tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15620727811979577092024-03-14T00:04:27.398-07:00Stuff I say sometimesI think.
I write.
I blog.
Sometimes.Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16348710136846593447noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562072781197957709.post-9135933387495910042018-06-29T23:13:00.000-07:002018-06-29T23:13:11.703-07:00BEYONCE, Part 2: I was not prepared<div style="text-align: center;">
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All time following this point is now recorded in tracks, not numerals. I am in a parallel universe of BEYONCE TIME. And blurry cameraphone photos. </div>
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<b>INTRO</b> The. Crowd. Goes. WILD. A HUGE LED screen is dropped into the stage and Queen B is in charge of the proceedings. The dancers come on in giant hoop skirts, like a royal procession. I'm screaming like a child who's discovered candy for the first time.</div>
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<b>FLAWLESS/BOW DOWN</b> Beyonce roars through the opening song and I have never in my life felt more energized and ready to jump around as this.</div>
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I also want to murder everyone who has their phones and cameras up. Next to me is a girl who insists on recording the whole show. <i>Gurl.</i> Buy the tour DVD FFS.</div>
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Some people have also been carried out because they've passed out. Damn.</div>
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<b>BABY BOY</b> Dutty whine, dutty whine, about 20 shadows of Beyonce and her dancers are projected behind them on the LED screen as they reggaeton through this set. This must what being on drugs must feel like.</div>
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Quick changeover to <b>BLOW/CHERRY</b> The LED has gone into strips of color. I'm picking up a strong 70s Disco/Diana Ross/Donna Summers vibe. Werk.</div>
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B does a little crowd singalong to Cherry and we all forget how dirty the lyrics are, even though we're shouting them at the top of our lungs</div>
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<b>NAUGHTY GIRL</b> It's all a blur but I'm sure this one was suitably nasty, like Janet</div>
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Looking flawless even in horrible red Darth Vader light.</div>
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AUDIENCE SITUATION. A mini-commotion has started between a girl and another crew of randoms, meaning a gap has opened. I'm swift as a coursing river and take full advantage. Hence me and my crew are now in THE SECOND ROW. I was not prepared for this. NOT PREPARED.</div>
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<b>YONCE/PARTITION</b> Mind is being blown into smithereens as she does the full Crazy Horse routine from the video. What. Has. Just. Happened. Slight concern also at the chair bit, as flatmate and I thought she might over-rotate and fall off.</div>
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But she is Queen B and lives in a halo of beauty so it shall not happen because Queen B says so. Us plebs can only marvel.</div>
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Side note as well that the band, dancers, stage crew, and backing singers are truly flawless. All look like they're having a blast.</div>
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<b>HAUNTED/GHOST</b> Things calm down as we go into a more laid back and conceptual section of the show. </div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">The dancing in this section is especially great and I'm pretty sure it's <a href="http://www.youtube.com/channel/UChDzFSMQSFcNYXfMm5Y26dg" target="_blank">Dana Foglia's</a> amazing work.</span></div>
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Beyonce is dressed in a beautiful blue gown and warbling like her life depends on it. </div>
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Moment of reckoning. <b>DRUNK IN LOVE</b> is on. WILL JAY Z MAKE AN APPEARANCE? Beyonce is in a nude bodysuit, does not wearing the polka dot blue suit mean he won't be there?</div>
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'I BEEN DRANKIN, I BEEN DRANKIN' and everybody hollers along to SURFBOARD. Or as my sister corrected me afterwards, SERFBOARDT. Euphoria.</div>
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Just as we lose the glimmer of hope for Hovah's appearance, LO AND BEHOLD HE IS THERE. </div>
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The crowd goes BONKERS. I almost wee myself.</div>
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Beyonce finishes Drunk in Love with Jay Z. They flirt and smile at each other onstage. Tru luv. I can't cope.</div>
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We chill out a bit as B sizzles her way through <b>1+1</b>. She trills and climbs those notes like a hummingbird. Her pianist is also amazing. I am appropriately moved at the spectacle.</div>
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You have to respect how much work she's put into getting that body back after her baby (not that it would matter if she didn't though). Amazonian.</div>
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B switches to acoustic and has a bit of fun with <b>IRREPLACEABLE</b>. Shouting 'to the left to the left' has never felt so simultaneously angry and therapeutic.</div>
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Somewhere in this milieu is a cool Tetris-y video montage to <b>COUNTDOWN</b>. Dat makeup. Flawless.</div>
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And we're now doing <b>LOVE ON TOP</b>. It's all feel-good vibes, 90s grooves, bopping with joy. Until she gets to the key changes and I wonder what combo of coconut water and virgin's blood she uses to make those key changes so seamless and powerful. Wao.</div>
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Also mental note that Les Twins are absolutely KILLIN' it! They seem to have a genuine rapport with Beyonce, which is pretty cool.</div>
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Beyonce disappears and re-emerges in a short dress with excellent gold piping detail. She hops, drops, and body-rolls through a mashup of <b>CRAZY IN LOVE</b> and <b>SINGLE LADIES</b>. Slight frustration at the crap crowd who don't dance to the songs and instead stand there like placid lemons. Booooo London.</div>
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I sense we're near the end. Actually no, it's because I read the setlist someone put online beforehand.</div>
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Beyonce appears in an outfit that on anyone else would look like a harlequin on crack, but we excuse it because it's on her and she is a world superstar.</div>
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She starts an emotional version of <b>HEAVEN</b>. The crowd is mesmerized. If this is what hypnosis by B is like, I volunteer as tribute.</div>
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The onion-cutting ninjas are also strong in the crowd, as she hits the final refrain of 'Heaven couldn't wait for you... so go on, go home' (presumably referring to her miscarriage), there are tears. I wonder for a fleeting moment if wearing non-waterproof mascara is a good idea. Then I remember I'm at a Beyonce concert and this is really raw and sad and I don't give two fucks about my face.</div>
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Tears at the end of Heaven. Sister is also emotional. For all the hype and production Beyonce puts on, plonk her down with a pianist or guitarist and the voice speaks for itself.</div>
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We begin the climb out of the emotional crevasse with a lovely rendition of <b>XO</b>. I didn't understand the appeal of the song until she sang it live. Now I totally do.</div>
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And we round off with a goodbye of <b>HALO</b>. I feel blessed by the Bey that be. I am all emotional. I was not prepared. My mind is a lake with the recurrent reflection of semi-formed words... 'what just happened?'</div>
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Not the world's most flattering photo, but I wanted to show the cray-Harlequin-ness.</div>
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There is no encore. Sads. But Beyonce says goodnight and thank you to us all. It has been momentous.</div>
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The time is now <b>22:00</b> or thereabouts. We ponder whether to stay and catch a glimpse of the dancers. We decide not, as real life beckons and there are dinners to be eaten, trains to be caught, and beds to be slept in.</div>
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<b>22:10</b> We run into [the wonderful] dancer Meg Lawson, who's here to say hi to her Canadian breathren, showstoppingly hot Kim Gingras. I ask Meg to pass on my thumbs up on the show and sorry-I-can't-stay-but-public-transport-is-a-mare-have-to-get-back-ahhhh</div>
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<b>22:45</b> Home with minimal fuss. Feet ache. Ears ring. Food reheated.</div>
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<b>For the next week</b></div>
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I listen to Beyonce songs on repeat and lose myself in a black hole of her old documentaries and Video-making-ofs and old favourites.</div>
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It was all worth it. I am one lucky gyal.</div>
Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16348710136846593447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1562072781197957709.post-53046789082801939832014-03-09T15:10:00.002-07:002014-03-10T07:16:00.304-07:00I went to Beyonce, Part 1: Trials and Tribulations<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_1lNmqAt5qc/Uxzo9aCJS_I/AAAAAAAAAm4/6z10jd3qTws/s1600/IMG_3546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_1lNmqAt5qc/Uxzo9aCJS_I/AAAAAAAAAm4/6z10jd3qTws/s1600/IMG_3546.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">5 hours or so later</span></i></td></tr>
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Let's go back to the beginning.<br />
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<b>15:00 </b>Check Twitter for queuing update. Distress. Doors open at 6, panic as hope of seeing Queen Bey up close diminishes with every ticking second.<br />
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<b>15:15</b> Sprinting through Stratford station to save time. Breathless sister says 'WELL YOU DIDN'T TELL ME YOU WERE GOING TO RUN. I was not prepared for this.'<br />
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<b>15:30 </b>We reach the O2. Execute plan to divide and conquer. Me and flatmate take the merch stand, sister and her friend dash off to line up.<br />
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<b>15:31 </b>£50 for the SURFBOARD sweater?! I think not. We settle on some T shirts.<br />
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<b>15:38</b> Relief that the line is not too bad. Slight sadness at being just beyond the barrier line.<br />
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<b>15:40</b> Sister and friend executing a planned sushi run. Urgent message dispatched to sister's friend: CHAI LATTE AND HOT CHOC IF YOU CAN PLEASE. Message received.<br />
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<b>16:00</b> Hot chocolate! Water! Sushi! Life is good. The book I've brought along stays in my handbag.<br />
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<b>16:01</b> Wow, that girl is really dressed up for standing. Huge heels and shorts on a day like this, like rly. I marvel at the bronzer strategy of her friend also. Such brown. Much definition.<br />
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<b>16:30</b> The floor is cold. So is my ass.<br />
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<b>16:45</b> Strategic toilet break to Nando's. And chips.<br />
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<b>16:48</b> Bladder relief.<br />
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<b>17:00</b> Receive text from sister. 'LINE IS MOVING' More panic. WHERE ARE MY CHIPS???<br />
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<b>17:03 </b>More running ensues, back to the queue.<br />
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<b>17:05</b> British concertgoers really are very good. Flatmate updates Facebook with 'flawless queuing'. Appropriate.<br />
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<b>17:15</b> Side-eyeing another queue that has broken off from the main queue. Ask security guard why this is happening. Receive inconsequential answer.<br />
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<b>17:17 </b>Team up with a girl in a red jumper to ask another guard about side invasion situation.<br />
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<b>17:19</b> Side invasion situation resolved. Emotional relief.<br />
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<b>17:40 </b>Line is crawling along. I am a mix of excitement and WHY IS MY BLADDER SO SMALL WHY DID I DRINK ALL THAT WATER.<br />
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<b>17:43 </b>Running to a bar to use their toilet. Beg and plead with the staff to let me use said toilet. Request received with grimace but I persist.<br />
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<b>17:44</b> Toilet access gained. More relief.<br />
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<b>17:53</b> Back in line via running around to a side opening far away from main queue. Decide to shed layers. Slight doubt at whether Sister's jacket, 2 recently purchased Beyonce t shirts, 1 book, 1 kindle, 2 wallets, and a duffel coat will fit in my tiny rucksack.<br />
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<b>17:54</b> They do. Packing level: ASIAN.<br />
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<b>18:10</b> They are letting people in. Pre-teens are crushing each other to try and move forward in the queue. This is what Roman Gladiatorial battles must have been like, if the Gladiators were 15 and not actually that violent.<br />
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<b>18:20</b> The line is moving faster. Security lady ain't taking none of this bullshit tho. People are only allowed through if they're together and ready.<br />
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<b>18:21 </b>I am admonished by another security lady who says 'stay still I'm trying to put your wristband on'. Not felt this rebellious since secondary school when I told a teacher she was being hypocritical about punctuality, as she was always late.<br />
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<b>18:30 </b>Bag check. Shit just got real. The water has to go. We marvel at the debris that the frenzy for Queen Bey has left behind. Empty nando's bags. Cheap duvets. Assorted camping chairs. Dignity.<br />
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<b>18:32</b> Damn it, we could've put the water into those plastic cups. Too late for self-flagellation, there is a concert to attend and teenagers to barge past.<br />
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<b>18:35</b> And we're through! Decide to abandon donating to the Prince's Trust and a chance for a free upgrade to the VIP area.<br />
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<b>18:36 </b>Desperately need a wee. Rest of my entourage despair as we are losing crucial space-grabbing time.<br />
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<b>18:38</b> Huddle near the extra mid-stage bit. Overhear that her Holiness of Hip Hop will only be there for 20 minutes of the whole show. Abandon plan.<br />
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<b>18:40</b> We've established a position down near stage left.<br />
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<b>18:43</b> Excitement. We are only 4 rows from the very front!<br />
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<b>18:47 </b>Oh, next to us is red jumper girl! We hear her anecdotes, and are impressed at her getting upgraded to the VIP area last time. I take notes on her concert strategy, which is to 'find the gaps now and be prepared to move to the front'. All morals about orderly queuing and space-taking are meaningless when you are a short girl. One must strike when opportunity arises.<br />
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<b>19:15</b> Feet are hurting omg where is she<br />
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<b>19:30 </b>Warm up act is here! It's DJ <b>Monsieur Adil</b> from France. Excitement. He is a cute man who waves his arms in the air like he don't care. Lots of enthusiasm and head-bopping to the club tracks on play. All the beats start to blend into one cornucopia of club hits and hedonistic existence. This is what life is about...I think.<br />
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<b>20:00</b> Excitement over. We mindlessly absorb the Beyonce Pepsi ads and 'Life is but a dream' documentary plugs like humans with no other reason for existence. Do electric sheep dream of Beyonce???<br />
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<b>20:05</b> Ripple of excitement as Beyonce's stylist, and Solange, weave their way towards the stage right VIP area. I'm casting envious looks down at the VIP folks.<br />
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<b>20:07</b> Red jumper girl and I team up to get a young man with a poster and Prince's Trust sticker picked for the VIP area. Our efforts are in vain but he is grateful.<br />
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<b>20:10</b> Realise that one of the videographers lurking near the stage is a childhood friend of my flatmate's. Existential crisis as I wonder what I've achieved in my life.<br />
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<b>20:15</b> All in audience are enthralled by stage crew men climbing vertiginous ladder to work the spotlights at top of the stage. It is at least 5 stories up. Terrifying.<br />
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<b>20:18</b> Feet starting to really hurt. Level of enthusiasm: -500<br />
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<b>20:25</b> Five minutes to go. In denial that this is actually happening. Think to self that this is a coping mechanism for the crazy that is about to go down.<br />
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<b>20:29</b> T-1 MINUTE TO QUEEN BEY BOW DOWN BOW DOWN BOW DOWN<br />
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<b>20:31</b> She's not here yet. WHY<br />
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<b>20:32</b> We will never see her<br />
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<b>20:32:30</b> Whyyyyyyy is she not here the suspense is killing us<br />
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<b>20:33</b> THE CURTAIN HAS GONE UP AND THE BEYONCE SIGN IS IN BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL PINK<br />
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<b>20:33:30</b> omg omg omg<br />
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<b>20:35</b> <span style="font-size: large;">CURTAIN DROPS AND THE SHOW BEGINS</span><br />
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Henceforth I lose track of time completely and am catapulted into an alternate universe, where Beyonce rules us all.<br />
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Stay tuned for next week's post on what happens.Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16348710136846593447noreply@blogger.com1