Give it to me! Yeah! No one’s gonna stop me! Now!
Boy! What a concert! I went to see Madonna the other day at the River Plate Stadium in Buenos Aires. My feet still ache from dancing and jumping around like a kid (and I hadn’t done that in quite a while, lemme tellya!).
However, our story doesn’t begin altogether well. The concert started about one hour and a half later than we all expected. That is, over two hours later than it was announced. We had been standing there (dancing a bit to Paul Oakenfold) for a few hours and even if the Sun was already going down it was sticky, damp and hot. A few raindrops started falling and then more until the whole thing turned into a copious rain shower. F#@&*.
People started getting angry. Madonna had changed the dates of her performance and that meant a headache for more than one. People flying over from Chile, Perú and Brazil had to go into a lot of trouble to show up. Why wasn’t she showing up! A few girls behind me started calling Madonna names. Let’s just say that they were not nice names. I let out a scream myself (an innocent ‘Daleeee Madonnnaaaaa!). Eventually she came onstage and the display was quite something. She started singing some of the songs from her new album which were good but nobody really knew and therefore could not sing along with. We were all just standing there, still a bit pissed off and praying for more rain since it had already stopped and things started getting stuffy again.
As I stood there watching, arms crossed and quite cranky, I drifted off to think the following: Nothing surprises us any more. We seem to need more and more and more and MORE! Even when the display of technology was grotesquely over the top, when the sound was so loud it made your chest beat, when a 50 year old goddess was singing and dancing about and looking 21, we were all there wanting more… unsatisfied and unimpressed…
I remembered a time when I was a small kid. There was a large barren lot near the highway that crossed my neighborhood and we used to go down there with our bikes and pretend we were in a far away land full of adventure and mystery. One summer, the circus came to our neighborhood and settled for a few weeks in that same lot. We stood there in awe watching the tent go up and the trucks unload wonder after wonder. My mom took me and my brothers to the show and everything was dazzling. There was a kid –not that much older than I was- who performed a number in which he would stand on his hands on top of a pile of bricks. An assistant would add layer after layer of bricks while the kid just balanced his way up. I was so impressed! Later on in the show, that same kid was walking through the audience selling gimmicks and souvenirs…
And as I looked around the stadium watching thousands of girls wearing Madonna t-shirts, hats and what-have-you, I realized that this was also a circus. Bigger, louder and better but a circus none the less. And there I stood, together with another 60,000 unimpressed ticket holders…
But fortunately something happened. I can’t really explain what it was. Magic? Perhaps. I don’t really know. The bitch found some way to get to us all, even when we all knew she was being a phony and didn’t really give a damn. She found a way of piercing through this shield of sarcasm and rationality. How? When she sang ‘Don’t cry for me Argentina’ my eyes got literally wet. I was angry at myself! I made an effort to wipe a rogue tear from my cheek without anyone noticing (not that anyone was watching me either…). What was happening to me??? Jajajajajajaja. Moments later I was jumping and dancing and so was everyone around me. And as I laughed and sang I felt like a kid again and it felt SOOOO good. I felt nothing but gratitude towards this crazy woman who has dedicated her entire life to a create a circus she herself doesn’t seem to believe in.
Well… I don’t really know what my point is. Have we outsmarted our ability to feel like kids again? Are we paying $80 (US dollars) for a trip back to our childhood? Or am I just a sick, cranky man who thinks too much?
Boy! What a concert! I went to see Madonna the other day at the River Plate Stadium in Buenos Aires. My feet still ache from dancing and jumping around like a kid (and I hadn’t done that in quite a while, lemme tellya!).
However, our story doesn’t begin altogether well. The concert started about one hour and a half later than we all expected. That is, over two hours later than it was announced. We had been standing there (dancing a bit to Paul Oakenfold) for a few hours and even if the Sun was already going down it was sticky, damp and hot. A few raindrops started falling and then more until the whole thing turned into a copious rain shower. F#@&*.
People started getting angry. Madonna had changed the dates of her performance and that meant a headache for more than one. People flying over from Chile, Perú and Brazil had to go into a lot of trouble to show up. Why wasn’t she showing up! A few girls behind me started calling Madonna names. Let’s just say that they were not nice names. I let out a scream myself (an innocent ‘Daleeee Madonnnaaaaa!). Eventually she came onstage and the display was quite something. She started singing some of the songs from her new album which were good but nobody really knew and therefore could not sing along with. We were all just standing there, still a bit pissed off and praying for more rain since it had already stopped and things started getting stuffy again.
As I stood there watching, arms crossed and quite cranky, I drifted off to think the following: Nothing surprises us any more. We seem to need more and more and more and MORE! Even when the display of technology was grotesquely over the top, when the sound was so loud it made your chest beat, when a 50 year old goddess was singing and dancing about and looking 21, we were all there wanting more… unsatisfied and unimpressed…
I remembered a time when I was a small kid. There was a large barren lot near the highway that crossed my neighborhood and we used to go down there with our bikes and pretend we were in a far away land full of adventure and mystery. One summer, the circus came to our neighborhood and settled for a few weeks in that same lot. We stood there in awe watching the tent go up and the trucks unload wonder after wonder. My mom took me and my brothers to the show and everything was dazzling. There was a kid –not that much older than I was- who performed a number in which he would stand on his hands on top of a pile of bricks. An assistant would add layer after layer of bricks while the kid just balanced his way up. I was so impressed! Later on in the show, that same kid was walking through the audience selling gimmicks and souvenirs…
And as I looked around the stadium watching thousands of girls wearing Madonna t-shirts, hats and what-have-you, I realized that this was also a circus. Bigger, louder and better but a circus none the less. And there I stood, together with another 60,000 unimpressed ticket holders…
But fortunately something happened. I can’t really explain what it was. Magic? Perhaps. I don’t really know. The bitch found some way to get to us all, even when we all knew she was being a phony and didn’t really give a damn. She found a way of piercing through this shield of sarcasm and rationality. How? When she sang ‘Don’t cry for me Argentina’ my eyes got literally wet. I was angry at myself! I made an effort to wipe a rogue tear from my cheek without anyone noticing (not that anyone was watching me either…). What was happening to me??? Jajajajajajaja. Moments later I was jumping and dancing and so was everyone around me. And as I laughed and sang I felt like a kid again and it felt SOOOO good. I felt nothing but gratitude towards this crazy woman who has dedicated her entire life to a create a circus she herself doesn’t seem to believe in.
Well… I don’t really know what my point is. Have we outsmarted our ability to feel like kids again? Are we paying $80 (US dollars) for a trip back to our childhood? Or am I just a sick, cranky man who thinks too much?
Ah… I promise to ponder that as I sooth my sore feet. Stay tuned…
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