about an hour, then sit for a while, and then stand again. At six o’clock they begin letting us in, a slow-moving procession of dyed hair and black shirts that is far worse than any airport queue I have ever endured. At long last, we make it into the building. Lizz makes a beeline for the merchandise stand, with me hot on her heels. We both buy new shirts before hurrying over the food vans and grabbing a chicken roll. The food is scoffed in record time as we head into the actual arena. Exhilaration fills me as we take off running, trying to watch each other and the path in front of us at the same time. We are forced to slow down as the crowd becomes thicker. Lizz grabs my hand and pulls me through the quickly disappearing gaps. I keep my head down, mumbling apologies as Lizz pushes determinedly on. She’s like a machine! She seems to know exactly where the gaps are going to appear, and how to get through them with minimal disturbance to the people around us. Finally, she comes to a halt.
“Will this do?”
I lift my head and gasp. It’s not quite the front, but it’s pretty bloody close.
We’re about six people from the barrier, directly in front of where Matt’s microphone should be. Words fail me, and I have to settle for flinging my arms around her neck and squeezing her with joy.
“You are the best friend ever!” I cry happily, and she laughs.
“Think you can handle being this close to the love of your life?” she teases.
I let out an embarrassing squeal at the mere thought.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she replies.
There’s a comfortable pause in conversation as we both take in the atmosphere. I turn around to examine the throng of people behind me. I can’t believe we made it through all of that. I have a brief moment of panic at the thought of trying to get out of here at the end of the night but I forget all about it when my phone beeps. It’s a message from my brother.
Hey ells. Wish i was there to share this with you. Have a great time. Ben x
The fact that he even thought to send me a message makes me smile. I wish he was here too, but a business trip to Japan meant that it just wasn’t possible. I send him a quick message back to let him know how close we are, and how much we are looking forward to the show. Lizz has her camera out and is snapping pictures of the arena and I join her, taking pictures of the stage and of the crowd around us before tucking my camera safely back in my bag.
“And now we wait again,” sighs Lizz, putting her camera away.
An hour later and I’m seriously beginning to regret coming so early, even if we do have an amazing view. Standing up for two hours straight is killing my back and I’m already sweating from the body heat of the surrounding crowd. Lizz looks as calm and collected as ever, and if I didn’t love her so much I’d probably hate her right now. She’s deep in conversation with an excruciatingly attractive boy with red skinnies and an Irish accent. To her credit she continues to try and draw me into the conversation, but my crippling shyness reduces my contributions to monosyllables and the occasional ‘I agree’.
I can feel some of the tension begin to evaporate the moment the support band takes the stage. They’re a local electro-punk band I’ve never heard of, but they obviously have some fans in the crowd judging by the cheers that greet them. At first I only cheer because every song they finish brings me closer to Muse, but after I while I have to admit that they’re actually quite good, and I find myself jumping up and down with Lizz, screaming when the lead singer instructs us to do so and waving our arms around madly. I stop jumping halfway through the set to grab a couple of pictures, but join in again when the band announce that they’re about to play their second to last song.
When their set is over, the band takes a bow to raucous applause and I don’t doubt that their high-energy performance has won them some new fans. Lizz turns to me and nods, clearly impressed. The waiting game begins again as Lizz and I discuss the band we’ve just seen and the band we’re about to see. Roadies busy themselves on stage, moving microphones and taping down wires. There’s a huge cheer as Dom’s drum kit is revealed to the crowd, followed closely by Matt’s piano. It’s only then that the reality of it hits me.
I’m really here.
I watch the movement on stage with eager eyes, even taking a couple of photographs. There’s another big cheer when a guitar tech steps up to Matt’s microphone and tests it and another for the man who places a jug of water and a couple of glasses on a table next to the grand piano. The crowd presses even more closely together, the few gaps around us filling up as everyone tries to get as close as possible. We hold our ground, allowing ourselves to be moved forward slightly but retaining our relatively unhindered view. At last the stage clears. For five minutes an arena full of people holds its breath in anticipation. A sudden rumble of cheering erupts from the right hand side of the stage and Lizz and I crane our heads to locate the cause of the commotion. Whatever it was is hidden to us though and we turn our attention back to the space immediately in front of us.
The Queen song that was blaring out across the room comes to a stop mid-song. There’s a moment of quiet and then the music begins again, something infinitely more dramatic this time. I clutch Lizz’s arm excitedly. This is it. Any moment now I am going to find myself metres away from the most desirable man on the planet.
The noise of the crowd begins to build, cheering, screaming and clapping almost drowning out the swell of the orchestral arrangement. My eyes dart across the stage, waiting for that first magical glimpse. It is Chris I see first as my eyes flick across to the right side of the stage, just as he is emerging from backstage right. He smiles broadly and waves to the crowd, who cheer madly in response. A flash of pink catches my eye and my gaze drifts up to the drum riser where Dominic Howard, all pink trousers and fluffy hair, salutes the screaming crowd. His smile is dazzling, even with the distance between us, and next to me Lizz sighs happily. Very, very slowly I let my gaze drift to the microphone in front of me, and, as ashamed as I am to admit it, my knees physically shake at the sight that awaits me.
He’s wearing braces. White pants, crisp white shirt and those lovely black braces. I’m close enough to see his bright blue eyes and the slightly twitchy smile that graces his lips. He’s even more attractive than I could have ever imagined. With a grin he raises one hand to the sky, a gesture I’ve seen a thousand times in photos and concert footage. I scream as loud as I possibly can, tears of happiness prickling at my eyes. As the cheers reach their pinnacle he brings his arm down, unleashing a single note upon the eager crowd. His fingers work their magic on the fretboard, weaving a strange electronic melody as he grins confidently. He pauses, drinking in the adulation, and then glances over at Dom. The drummer taps his sticks four times, and then the extravaganza begins. They kick off with Uprising, which I’d expected, and the crowd goes wild.
For the first couple of songs I can’t do anything but stand and stare, drinking in the sight of them before me. Lizz elbows me and motions to my bag, her camera already clutched in her hand. Coming to my senses I grab my own camera out of my bag and start snapping away, attempting to catch as many of Matt’s entertaining faces as possible, whilst also taking a few of Dom and Chris. Dom greets the crowd after Plug In Baby, to much applause. He thanks everyone for buying the album, and for coming to see them. I manage to take a fantastic picture of his smiling face that I know Lizz will love. Matt makes a joke about Dom’s trousers and the crowd laughs. It’s the standard onstage banter but we allow ourselves a brief moment of believing we are witnessing something unique, something only for us.
The energy in the room shifts markedly when Matt sits down at the piano for Hoodoo, one of my favourite songs. The boisterous crowd stills momentarily, swept away by the sheer majesty of that voice. In the last few years that voice has sung me to sleep more times than I can count. His words have inspired me and terrified me and moved me in ways that few other things ever have. To now be standing here watching him sing so beautifully is more than I could ever have hoped for. Lizz turns to me with tears in her eyes - she’s always loved this song - and pulls me to her, taking a picture of both of us with her camera. My brain almost shuts down completely when they play Undisclosed Desires and Resistance, two of my favourite tracks on the new album. My hand finds Lizz’s shoulder, desperate for some tangible proof that I’m really here, that this isn’t just a wonderful dream. As the song comes to an end I swallow the lump that had formed in my throat, and smile. The pace picks up again as they launch into MK Ultra and soon the crowd is a bundle of energy once more. I sing my heart out to Bliss and dance like a mad thing to Supermassive Black Hole. Their performance is utterly enthralling. I’d been warned not to expect much in the way of gimmicky audience interaction and Ben was right. The only words exchanged are brief thank yous and introductions of the next song, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The music provides all the connection we craved. From the moment they stepped on stage they had us in the palm of their hands and we loved every second of it.
Unfortunately, it was also over far too quickly.
They leave the stage with the final notes of Stockholm Syndrome still blaring from Matt’s guitar. As expected, the crowd screams for an encore, Lizz and I among them. I don’t doubt they’ll do one. They haven’t played Knights yet and I can’t imagine them not doing so. When they re-emerge Matt has swapped his white trousers for red skinnies and a thin black shirt, much to the delight of the female members of the audience. Even Lizz looks impressed. He takes his place at the piano and they launch into Feeling Good, followed by Starlight. I continue taking pictures, grateful for the digital camera my parents had bought me for my birthday. All too soon Dom announces that this is their last song for the evening, and Matt introduces Knights of Cydonia. The crowd sings along in unison, raising their arms to the sky. That infectious rhythm kicks in and we’re off, giving the chorus everything we’ve got as we indulge in some epic head banging. I grab my camera and take some final pictures, memorising every detail about the set, their clothes, and their faces.
I want to remember everything about this night.
Before I know it, the song is drawing to a close. One last dissonant chord rings out across the stadium, almost drowned out by the screaming of the crowd. The diminutive frontman raises his arms to the heavens, soaking up the admiration, devotion and, let’s face it, lust, that is emanating from the crowd. He takes off his guitar and brandishes it above his head. The crowd goes wild. Chris watches the scene with a bemused smile, waving his arms at the crowd and whipping them into an even greater frenzy. Very slowly Matt begins to swing the guitar around in circles. My eyes widen in shock. I’ve heard about this sort of thing before, seen it on the Hullabaloo DVD, but I was convinced it was a thing of the past.
Lizz grabs my arm urgently. “I think he’s going to do it!” she hisses excitedly, grabbing her camera and pointing it in his direction.
The stadium explodes as the guitar is launched into the air. Blood is pounding in my ears as I join the screaming masses. My eyes track the arc of the instrument as it soars over the stage to the drum kit. Poor Dom, I think briefly. He’s just put on an amazing show and now he’s got the whole audience cheering for his bandmate to hurl things at his head. It looks so funny when you watch it on Youtube, but as the guitar makes contact with the side of the drummer’s head all I can think of is pain. He kicks his legs out, scattering the drum kit to the shouts and cheers of the crowd. Matt darts around the stage like a man possessed, flinging towels and guitar picks and anything he can lay his hands on into the crowd. We lap it up, rejoicing in a glimpse of a Muse we’d thought long gone. Wildness and destruction and insanity and fucking incredible music. We’ve finally got our one unique moment and my god it was a good one.
No one suspects anything is wrong until Chris suddenly drops his bass and a jarring, unpleasant note joins the one Matt’s guitar continues to emit.
“What the hell is going on?” I cry, covering my ears to block the high-pitched wail.
In mere seconds the jubilant atmosphere shifts to one of confusion and panic. The screaming stops, and an entire arena waits with bated breath for an explanation. Matt and Chris are hovering over by the scattered drum kit. Even from here I can see Matt’s thin form is shaking and I’m suddenly aware of the fact that Dom has still not emerged. I’ve read about him being injured by Matt’s guitar before, but never have I heard of him not getting up to take one final bow. Without warning the arena lights come on, temporarily blinding me as my eyes struggle to adjust to the change in light. When I can see again I notice there are more figures on the stage now and - oh God - two of them are wearing paramedic uniforms. The crowd watches in horror as a prone form is lifted onto a stretcher and carried off stage.
Lizz gasps and points a shaky finger at the drummer’s shirt. “That’s blood,” she says, horrified. “That’s a lot of blood.”
I nod, to numb to speak. I feel physically sick. My legs are trembling and my head feels hollow. Around us the stunned crowd is beginning to disperse. Lizz grabs my shoulder, her fingers digging into my arm. “Ellie, we should go.”
I nod slowly, unable to tear my eyes away from the stage where minutes ago my idols stood basking in our love.
“Ellie!” she says again, tightening her grip on my arm. I turn my head to hers, not at all surprised to find that she too is blinking back tears.
Somehow I manage to put one foot in front of the other, following Lizz towards the nearest exit.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. There should be talking, arguments over what song was the best, and squeeing over who looked the hottest. Not this eerie silence. We don’t speak at all as we make our way back to the station. All around me people cling to each other as though we’ve just witnessed the apocalypse. I hold Lizz’s hand but find no comfort in the gesture.
I have no recollection of the walk to the train station. The next thing I’m conscious of is sinking into my seat on the train and closing my eyes, wishing with everything I have that I’d wake up any moment and find that the whole thing had been a horrible nightmare. Silently, Lizz hands me a tissue and I mumble my thanks. What on earth could anyone say right now to make the situation better?
My mother is waiting for me on the platform, no doubt eager to hear all about my first concert experience. A stabbing pain shoots through me at the prospect of having to describe to her what I’ve just seen. I’ll have to do it though. It’ll be all over the news tomorrow anyway. She knows something is wrong the moment she sees my face, and she comes rushing forward to envelop me in a hug.
“Ellie baby, what’s wrong?” she asks quietly, studying my tear-stained face with a frown. Next to me, Lizz’s father does the same with his own shaken daughter. “Have you taken something you shouldn’t have? Has someone done something to you?”
I shake my head. “Please mum, can we just go home? I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”
She nods and I reach for Lizz, pulling her into a tight embrace. We are still too emotional to speak but she kisses my cheek quickly and squeezes my shoulders hard. “Call me tomorrow,” she whispers as we part.
Mum takes my arm and leads me through the station, gazing worriedly at all the other dazed and subdued passengers. As I slump into the front seat of the car, the tears I’ve been holding back suddenly break through, and I drop my head into my hands, sobs wracking my body. Mum’s hand rubs my back soothingly and I know she must be going out of her mind with worry right now.
I wanted a night to remember. I wanted this to be THE gig of the year. I wanted an experience that I could look back on and cherish forever. I wanted a Muse concert that would go down in history.
How did it come to this?
Title: Prologue: Time is Running Out
Pairing: Matthew/Dominic
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A Muse gig comes to an unexpected end.
Disclaimer: I do not own Muse. The events within are entirely fictional. Thankfully.
Author's Notes: The prologue is told from the point of view of a fan in the crowd, and takes place at a fictional London gig.
Betas: The dynamic duo: millionstar and dolce_piccante
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort
Bury it
I won't let you bury it
I won't let you smother it
I won't let you murder it
Our time is running out
Our time is running out
You can't push it underground
You can't stop it screaming out
How did it come to this?
Time is Running Out - Muse
It’s stupid really, worrying about turning up to the wrong place. I’ve only checked and double-checked my ticket a million times, searched online for the quickest route, and insisted that my parents write the date and the time on every available surface in our house. What can I say? I’m a worrier. Thankfully, my fears are soon forgotten when I step out of the car and find myself facing a group of girls all wearing Muse shirts.
Right station then.
One of the girls looks over at me and smiles, and I return the gesture eagerly. In that moment we are no longer strangers; we are musical comrades, forever connected through our love of the greatest band in the world. Mum, on the other hand, glances around anxiously, and for one awful moment I am convinced that she is going to change her mind and insist on chaperoning me all the way to the arena.
“Remember what we talked about,” she says firmly, wringing her hands and looking to my dad for support.
He places a calming hand on her shoulder, and smiles at me. “I know you’re going to have a wonderful time Ella,” he says warmly. “You make sure to cherish every moment, and we’ll look forward to hearing all about it later tonight.”
“Thanks Dad,” I reply, hugging both of them. “I’ll send you a message to let you know I’m there safely. I promise.”
Mum looks marginally more relaxed at this. Dad pats me on the shoulder. “Go on then. Mr Bellamy awaits.” He looks exceptionally pleased with himself for getting the name right, and it’s so cute that I can’t help throwing my arms around his neck and hugging him again.
Finally, I manage to pull away and join the stream of people heading into the station. At the archway I turn around to wave at them one last time. Dad gives me the heavy metal salute, like the big dork he is, and I burst out laughing. A feeling of community washes over me again as I step through the doors and into the station. I have never met these people before. I don’t know their ages, their sexuality, their political views, but that doesn’t matter because for this one glorious day we are united in a common goal.
Muse. 12th November, 2009. London.
My first time travelling into London without my parents. My first proper rock show. My first time seeing a band that has consoled me through the ups and downs of adolescence. A day I have been longing for since the day, five years ago now, when my older brother handed me a copy of Origin of Symmetry and told me to listen to some real music for a change.
To say I’m excited would be something of an understatement.
“Ellie!”
The voice is barely audible over the chatter of the crowd around me, but I recognise it instantly. I whirl around to find my best friend making her way towards me. Her long black hair has been streaked with blue, and she’s grinning like an idiot. She bounces up to me and clasps my hands in her small ones.
“We’re going to see Muse!” she cries, jumping up and down. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I soon find myself joining in.
Even in my excitement, I can’t help noticing the group of older fans watching us with disdain.
“Twilighters,” one mutters scornfully as another rolls his eyes.
I stop jumping immediately, and I can feel a deep blush flood my face. If I wasn’t so shy, I’d go over there and give them a piece of my mind for lumping Lizz and I in with those silly fangirls. Lizz notices my discomfort, and squeezes my hand supportively. “Forget them,” she says quietly. “Today is too good a day to let idiots like that ruin it. You and me know the truth, and that’s all that matters.”
I nod. She’s absolutely right, as usual.
“You look hot!” Lizz gushes, wisely changing the subject.
I shoot her a sceptical look and attempt to tug my t-shirt further down over my jeans. It had been Lizz’s idea to wear skinnies to the gig, and she wouldn’t hear any of my protests about my not having the figure for such attire. I didn’t even own skinnies until the other day, when she dragged me all over town in search of the perfect pair. Lizz looks incredible, as usual. Her bright purple jeans accentuate her slim hips and minuscule waist. She’d been so happy when she found them, proud that she’d managed to find a colour that a certain drummer hasn’t yet been sighted in. My own black jeans make me feel more like a particularly lumpy sack of potatoes, but at least I manage to get out of wearing the red ones she had originally picked out for me. The less attention I can draw to myself, the better, as far as I’m concerned. Both of us are wearing our favourite Muse shirts and battered Converse, and carrying the smallest bags we could reasonably get away with.
“Picture time!” she exclaims suddenly, pulling her camera out of her bag and snapping a picture of me. I retaliate by taking one of her on my camera, wanting to capture as much of the day as possible for posterity.
“Have you got your ticket?” I ask, checking my bag once more to make sure that mine is still there.
“Sure do,” she replies, tucking her arm through mine as we begin to walk through the station to our platform. We stop at a little newsstand to buy some snacks for the journey, and I take another picture of Lizz standing in front of the train, and then it is time for us to take our seats.
The group of people sat behind us have obviously seen them before, and are loudly relieving the experience. Lizz and I listen quietly for a moment, and then look at each other and grin. Lizz glances at her watch.
“In exactly eight hours we are going to see the best fucking band on the planet,” she whispers excitedly. My leg bounces up and down with anticipation.
“What do you think they’ll be wearing?” I ask, feeling like a vacuous fangirl the moment the question leaves my mouth. Who cares what they’re wearing? It’s the music that counts.
Lizz just grins at me. “I know what I’d like them to be wearing,” she replies with a wink.
“Spiderdom!” we both exclaim, giggles bursting out despite our best efforts to control them.
Lizz’s eyes glaze over at the mention of the blond drummer, and I indulge her daydreaming for a moment before nudging her to draw her back into the conversation. “Braces,” I say solemnly. “As long as Matt is wearing braces, I don’t care what else he has on.”
“What if he wears one of those hideous Hawaiian shirts he used to wear?”
“I don’t care,” I insist, though the mental picture makes me wrinkle my nose in disgust. To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I saw him wearing braces, so chances are I’ll have to settle for a pair of tight trousers and one of those t-shirts that he seems so fond of these days.
We soon move off clothes and onto more important matters. “Do you think they’ll play Bliss?” I ask hopefully.
As we start fantasising about our perfect setlist, the train pulls slowly away from the station. The group behind us celebrates by opening a packet of chocolate biscuits and handing them around the compartment. Lizz disappears to fetch us both a cup of tea, and I’m left alone with my thoughts as the countryside whizzes by. When Lizz returns we pick our where we left off, arguing over the best song to finish on.
The journey is only a short one, but it seems to take forever. Understandable really; when you’re looking forward to something time always seems to slow down. The train eventually comes to a stop and we all spill out onto the platform. People rush up the stairs and I grab Lizz’s hand to ensure we don’t get separated. Outside, we join more fans making their way to the arena. The energy kicks up a notch as our destination draws closer. We stop briefly to take more pictures of the madness before joining the crowd again, weaving in and out in a desperate attempt to get as close to the front of the queue as possible.
My heart sinks as we come to a stop. There are hundreds of people in front of us. We don’t stand a chance of getting anywhere near the barrier. I’m short, even by female standards, and Lizz isn’t much taller. If some big tall guy ends up in front us, we are both royally screwed.
“It’ll be fine,” Lizz says confidently, sensing my growing agitation the way only a best friend can. I frown slightly. Lizz has seen them before - twice - so tonight isn’t as important for her as it is for me. I don’t say that though. There’s no sense in spoiling the day with my whinging.
I thought the train ride was bad, but it is nothing compared to the agony of queuing outside the arena. We’ve still got a good three hours before the show is about to start, more than that before Muse take to the stage. I pull out my phone and give my mum a quick call, assuring her that Lizz and I are both safe. She tells me again to be careful before bidding me farewell. Lizz and I stand for about an hour, then sit for a while, and then stand again. At six o’clock they begin letting us in, a slow-moving procession of dyed hair and black shirts that is far worse than any airport queue I have ever endured. At long last, we make it into the building. Lizz makes a beeline for the merchandise stand, with me hot on her heels. We both buy new shirts before hurrying over the food vans and grabbing a chicken roll. The food is scoffed in record time as we head into the actual arena. Exhilaration fills me as we take off running, trying to watch each other and the path in front of us at the same time. We are forced to slow down as the crowd becomes thicker. Lizz grabs my hand and pulls me through the quickly disappearing gaps. I keep my head down, mumbling apologies as Lizz pushes determinedly on. She’s like a machine! She seems to know exactly where the gaps are going to appear, and how to get through them with minimal disturbance to the people around us. Finally, she comes to a halt.
“Will this do?”
I lift my head and gasp. It’s not quite the front, but it’s pretty bloody close.
We’re about six people from the barrier, directly in front of where Matt’s microphone should be. Words fail me, and I have to settle for flinging my arms around her neck and squeezing her with joy.
“You are the best friend ever!” I cry happily, and she laughs.
“Think you can handle being this close to the love of your life?” she teases.
I let out an embarrassing squeal at the mere thought.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she replies.
There’s a comfortable pause in conversation as we both take in the atmosphere. I turn around to examine the throng of people behind me. I can’t believe we made it through all of that. I have a brief moment of panic at the thought of trying to get out of here at the end of the night but I forget all about it when my phone beeps. It’s a message from my brother.
Hey ells. Wish i was there to share this with you. Have a great time. Ben x
The fact that he even thought to send me a message makes me smile. I wish he was here too, but a business trip to Japan meant that it just wasn’t possible. I send him a quick message back to let him know how close we are, and how much we are looking forward to the show. Lizz has her camera out and is snapping pictures of the arena and I join her, taking pictures of the stage and of the crowd around us before tucking my camera safely back in my bag.
“And now we wait again,” sighs Lizz, putting her camera away.
An hour later and I’m seriously beginning to regret coming so early, even if we do have an amazing view. Standing up for two hours straight is killing my back and I’m already sweating from the body heat of the surrounding crowd. Lizz looks as calm and collected as ever, and if I didn’t love her so much I’d probably hate her right now. She’s deep in conversation with an excruciatingly attractive boy with red skinnies and an Irish accent. To her credit she continues to try and draw me into the conversation, but my crippling shyness reduces my contributions to monosyllables and the occasional ‘I agree’.
I can feel some of the tension begin to evaporate the moment the support band takes the stage. They’re a local electro-punk band I’ve never heard of, but they obviously have some fans in the crowd judging by the cheers that greet them. At first I only cheer because every song they finish brings me closer to Muse, but after I while I have to admit that they’re actually quite good, and I find myself jumping up and down with Lizz, screaming when the lead singer instructs us to do so and waving our arms around madly. I stop jumping halfway through the set to grab a couple of pictures, but join in again when the band announce that they’re about to play their second to last song.
When their set is over, the band takes a bow to raucous applause and I don’t doubt that their high-energy performance has won them some new fans. Lizz turns to me and nods, clearly impressed. The waiting game begins again as Lizz and I discuss the band we’ve just seen and the band we’re about to see. Roadies busy themselves on stage, moving microphones and taping down wires. There’s a huge cheer as Dom’s drum kit is revealed to the crowd, followed closely by Matt’s piano. It’s only then that the reality of it hits me.
I’m really here.
I watch the movement on stage with eager eyes, even taking a couple of photographs. There’s another big cheer when a guitar tech steps up to Matt’s microphone and tests it and another for the man who places a jug of water and a couple of glasses on a table next to the grand piano. The crowd presses even more closely together, the few gaps around us filling up as everyone tries to get as close as possible. We hold our ground, allowing ourselves to be moved forward slightly but retaining our relatively unhindered view. At last the stage clears. For five minutes an arena full of people holds its breath in anticipation. A sudden rumble of cheering erupts from the right hand side of the stage and Lizz and I crane our heads to locate the cause of the commotion. Whatever it was is hidden to us though and we turn our attention back to the space immediately in front of us.
The Queen song that was blaring out across the room comes to a stop mid-song. There’s a moment of quiet and then the music begins again, something infinitely more dramatic this time. I clutch Lizz’s arm excitedly. This is it. Any moment now I am going to find myself metres away from the most desirable man on the planet.
The noise of the crowd begins to build, cheering, screaming and clapping almost drowning out the swell of the orchestral arrangement. My eyes dart across the stage, waiting for that first magical glimpse. It is Chris I see first as my eyes flick across to the right side of the stage, just as he is emerging from backstage right. He smiles broadly and waves to the crowd, who cheer madly in response. A flash of pink catches my eye and my gaze drifts up to the drum riser where Dominic Howard, all pink trousers and fluffy hair, salutes the screaming crowd. His smile is dazzling, even with the distance between us, and next to me Lizz sighs happily. Very, very slowly I let my gaze drift to the microphone in front of me, and, as ashamed as I am to admit it, my knees physically shake at the sight that awaits me.
He’s wearing braces. White pants, crisp white shirt and those lovely black braces. I’m close enough to see his bright blue eyes and the slightly twitchy smile that graces his lips. He’s even more attractive than I could have ever imagined. With a grin he raises one hand to the sky, a gesture I’ve seen a thousand times in photos and concert footage. I scream as loud as I possibly can, tears of happiness prickling at my eyes. As the cheers reach their pinnacle he brings his arm down, unleashing a single note upon the eager crowd. His fingers work their magic on the fretboard, weaving a strange electronic melody as he grins confidently. He pauses, drinking in the adulation, and then glances over at Dom. The drummer taps his sticks four times, and then the extravaganza begins. They kick off with Uprising, which I’d expected, and the crowd goes wild.
For the first couple of songs I can’t do anything but stand and stare, drinking in the sight of them before me. Lizz elbows me and motions to my bag, her camera already clutched in her hand. Coming to my senses I grab my own camera out of my bag and start snapping away, attempting to catch as many of Matt’s entertaining faces as possible, whilst also taking a few of Dom and Chris. Dom greets the crowd after Plug In Baby, to much applause. He thanks everyone for buying the album, and for coming to see them. I manage to take a fantastic picture of his smiling face that I know Lizz will love. Matt makes a joke about Dom’s trousers and the crowd laughs. It’s the standard onstage banter but we allow ourselves a brief moment of believing we are witnessing something unique, something only for us.
The energy in the room shifts markedly when Matt sits down at the piano for Hoodoo, one of my favourite songs. The boisterous crowd stills momentarily, swept away by the sheer majesty of that voice. In the last few years that voice has sung me to sleep more times than I can count. His words have inspired me and terrified me and moved me in ways that few other things ever have. To now be standing here watching him sing so beautifully is more than I could ever have hoped for. Lizz turns to me with tears in her eyes - she’s always loved this song - and pulls me to her, taking a picture of both of us with her camera. My brain almost shuts down completely when they play Undisclosed Desires and Resistance, two of my favourite tracks on the new album. My hand finds Lizz’s shoulder, desperate for some tangible proof that I’m really here, that this isn’t just a wonderful dream. As the song comes to an end I swallow the lump that had formed in my throat, and smile. The pace picks up again as they launch into MK Ultra and soon the crowd is a bundle of energy once more. I sing my heart out to Bliss and dance like a mad thing to Supermassive Black Hole. Their performance is utterly enthralling. I’d been warned not to expect much in the way of gimmicky audience interaction and Ben was right. The only words exchanged are brief thank yous and introductions of the next song, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The music provides all the connection we craved. From the moment they stepped on stage they had us in the palm of their hands and we loved every second of it.
Unfortunately, it was also over far too quickly.
They leave the stage with the final notes of Stockholm Syndrome still blaring from Matt’s guitar. As expected, the crowd screams for an encore, Lizz and I among them. I don’t doubt they’ll do one. They haven’t played Knights yet and I can’t imagine them not doing so. When they re-emerge Matt has swapped his white trousers for red skinnies and a thin black shirt, much to the delight of the female members of the audience. Even Lizz looks impressed. He takes his place at the piano and they launch into Feeling Good, followed by Starlight. I continue taking pictures, grateful for the digital camera my parents had bought me for my birthday. All too soon Dom announces that this is their last song for the evening, and Matt introduces Knights of Cydonia. The crowd sings along in unison, raising their arms to the sky. That infectious rhythm kicks in and we’re off, giving the chorus everything we’ve got as we indulge in some epic head banging. I grab my camera and take some final pictures, memorising every detail about the set, their clothes, and their faces.
I want to remember everything about this night.
Before I know it, the song is drawing to a close. One last dissonant chord rings out across the stadium, almost drowned out by the screaming of the crowd. The diminutive frontman raises his arms to the heavens, soaking up the admiration, devotion and, let’s face it, lust, that is emanating from the crowd. He takes off his guitar and brandishes it above his head. The crowd goes wild. Chris watches the scene with a bemused smile, waving his arms at the crowd and whipping them into an even greater frenzy. Very slowly Matt begins to swing the guitar around in circles. My eyes widen in shock. I’ve heard about this sort of thing before, seen it on the Hullabaloo DVD, but I was convinced it was a thing of the past.
Lizz grabs my arm urgently. “I think he’s going to do it!” she hisses excitedly, grabbing her camera and pointing it in his direction.
The stadium explodes as the guitar is launched into the air. Blood is pounding in my ears as I join the screaming masses. My eyes track the arc of the instrument as it soars over the stage to the drum kit. Poor Dom, I think briefly. He’s just put on an amazing show and now he’s got the whole audience cheering for his bandmate to hurl things at his head. It looks so funny when you watch it on Youtube, but as the guitar makes contact with the side of the drummer’s head all I can think of is pain. He kicks his legs out, scattering the drum kit to the shouts and cheers of the crowd. Matt darts around the stage like a man possessed, flinging towels and guitar picks and anything he can lay his hands on into the crowd. We lap it up, rejoicing in a glimpse of a Muse we’d thought long gone. Wildness and destruction and insanity and fucking incredible music. We’ve finally got our one unique moment and my god it was a good one.
No one suspects anything is wrong until Chris suddenly drops his bass and a jarring, unpleasant note joins the one Matt’s guitar continues to emit.
“What the hell is going on?” I cry, covering my ears to block the high-pitched wail.
In mere seconds the jubilant atmosphere shifts to one of confusion and panic. The screaming stops, and an entire arena waits with bated breath for an explanation. Matt and Chris are hovering over by the scattered drum kit. Even from here I can see Matt’s thin form is shaking and I’m suddenly aware of the fact that Dom has still not emerged. I’ve read about him being injured by Matt’s guitar before, but never have I heard of him not getting up to take one final bow. Without warning the arena lights come on, temporarily blinding me as my eyes struggle to adjust to the change in light. When I can see again I notice there are more figures on the stage now and - oh God - two of them are wearing paramedic uniforms. The crowd watches in horror as a prone form is lifted onto a stretcher and carried off stage.
Lizz gasps and points a shaky finger at the drummer’s shirt. “That’s blood,” she says, horrified. “That’s a lot of blood.”
I nod, to numb to speak. I feel physically sick. My legs are trembling and my head feels hollow. Around us the stunned crowd is beginning to disperse. Lizz grabs my shoulder, her fingers digging into my arm. “Ellie, we should go.”
I nod slowly, unable to tear my eyes away from the stage where minutes ago my idols stood basking in our love.
“Ellie!” she says again, tightening her grip on my arm. I turn my head to hers, not at all surprised to find that she too is blinking back tears.
Somehow I manage to put one foot in front of the other, following Lizz towards the nearest exit.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. There should be talking, arguments over what song was the best, and squeeing over who looked the hottest. Not this eerie silence. We don’t speak at all as we make our way back to the station. All around me people cling to each other as though we’ve just witnessed the apocalypse. I hold Lizz’s hand but find no comfort in the gesture.
I have no recollection of the walk to the train station. The next thing I’m conscious of is sinking into my seat on the train and closing my eyes, wishing with everything I have that I’d wake up any moment and find that the whole thing had been a horrible nightmare. Silently, Lizz hands me a tissue and I mumble my thanks. What on earth could anyone say right now to make the situation better?
My mother is waiting for me on the platform, no doubt eager to hear all about my first concert experience. A stabbing pain shoots through me at the prospect of having to describe to her what I’ve just seen. I’ll have to do it though. It’ll be all over the news tomorrow anyway. She knows something is wrong the moment she sees my face, and she comes rushing forward to envelop me in a hug.
“Ellie baby, what’s wrong?” she asks quietly, studying my tear-stained face with a frown. Next to me, Lizz’s father does the same with his own shaken daughter. “Have you taken something you shouldn’t have? Has someone done something to you?”
I shake my head. “Please mum, can we just go home? I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”
She nods and I reach for Lizz, pulling her into a tight embrace. We are still too emotional to speak but she kisses my cheek quickly and squeezes my shoulders hard. “Call me tomorrow,” she whispers as we part.
Mum takes my arm and leads me through the station, gazing worriedly at all the other dazed and subdued passengers. As I slump into the front seat of the car, the tears I’ve been holding back suddenly break through, and I drop my head into my hands, sobs wracking my body. Mum’s hand rubs my back soothingly and I know she must be going out of her mind with worry right now.
I wanted a night to remember. I wanted this to be THE gig of the year. I wanted an experience that I could look back on and cherish forever. I wanted a Muse concert that would go down in history.
How did it come to this?