[lj idol] week twenty one | "baby, how I ponder your shadow..."
[and from the sky, she speaks to me]
*
The fiery heat of the day is slowly giving way to cooler breezes and elongated shadows as we push our way towards the front of the slow building crowd. Cloud Control are finishing up their set on the adjacent stage and from where we now stand we can hear the pulsing mosh pit screaming along in time with the beat, “light a candle in the shadows, a different glow for every window…”
To be honest, we’re a little jealous we’re not twenty metres to our right and deep in the heart of it, but Cloud Control are not why we’re here and all that matters now is a front row piece of space big enough for two girls to completely lose their shit.
There can be no other options.
Earlier in the afternoon we’d been a group of six. Two are several rows behind us and content to stay there, and we’ve not seen the others since Lorde finished twitching her way through a truly bizarre set that sounded exactly the same at the start as it did at the welcome end.
‘Team’, somewhere smack bang in the middle, the only real stand out in an otherwise underwhelming forty-odd minutes.
The hush that descends as the eruption of applause for Cloud Control dies away is pregnant with heady anticipation. At least, it is for us. We’re not quite front row, but second row behind young girls at least a head shorter than us works just as well and we’ve already had a bit of a chat with them. Might as well get to know the people you’re about to spend an hour pressed solidly against as the crowd surges forward and the spotlights blink on like a road train, freezing us in their gaze for a beat.
And then another…
Hayley Mary comes on stage last.
Of course she does; the Queen herself, with her trademark black leather jacket, wide lips as red as the slowly setting sun.
I’m pretty sure we scream.
Because hey, why not?
The new album dropped two days ago and we’ve both got copies but we’re far from home and haven’t really had the chance to listen to it yet. Suddenly, we’re glad.
There can be no better introduction to its glory than this…
Two new songs before they give us something achingly familiar to sink our teeth into. We exchange giddy grins and raise our hands above our heads, reaching…
“Oh, pristine, my hopeless thing.”
Indeed.
My skin is alive in a way only live music can achieve. Electric, and white, white hot. My hair, long since spilled from the braid it had started the day tucked neatly into, is sweat-stuck to my shoulders and against the knobs of my spine. I tear the elastic free and shake it loose, my eyes, shut.
Some bands can be danced to with eyes wide open and hair neatly contained.
The Jezabels is not one of them.
Half-way through their second last song, and with the sun well and truly sunk for another day, the lights cut out and the stage is suddenly shrouded in a haunting darkness. The music remains and the thrumming crowd band together to light the night with the iridescent kind of glow only a mobile phone can provide. It’s not much, but it’s enough.
And it’s not until the final strains of The End fight against a descent into oblivion that the stage explodes back to life once more. It might have been a mistake but we can’t help but feel like we’ve just been a part of something else.
And then;
“Whole cities light up, but nothing can compare to you baby…”
Hayley Mary jumps the stage, a flash of leather and heavy boots, gone, until she’s back. And climbing our shoulders to hurl herself into the crowd, still singing, still hitting notes that are beyond me on my very best days, and it’s a confusing mess of holding her up so she doesn’t sink to the grass at our dusty feet, and taking photos on phones as she perches high above us, one arm above her head, fist clenched.
We’re still screaming.
I’m not sure we ever stopped.
Afterwards, we stare at each other. Emptied out and completely and utterly full at the very same time. If we speak, and I can’t remember if we do, but if we speak, the words we trip over are irrelevant.
I very much doubt we speak.
For there is nothing left to say.
*
previously on...
introduction | jayus | the missing stair | in another castle | nobody can ride your back if your back's not bent | build a better mouse-trap | step on a crack, break your mother's back | yes, and... | the recency effect | barrel of monkeys | open topic | confession from the chair | chekhov's gun | a terrible beauty has been born | scare quotes | disinformation | kindling | intersection
*
The fiery heat of the day is slowly giving way to cooler breezes and elongated shadows as we push our way towards the front of the slow building crowd. Cloud Control are finishing up their set on the adjacent stage and from where we now stand we can hear the pulsing mosh pit screaming along in time with the beat, “light a candle in the shadows, a different glow for every window…”
To be honest, we’re a little jealous we’re not twenty metres to our right and deep in the heart of it, but Cloud Control are not why we’re here and all that matters now is a front row piece of space big enough for two girls to completely lose their shit.
There can be no other options.
Earlier in the afternoon we’d been a group of six. Two are several rows behind us and content to stay there, and we’ve not seen the others since Lorde finished twitching her way through a truly bizarre set that sounded exactly the same at the start as it did at the welcome end.
‘Team’, somewhere smack bang in the middle, the only real stand out in an otherwise underwhelming forty-odd minutes.
The hush that descends as the eruption of applause for Cloud Control dies away is pregnant with heady anticipation. At least, it is for us. We’re not quite front row, but second row behind young girls at least a head shorter than us works just as well and we’ve already had a bit of a chat with them. Might as well get to know the people you’re about to spend an hour pressed solidly against as the crowd surges forward and the spotlights blink on like a road train, freezing us in their gaze for a beat.
And then another…
Hayley Mary comes on stage last.
Of course she does; the Queen herself, with her trademark black leather jacket, wide lips as red as the slowly setting sun.
I’m pretty sure we scream.
Because hey, why not?
The new album dropped two days ago and we’ve both got copies but we’re far from home and haven’t really had the chance to listen to it yet. Suddenly, we’re glad.
There can be no better introduction to its glory than this…
Two new songs before they give us something achingly familiar to sink our teeth into. We exchange giddy grins and raise our hands above our heads, reaching…
“Oh, pristine, my hopeless thing.”
Indeed.
My skin is alive in a way only live music can achieve. Electric, and white, white hot. My hair, long since spilled from the braid it had started the day tucked neatly into, is sweat-stuck to my shoulders and against the knobs of my spine. I tear the elastic free and shake it loose, my eyes, shut.
Some bands can be danced to with eyes wide open and hair neatly contained.
The Jezabels is not one of them.
Half-way through their second last song, and with the sun well and truly sunk for another day, the lights cut out and the stage is suddenly shrouded in a haunting darkness. The music remains and the thrumming crowd band together to light the night with the iridescent kind of glow only a mobile phone can provide. It’s not much, but it’s enough.
And it’s not until the final strains of The End fight against a descent into oblivion that the stage explodes back to life once more. It might have been a mistake but we can’t help but feel like we’ve just been a part of something else.
And then;
“Whole cities light up, but nothing can compare to you baby…”
Hayley Mary jumps the stage, a flash of leather and heavy boots, gone, until she’s back. And climbing our shoulders to hurl herself into the crowd, still singing, still hitting notes that are beyond me on my very best days, and it’s a confusing mess of holding her up so she doesn’t sink to the grass at our dusty feet, and taking photos on phones as she perches high above us, one arm above her head, fist clenched.
We’re still screaming.
I’m not sure we ever stopped.
Afterwards, we stare at each other. Emptied out and completely and utterly full at the very same time. If we speak, and I can’t remember if we do, but if we speak, the words we trip over are irrelevant.
I very much doubt we speak.
For there is nothing left to say.
*
previously on...
introduction | jayus | the missing stair | in another castle | nobody can ride your back if your back's not bent | build a better mouse-trap | step on a crack, break your mother's back | yes, and... | the recency effect | barrel of monkeys | open topic | confession from the chair | chekhov's gun | a terrible beauty has been born | scare quotes | disinformation | kindling | intersection