Live . . . In Concert

Music, shorn of labels and standing alone, when it is conceived, composed and performed with love and integrity, can elevate us all.
— Jon Lord

Some personal thoughts about the most important thing in my life.

I am in a state of mild panic. No, that's not right. I'm a bundle of nerves. I'm so terrified, I feel sick. I can barely make my fingers work to write this article. Tomorrow—less than 12 hours away—I'm doing something I have never done before. Something I always said I would never do. Something that goes so against my nature that I still can't believe I said I would do it.

Tomorrow morning, I leave on a trip overseas.

Oh, yes, go ahead and laugh. Sure, millions of people fly all round the world every year. Well, not me. To me, it's a Big Deal. There is only one thing that could induce me to follow through with this mad act. Only one thing in my life that I feel so passionate about that I would do . . . well, almost anything for.

I'm going to see a band, live in concert. In Sweden. A different country. Oh, help . . .

"Passionate" is the only word that can describe how I feel about live music. If you were to ask me, at any time, where I would like to be or what I would like to be doing, I would invariably answer "watching a band in concert". Some of my best memories are of live concerts. It's a time of magic, of wonder, of worship. Yes, worship. There's a religious element to it. There's a sense of presence on the stage, the knowledge that here are people, craftsmen, masters of an art that I can never even reach the bottom rung of. They may as well be gods, for all that I can approach them.

Music affects the emotions. It lifts us up, it makes us cry, it makes us think. It makes us wonder. Life would be less without it. And the ultimate expression of the emotive power of music is found on a live stage.

I'm not a music junkie. I don't haunt concert halls and dingy clubs, looking to get my fix no matter how poor the quality. There is a very small number of bands I would go to see live. I won't see somebody I like "a bit", or see somebody just for the sake of curiosity. That would dilute the experience. I go to see bands I really like. Bands that are the best in the world. Bands that I have followed, figuratively and literally, for decades. I love a wide range of music and I have dozens of different bands on CD, but there are only three or four that I will consider seeing live. But whenever I can, I see them. Even if it means [gulp] leaving the country.

My first live concert was in 1985. Saturday 22 June. I remember details so clearly, it could have been yesterday. It was an outdoor festival. It was (reputedly) the wettest midsummer weekend in recorded history. And anybody who has known a British summer will understand the magnitude of that statement.

I had spent a sleepless night travelling. I was facing another sleepless night travelling home. The whole thing had cost more money than a poor student should sensibly spend. I stood through seven bands of assorted quality, crushed by sixty thousand people, cold, wet, muddy, sliding slowly towards the stage, in a field that was rapidly becoming a bog. By 10pm I was wondering if I was, in fact, sane. Then the headline band came on.

Um.

Wow.

Excuse the comparison, but it was like the Second Coming. Nothing, nothing could match that feeling. I can't even find the words to describe it. Better than sex, as the saying goes. Right up there with falling in love. I can't believe a drug user feels any greater rush. Maybe religious fervour can induce it; I don't know. I made a promise, there and then, to myself and to the band, that I would be back.

And I was. Not the same venue. Not always the same band. But always the same feeling. I have spent ridiculous amounts of money on tickets, travel and accommodation. I have followed tours around the country. And now . . . oh, help . . . I'm going abroad.

Every concert offers something different. Every one is special. I have seen below-par performances, but I have never been disappointed. I have never left a concert wishing I hadn't gone. Every concert, when I leave it, is the best concert I have ever seen.

The whole concert experience is special. The travelling. The waiting. The expectation. I grow steadily more and more nervous as the time approaches. I hate waiting. I pace. I wipe my palms. I fidget. My stomach churns. Entering the hall. Buying merchandise. Exploring. Finding a seat. Watching the crowd. I love concert crowds: estimating ages, counting heads, admiring the women, listening to the chatter, wondering if they feel the same nervous tension that I do. T-shirt spotting: yes, I was at that one, too . . . hey, I like them as well . . . hmm, I think he's at the wrong gig . . . . Listening to the canned music. Yawning through the support act. More waiting. Sound check. Test the lights. Closer now. I can't sit still. I'm so tight inside. I need to scream at something. Darkness. Expectation. Entrance. Stand. Clap. Cheer. Every song is old yet new. I love them all and I sing every one. I'm crying and I don't know why. The next day I will be hoarse. My hands will be bruised, my legs stiff and aching. My ears will ring. Mentally and physically exhausted. Light headed. And I would do it all again in an instant. And again. And again. I would drop everything else in my life, if necessary. Nothing else comes close.

Saturday night is going to be so good. I just keep telling myself that. It's only Sweden. I can do it. Lots of people do it. I can sight-see. Do the tourist thing. It will be a fun trip. But even if it isn't, even if my worst nightmares are realised, even if it all goes horribly wrong, it won't matter. It will still be worth it. Because I'm going to see my favourite band, live in concert. And it will be the best concert I have ever seen.

People don't understand why I do it. Spend so much money, travel so far. People claim I'm mad. I just feel sad that they don't have something in their lives that they can feel passionate about. They are missing a lot.

Find something in your life to be passionate about. It doesn't matter if it seems trivial to other people. If it's important to you, it's important. It's worth it.

Thanks for listening.

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