I went to see Florence and the Machine in concert on Friday. I haven’t slept that much since then, so my memories are snapshot:
Lying on the concrete floor of the Dome the bass vibrating through my rib cage.
Standing shoulder to shoulder with a mass of people, Rick pressed against my back, feeling the drum beat in the dip between my clavicles.*
Wishing I had a camera that could capture the exact quality of that light.
One thing that really struck me was that I have never seen the Dome so empty. I mean, it wasn’t empty it was crammed full of people, but usually there’s also all kinds of staging or it’s divided into conference booths or… basically stuff everywhere. This time it was like: stage, people. That’s it.
And when we got there it was only about half full so you could just wander around, sit on the ground, stare at the ceiling, take pictures from floor level… you know, the sorts of things you do in a new space. If you’re me, anyway.
I have this thing I like to do when I’m moving into or out of a house where I like to hang out in all the places I’ll never be able to be, or never were able to be. The fridge nook. The only place the couch will go. The back of the crawl space.
Lying on the ground of the Burswood Dome was like that.
And then… it was ridiculously loud, Florence injured herself at the end, forgot the words during a song in the middle and skipped and laughed a lot. She had a gorgeous laugh, seemed lovely, and like she had a really nice relationship with her band. As concerts go, it was fine, although I tend to think her style of music doesn’t lend itself so much to live performance. But it was still a lot of fun, and I’m biased toward concerts that are held within walking distance of my house. (Especially given the traffic jam we walked past going in and out.)
Me: Midnight Oil still wins my best-band-to-see-in-concert prize.
Rick: I liked Machine Gun Fellatio.
Me: Yes, but you never saw the Oils.**
* Which is turns out is called the suprasternal notch. I am all about accidentally learning anatomy lately.
** For some reason this conversation reminds me forcibly of Ten Things I Hate About You….
Bianca: There’s a difference between like and love. Because, I like my Skechers, but I love my Prada backpack.
Chastity: But I love my Skechers.
Bianca: That’s because you don’t have a Prada backpack.