There is an inherent sort of magic, to being in the crowd for a concert by your all-time favourite musicians. It doesn’t really matter where, if you’re in the nosebleeds, or if you’ve got decent seats. Being there, that’s enough. Being part of it. Knowing you’re one of tens of thousands of people, there because you share a common love of the people on stage.
There is a moment, just before the show, when everything stops. When the lights go dark, and the atmosphere heightens, and there’s a simultaneous intake of breath. For that split second - and indeed, a split second is all it is, before the screaming starts - you feel like anything could happen. It’s almost invincible, the feeling of it - the moment when the anticipation is over, because it’s happening.
There is a time, a song, when they, the ones on stage, they’re feeling it too. You know they are. They just want to step back and take in the moment, and so they let the moment go to the crowd, to you. The singer holds out the mic, and its yours, collectively - the chance to sing their words right back to them, with 65,000 other people. It occurs to you, retrospectively, thinking back long after the time is over, that there is probably no greater high in this world, than the high the people on that stage get, to hear one of their songs given back to them, by thousands upon thousands of people who love, adore, and worship them.
Two years ago tonight, I had the joy, honour, and privilege of being in the front row of the outer circle at a concert played by my favourite band.
Red Zone 2, against the guard rail. Skydome (oh, alright, fine - Rogers Centre). Toronto ON Canada. July 11th 2011.
And without a doubt, the greatest night of my life so far.