Strange girl's diary
Thursday, July 11th, 2002
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The 27th of June. "How old are you" is the question my boyfriend asks me second year in a row. This highly skeptical question coincides with one and the same event - the concert of my favorite band. "I am 14", - say I, and we laugh. I recall answering "13" the last time a-ha were around. That goes well with the fact I have had a birthday just a week ago. And no matter how old I have become. Somehow I am 14 again, and the best imaginable gift has just arrived from Norway.
"Heh, they just arrived" was the SMS-message I received from a friend, awaiting the press-conference in Marriott to begin. Right, it had to be over by that time, but they have just arrived to the airport. Everything goes contrary to the plan, right, guys? :) Well, then I am sure to see them on my way home - it goes via the airport highway. It is late in the rosy late evening. The windows in my car are open. Suddenly a blaring sound of the buzzer draws me away from the tones of this summer evening. It is a white limousine escorted by the security car. Here they are, - my mind goes. I wave my hand. Why? I can not tell, besides why in this world would a 14 year old care? Since I am a teenager again… I shall get back to reality on Monday, so why not let myself this little folly - once in a year?
The 28th of June. Oh, why do I have to feel so weak and sick exactly this day? I have so much things planned: to meet a friend in the airport, to be on the phone with every friend going to the concert, to carry all the connections, to book places in the restaurant where we are to hold our own "after-show" get-together… OK, the last effort now, you can do it. You shall relax in the next better life, - I command to myself, - you are to be rewarded this evening!
Here comes the evening. Thirty past five. We are to meet beforehand by a cafe where we often hold our get-togethers. I seem to be in time, contrary to my habits. No, not this traffic jam now! Last minutes, last meters. I can not allow myself to stick here! A detour. Damn, it is even worse! I placed myself in the most distant row from the slew and there are only lorry-monsters by my side to flatten little me. No, guys, I need that other row and you can lose your temper and honk as much as you like - I'll get there. Even if the whole world has to stop and wait for me… Here we go, they seem to let me slip through. How kind of you, nice people! J
OK, I am on the spot, as well as the other fellows of mine. We get the phone call from our friends waiting inside of Olimpiyski, telling us we've got to hurry up.
We are inside. What are those tones? Whoa, that is a live rehearsal, that's what it is! We can see the stage in the slightly open door. So weird… simple as that! Morten in his everlasting creamy oil trousers a-la viva chemical industry. Those pants a likely to outlive his grandchildren and become a family relict. :)
Now we have to find a proper "place under the sun", as Russians say. We run down the stairs. It already looks like a crowdy queue. The question is how much beforehand does one have to come here to get in the first row? But here are our friends almost near the entrance to the hall. So nice to have friends, really! Our company is greatly reunited now. It is amazing how we contrived to become so close to each other within less than a year. Just another significant moment in this a-ha passion.
So, we await in anticipation. We get a hint of fever for a while, hiding it behind jests and laugh. Finally the doors open and like a cork from the bottle of champagne, pushed by a crowd from the backwards, we spread into the hall. We are about 4 rows far from the stage. Thanks to my enormously high platforms I get rather nice view here. But, excuse me, who placed that elephant in the first row, right front of me? :) Anyway, it all looks pretty much like the very "place under the Sun" I've been hoping for. So good somebody in our group was able to bring water in, despite the restrictions. There's plenty of it everywhere on the stage: it would be a pity to die of a thirst standing a few meters far from such a "spring", really.
Somebody in the middle of the front row starts roaring something like "we are embarrassed"… or is it "we are from Benderes", or "Vyhodi, perets!"" ("Show up, dude!"), "Antonio Banderas" maybe? Somebody explains it is "Vi elsker dere" which means "we love you". For a while, we are sorrowly shouting "a-ha!" several times. The enthusiastic screams come and go in a wave, originating from an unseen source. Finally there's some stir on the stage after the concert being almost half an hour late. The curtain somewhat moves a bit. Someone seems to be spying us from there. Is not it just the right moment to show up, dudes? We start shouting again in the last outburst. It is so easy to lose voice before the concert starts… :) Finally the lights go down and the hall bursts out with an ever so intense applause (did not we think we were out of strength by now?).
The guys are the same, even fresher then a year before. Seems like they have only had a short break to change decorations and costumes - not even all of them, indeed! The changeless oil-trousers are in the middle of the stage again. ;) Here come the first chords of "Minor Earth…". The hall catches the tune and sings it along from the very beginning to the end. Morten seems to be so amused by that fact that he directs the microphone towards the crowd right away. The guys seem to be rather happy with our reaction. They exchange glances between each other. We can see we have definitely NOT disappointed them.
Do you remember the video of the concert in the South America? Actually, how can one forget? Seems like I am not the only one to feel younger today. Because the action on stage strongly reminds us of that famous concert. What's going on with Paul? Who's this a progressive rocker? - one of my friends notes. There's a feeling he wants to play his heart out. We meet every song like it is the ONE we've been waiting for the whole year. Anyway, have not we, really? :)
From where we stand we can see the stage clearly: every move, every smile. I note Paul looking our way and wave. Suddenly he nodes back. How can that be? Is it possible to see anything from the stage? Except, why am I so delighted by that fact? Oh, how could I forget? I am a teenager again… we all behave adequately our "teenage" status. Office suites are left in the past for a while. We'll become grown ups again later, get back to our problems and dilemmas. It is so cool we can be kids again for once in a year, becoming twice as young… This music gives a grow to the wings which are so hard to hide outside these walls. But at least we can spread them fully right now! The wings seem to grow out of Mortens back as well, considering what he's doing up there. What a nice playing around! :) We are to self-ironically discuss his provocative body-moves for quite some time after everything is over, indeed. His charms cover us like a wave, we respond his every gesture as if it was addressed to everyone of us personally. There's this strange sensation we've known each other for ages, and our old friends play for us, having erased the boundaries of their inaccessibility. Feels like we can easily meet after the concert and just chat to our common pleasure. God, how much we're gonna miss you later! How much we are going to anticipate for further meetings…
The Living Daylights… we sing until we get stopped and suddenly we realize the concert has come to it's end, seemingly having had just started.
We watch our clocks in amusement: an hour with a half has as always flown away in five minutes. As always… but you can never resign yourself to it. The guys leave the stage. Well, we are familiar with that part of scenario. :) To stretch the voice a bit more, to wait a little… Here comes the dessert. The last three songs pass by in a real squall. Seems like everyone has decided to never let them go. We do not any longer pay attention on wasting the last voice power left, the painfully red palms, nagging. Tomorrow our friends will laugh at us, groaning in a Joe Cocker way, chatting enthusiastically in a hardly perspicuous language. Tomorrow we will walk like somnambulists, stumbling on everybody and not being able to get back from the seventh cloud. Tomorrow… Tonight it all seems so irrelevant, really. We freeze in anticipation of the "aaaaaaask…" moment. It sounds perfectly clear. Morten slightly fails the next note, sticking out his tongue so inimitably and makes a gesture of being in a little loss.
...Everything ends sooner or later… and the good things unfortunately do sooner, than the bad ones. There is a last chord, and Magne thanks the crowd in Russian, causing the tempest of delight from the stalls side. He could as well just say some bad word - the reaction would seemingly be the same by that moment. Morten collects the flowers and the staffed toys, covering the stage around his feet. Gifts us with the last wide smile and, of course, his famous "benedictory" gesture. The hall does not show any signs of relaxation. Morten says something, but can not be clearly heard because of all the noise. It is still understood his words are full of warmth, in confirmation of which he suddenly kisses the microphone… This one is supposed to bring us to a collapse, I believe… :) But the stage becomes empty and it sobers up a bit. They whisk, living us, returning to their unattainability, becoming distant and grand again. We are left with the bitter-sweet feeling which accompanies every happy moment in our life and only passes with the realization of the finiteness.
Thunderstruck by the squall of emotions we long and rush for each other to prolong our common happiness, to reverie every moment time and again. To burst our delight to like-minded and get no less in return. Almost all our company members get together for a party, which we have planned beforehand, knowing the necessity of such communication after the concert. The summer evening with all of its odors and sounds turns into night somewhat imperceptibly. We wish it could last forever, cause tomorrow we'll have to say good by to many of our friends, going back to their cities. We'll put on our office closes and together with them - masks. Our proceedings and dilemmas already knock on the door, demanding our attention and care. I will take a glance at my passport and realize I am far from being 14 years young… Everything will pass. What shall be left? The music, the reverie, friends and this beautiful summer… which is also not eternal…
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