Sorry Madonna, please don’t sue me! I was reminded of this sentiment last night. I went to an amazing gig, with my other half and his eldest son. We saw In Flames who were outrageously good, Disturbed who were delightfully over the top and Avenged Sevenfold who are now in my top ten live bands list.
But it’s not the gig itself that I want to tell you about. In between Disturbed and Avenged Sevenfold there was a gap of about half an hour, while the stage was set up and equipment was trollied about. During this pause music was piped through into the arena, and the final song before the headliners came on was Space Oddity by David Bowie. I tapped on Jim’s arm and smiled; this was one of our favourites, plus we still both felt the bitter sting of Bowie’s death last year.
In that moment that we shared between the two of us, we suddenly realised we were sharing something more. As one our heads swivelled around the arena. From nowhere, there were phones and lighters in the air, and hundreds of voices raised in unison:
“This is Ground Control to Major Tom!”
The entire arena had noticed what the background noise was, and was paying tribute, or at the very least sharing in a moment of grief and celebration. Tears rolled down my cheek as I watched a woman quietly sing along with her eyes closed, her arm around her companion for support.
A quiet, fragile moment that was somehow more poignant by being sandwiched between blast of fire, mosh pits and metal. Always missed; always noticed; mourners bound by music.