A Powerful Image

I’ve had the privelege of shaking this man’s hand, as well as being embraced by him – both things wonderful, the latter in particular. As I said of it in the past…I felt as if he was telling me I’m “a good egg”. It felt lovely to be acknowledged like that.

I probably read far too much into it, as I often do with most things.

I’ve never really had an interaction with him like that while he’s performing, though. Always far too self-conscious to want any interactions with him while I am watching the gigs. I try not to look at him directly for too long…always making a point of watching the rest of the band, lol…when really all I want to do is watch him.

I love singing along, never really out loud…my voice sucks arse. I don’t want anyone hearing my voice! There is only two times during a gig that I’ll let my voice be heard…during the “la la la la las” of Don’t You and…because I love the song so bloody much – the “ameri-ameri-ameri-ameri-americaaaaan” chorus of The American.

In the past couple of gigs, I have wanted to be some kind of help to him. A support. A crutch (and for a change I am really not wanting that to sound like innuendo). It’s a stupid notion. He doesn’t need it…well, okay, he may do for the lyrics…because I am a complete arsing pedant, and I want him to get the words to the songs right. He wrote them after all, and they are amazing, and should be heard properly. My pedantry is wrapped up in the praise of admiring his work. I’m not doing to be a narky bitch. I’m doing it because, despite how it seems most days, I’m a perfectionist.

Anyway, this is taking the most extreme course of digression.

It would be nice to experience it. To feel relaxed enough in his company to…reach out to him like that and have him hold my hand while he is singing.

A few times I was close enough at the Acoustic gigs to try and initiate it, but I was too scared and stayed rooted to the spot. The only other time recently that it could have happened was in Paris in February. I nearly tried. Well, at one of them, I did put my hand out as he was saying his farewells at the end of the set…and it must have been Paris…the barriers made the stage too far away at the UK shows. I think I tried…but my arm was in amongst several others vying to be touched…and well, I quickly retrieved my arm, fearful I would look desperate.

But to have your hand held like that while he is singing must just feel like the most special thing in the world. A human bond, through music, it is the most precious of gifts. And the way in which their hands are locked is just beautiful.

I need to stop having dreams involving this man. Dreams of talking to him for more than a few minutes. Dreams of wanting to lock hands with him as he sings to me.

I have had more than my share. I have been so lucky. And he no doubt thinks “you’ve had your five minutes, give someone else a turn. Sod off!” He no doubt wishes me to sod off every day.

Perhaps I should. Stop making demands and fuck off. Be happy with my lot and go away now.


Leave a comment