The night before I would attend the David Bowie concert with my dad, I didn't find any trouble catching sleep, which was surprising and good. When I got up around 1 P.M., though, I was feeling a bit sick and nervous. After a couple of hours, I decided to go play some basketball with Enrique at the court near my house, in order to relax. The weather was great, and I started to feel very relaxed (in mind) and energetic (in body).
Within an hour, my mom showed up. She said that my dad had read on the Internet that the ArenA would open at 5, and that the supporting programme would start at 6:30. Our original plan of leaving from The Hague at 6:30 was no longer a very good one (considering it'ss about an hour drive). The new plan was that he would come and pick me up as soon as possible, and head straight to Amsterdam—my mom figured she'd go tell me I should get ready.
Since I know it's about an hour drive for my dad just to get here, I wasn't really stressed about it and continued to play a little 'ball. After half an hour or so, I went home, took a shower, and lifted myself in a nice suit (needle stripe). I looked like a million bucks, but felt like pretty much shit. Not much later, my dad arrived. He chatted with my grandmother for a minute or so and we went on our way.
In the car, I—obviously—started feeling less good, but it remained manageable. On the highway, it got worse and worse (as usual), up to and beyond the point where I would normally start to panic and back out, but I would not give in on it. I was going to do this, or die trying—I really did not give a shit what could happen (which is nothing, so it's irrelevant anyway). My father and I chatted a little, and I actually kept a pretty positive mindset. My body felt weak; I could not feel my limbs, everything was tingling and cramped, but I did not panic—I rufused to.
The fact that I appeared to be strong enough to pull through, and able to stay in control obviously helped (that's how the mind works), and made the bad feelings weaken. When we arrived at the ArenA, I was actually feeling pretty good. The only anxiety I was experiencing was a healthy dosis of excitement—after all; I was going to see Bowie, live!
When I entered the ArenA and looked into this huge space with thousands of people and room for tens of thousands more, I felt great. Now, the fucking weird thing is; lately, when I get into wide spaces or where there's a lot of people, I get anxious, while here—where it's much wider and more crowded than all places I've been the past months—I felt great, and a tad emotional. It was like I was the artist, entering his domain.
When we walked on and became a part of the crowd, this feeling disappeared, but I still felt ok. My father and I picked a spot, and that's where we stayed (for more than five hours, as it turned out). The supporting show hadn't started yet, and didn't seem to be in a hurry either. We stood there—doing nothing—for what appeared to be eternity, before they finally started.
Even though the lead singer of the supporting act was semi-hot, and their music wasn't completely unbearable, nobody seemed to mind them leaving the stage when they finally did, and neither did we. Also, we still have no idea who they were (and we didn't appear to be the only ones, as we heard several people shouting; Who are you people!?
).
After the supporting programme, there were some adjustments to the stage, instruments, and light, and then there was silence (apart from the background music tape). After this silence,
the excitement of the crowd rose... somebody got on the stage; it was blonde; it was sexy... but wait, that's not Bowie... Anouk!?
It appeared the supporting programme consisted of two acts. Darn. Don't get me wrong—I love Anouk; she's cool, sexy, and her music can bring a tear to my eye, but... Bowie does not live around the corner—Anouk does (pretty much). Oh well, at least it was an improvement on both the first act as the silence
that had followed. Oh, fuck it, I enjoyed it.
After Anouk had given away quite the show, there were adjustments of stage, instruments and light again; only this time they were a lot more drastic. Guys were climbing up to the lights via rope-ladders, and positioned themselves up there in order to control lights that were far bigger than the ones used in the first two acts (though these weren't removed either) by hand.
After another semi-silence that appeared to last for all eternity, an animation started playing on the biggest—and 'till then unused—screen. It was a very cool animation (that made me think about Flash... I'm such a geek) that really started the crowd going. Then again, at that point just about anything could have made the crowd going. Anyway, hands-up for the animator(s).
When the animation had been playing for some time, the volume of the noise that the crowd had been creating suddenly multiplied by many. I could feel the tension of the crowd growing, and my eyes were hurting from trying to crawl out of their sockets in order to catch first glimpse of whatever they were anticipating... and there they were; the band members sans Bowie. The crowd's volume multiplied again, and the band started playing... and wow; how! They were immidiately rocking the house (which is a rather large one—I might add), and the crowd went wild. However, the strong sense of anticipation was still there, longing for Bowie.
Then there it was; the sweet sounds of Bowie's voice kicked in. Rebel Rebel
. Within seconds that appeared to be minutes, he walked onto the stage. The crowd went nuts, and I was feeling relieved and excited at the same time. I could hardly believe it; I was seeing Bowie in real life!
He looked great—it was everything I expected it to be, and then some. I immidiately envied him for his outfit (though I wasn't looking too bad myself).
Bowie talked to the audience a bit—he appeared to be a in a jolly mood. He said we had a nice club
(it's a huge stadion), and that there had been some changes since the last time he'd been there; they raisded the roof a few feet or summin'
(the complex is completely new). Then—about three or four times—he told us we were such pretty people
(in the funniest voice):
It's so lovely to see a crowd filled with such pretty people. Everyone's so pretty. And I should know, I just got back from America! I feel like a man finally finding water in the desert!
This wasn't the only pinch he directed to the people of the U.S.: before they started I'm Afraid Of Americans, Bowie introduced the members of his band and informed us they're the only Americans he's not affraid of.
He also wanted to know what our (25,000+ crowd) name was:
David:
At the count of three, I want y'all to tell me your name. One. Two. Three!*Thousands of people shouting their respective first names.*
David:
Oh, it'sCharlie,is it?Hi, I'm Dave.
...and, if everybody was having a good time... and I mean everybody:
You, there in the back...(which is a couple of hundred yards away)Yeah you, with the green jacket... and the ladybug button... No, not you, the one next to you. Are you feeling alright?
Even the fact that the sound wasn't too great (there was bad echo) couldn't spoil the fun. He even emphasized the bright side of it, which is that we'd get to hear like, 62 songs.
The fact that the acoustics were far from perfect didn't spoil the fun for me either. Opposed to the two supporting acts, David could be followed wordly... but that probably says more about him than anything else. Also, when the band would get bangin' (which was with every song), the echo wasn't even that apparent.
Something that did almost spoil the fun (or at least caused a high level of annoyance) were two married guys that stood in front of me. They kept making space in front of them (even though they seemed to know the people that stood in front of them), allowing absolutely no space for me to breath, let alone dance. I had to keep my arms crossed just to create some personal space. On top of that, they kept performing stupid little dances for eachother and screamed like little schoolgirls at the start and end of each song. In short, they were two of the biggest nerds I'd ever seen, and they were in my face quite literally.
Dad (who had been noticing this for some time) chuckled when I gave them a little push when a dangerous looking (big, bald, bearded, tattood, pierced) guy marched by in front of them. They turned around, looking a bit upset, but realized I would eat them for lunch and turned back... leaving a little more space for me to breath.
After the song Reality, Bowie dramatically tilted his head to the left and looked to the floor. There was complete silence. All my senses were anticipating to soak up whatever was about to be like a sponge. Then he spoke the words; This is Reality.
It probably has no deeper meaning than that it's a reference to the title of both the song as the tour, but at that moment in time, I experienced it as the deepest, most poetic and phylosphic—the most true words ever spoken.
Bowie flipped us off for singing along with All The Young Dudes, and said we'd have to endure a song from the eighties as a punishment.
No... please... don't... hurt us... China Girl —of course—was perfection.
After Hallo Spaceboy, Bowie had another jolly moment. He said the next song would be a little something he made together with Freddy Mercury (at which point the two guys that had been annoying me screamed like retarded schoolgirls), but that Freddy couldn't come because he wasn't feeling too well. The two guys shut up instantly and I laughed out loud.
The officially confirmed set-list (courtesy of HNB):
After the band had left the stage, there was a standing ovation that went on for minutes, and never decreased in intesity. Of course, they came back for an encore, which consisted of four songs, including one completely new one.
After the encore, the crowd was cheering for more, still, but then the roadies started to clear the stage, the lights went on, and some big screen up in the rafters was asking people to head towards the exit, which the thousands of guests did.
My dad and I headed towards the garage to pick up the car and head home (my dad's home, that is; I was going to spend the night there). When we finally left the garage (it was one big traffic jam inside), I suddenly remembered that I had seen Bowie live, and shouted this out. My dad added that this event appeared to be too much for him to fully absorb, and that this saddend him. I comforted him by saying I was experiencing it as too much to process at once, but that it comes back in parts, allowing me to enjoy it longer. He said he hoped this is how it works.
Still on our way, dad called my little brother to check out where he was at. It appeared he was at his mother's and that he wanted us to pick him up, and that's what we did.
When we got home, my dad warmed up some sausages (since none of us had eaten dinner, but weren't really hungry either—my dad and I were full of Bowie, and my little bro' never feels like eating to begin with). While we were eating, my dad dug up some anecdotes on late family members that I've never known (or even heared about, for that matter). My dad went to bed, and my little brother went soon after.
Because I didn't feel like hitting the sack myself quite yet (mainly because of my day-night rythm), I went downstairs (yep, my dad's new place has two floors) to watch some TV. First I watched the (Dutch) news, and started peaking into a book of which my dad said he had a copy for me laying at the office. When I had gone through all of the book, and the thrid re-run of the news was about to start, I started flipping channels. My attention was caught by Ronald Reagan's Final Farewell on CNN which I then watched for several hours before I finally went to bed around 5 A.M.
I had no trouble falling asleep, and I slept very good, but not very long. I woke up two or three times before I decided to get out of bed, and even then it was still before noon. I had breakfast and chatted with my dad (who had already been out to play some tennis) while my little brother was still fast asleep. Dad asked me to join him and his ex-wife (not my mom, but his second wife; Sandra) to some jazz night thing in town. I love jazz, and it sounded like fun, but I was also looking forward to writing and playing 'ball again—after all, it was quite the step I had taken concerning doing things
already. Besides, I really wanted to get ready for the first big streetball tournament I would attend since last summer the next day.
Dad said he understood, and offered to bring me home after dropping Sandra off at the barbershop. I accepted this offer, packed my bag, and we got ready to head out.
First, we went to the office to pick up my book and send a series of pictures (including the ones he took at the concert) to my email address. The security software felt like scanning it first (which took long enough, allowing my dad to show his pen collection), and then we got a message that the message could not be send because it was too big. What sucked about this is that we had run out of time because of Sandra's appointment at the barbershop.
I decided to quickly download and install an FTP client and have everything upload to our server while we continue with our plans. I had a rough time remembering my password at first (shrug), but after some trial-and-error
my plan succeeded. We rushed out of the office with the software doing its thing and my dad pretty much in the blue of what I just did.
We managed to pick up Sandra only four minutes late. She got on the car, we joked around, and she got off again (the barbershop appeared to be only minutes away from where she was). I noticed that she and my dad were a lot more relaxed and fun to watch being together, than they were when they were married. My dad said they also experience it like that themselves.
My dad and I headed to The Hague. On our (50 mile) way were talking about everything and nothing, singing to some Bowie lyrics that was playing from a CD, and generally enjoying ourselves (except for when we got into a traffic jam). I was also feeling less anxious on the high way that on my way to Amsterdam.
When we arrived at my place, my mom and dad chatted a little over coffee while I lifted myself out of my suit and into some basketball gear. Meanwhile, I booted my FTP software and started downloading the pictures from our server. When it was done downloading, I invited my mom and dad to come see the pictures (in my room). We went through all of the pictures, with my dad and myself providing text to my mom. When we'd seen them all, my dad went home, my mom went to the living room, and I went outside to play some basketball. My life was back to normal, yet never to be quite the same.
So how do I look back on this happening? In many, many way—all of which possitive. I feel I've conquered a lot of obsticals on a personal level, revived the relation between me and my father, and last but not least; experienced something that I will never forget—something I will tell my grandchildren about (given the chance).
Reality was a dream that became a reality.
ACJ2 comments so far.
Damn, Diamon Dogs live... ngggggggg. Great track list, sounds like you had an awesome time. Bowie luv!
Posted by: James on June 27, 2004, at 23:58
Wow. Sounds like a great time! :)
That is a post worth waiting for! Definitely sounds like one of those once-in-a-lifetime nights. Ya won't be forgetting that anytime soon.
Posted by: Libby on June 28, 2004, at 02:37
