Day 3 - Prelude to a Musical Overload
Day 3 was supposed to be our ‘rest’ day: we’d take it easy, chill by the pool and not worry about getting a good spot for the guest shows, which we were planning to watch from the comfort of a sunlounger, cocktail in hand, looking at the ocean.
Not so.
Because of the change in schedule, the guest shows had been put forward to 8 PM, and we knew that once people conquered their spots, they would not give them up for Hanson. So we took our places on the sand.
Concerts on the beach: aren’t they a splendid idea? A soft surface for bare feet, the sand under your toes...a liberating experience where you can unleash your inner beach goddess. Right?
Wrong. By the time Hanson had started, the sand had been compacted down to the consistency of concrete: it was brutal. My knees hurt, my back hurt, everything hurt but there was no way I was giving up my third row spot.
*Slight digression - I’m told by friends who have children that after giving birth, your body releases some kind of mystery hormone that makes you forget the pain of labour so that you will, at some point, decide to put yourself through the ordeal again and continue to breed. I think the same happens with Hanson shows: you go through insane amounts of suffering to get a spot from which you can actually see what happens on stage, and as you wait, you curse the moment your mother put you on this earth, you curse your decision to like this band, you curse the people behind you, in front of you, and to your sides. You hate the world because you’re in pain and you forgot to take some ibuprofen as a preventative measure. Quite simply, you just want everything to be over. You think you’re seeing Jesus - the end must be near. But then, the show starts and bang! all is forgotten. And the next day, as if you’d been bathing in a tub full of Rohypnol, you’re queuing up to do the same.
Some people call us masochists.
We call ourselves Hanson fans.
(I think both definitions are actually fairly accurate).
Day 3 was supposed to be our ‘rest’ day: we’d take it easy, chill by the pool and not worry about getting a good spot for the guest shows, which we were planning to watch from the comfort of a sunlounger, cocktail in hand, looking at the ocean.
Not so.
Because of the change in schedule, the guest shows had been put forward to 8 PM, and we knew that once people conquered their spots, they would not give them up for Hanson. So we took our places on the sand.
Concerts on the beach: aren’t they a splendid idea? A soft surface for bare feet, the sand under your toes...a liberating experience where you can unleash your inner beach goddess. Right?
Wrong. By the time Hanson had started, the sand had been compacted down to the consistency of concrete: it was brutal. My knees hurt, my back hurt, everything hurt but there was no way I was giving up my third row spot.
*Slight digression - I’m told by friends who have children that after giving birth, your body releases some kind of mystery hormone that makes you forget the pain of labour so that you will, at some point, decide to put yourself through the ordeal again and continue to breed. I think the same happens with Hanson shows: you go through insane amounts of suffering to get a spot from which you can actually see what happens on stage, and as you wait, you curse the moment your mother put you on this earth, you curse your decision to like this band, you curse the people behind you, in front of you, and to your sides. You hate the world because you’re in pain and you forgot to take some ibuprofen as a preventative measure. Quite simply, you just want everything to be over. You think you’re seeing Jesus - the end must be near. But then, the show starts and bang! all is forgotten. And the next day, as if you’d been bathing in a tub full of Rohypnol, you’re queuing up to do the same.
Some people call us masochists.
We call ourselves Hanson fans.
Yes! I love the part about the pain yet how we continue to go back again and again.
ReplyDeleteYes! I love the part about the pain yet how we continue to go back again and again.
ReplyDeleteI've sat on hot and cold pavement for more hours than I can count for Hanson.... and I keep doing it, despite the pain of each previous one. I wear my Hanson Fan badge proudly!
ReplyDeleteOh my, you crack me up, Paola!!!
ReplyDelete