stampede if he were spotted.
‘Thank you for your great Rockport welcome. We’re going to start with a favourite song of ours called “Star-Crossed”. I really hope you enjoy it,’ said Jay, wooing the audience with more charm than he usually showed to people when he met them in the singular.
I couldn’t see Kurt anywhere front or backstage, which was a shame as this was my biggest number.
Head in the game, Angel. I closed my eyes, counting myself in from Matt’s percussion intro. And play.
The song was going really well. Jay delivered the lyrics with an emotional charge he would be totally unable to manage in real life, as his empathy was the depth of a kiddie’s paddling pool. He reached my favourite verse just before my solo.
I see you standing at your window
My life starts again
Love falls like stars
A glitter of pain.
Then something happened inside me; it was like a key change from minor to major. As I reached my section, I took off and began to fly. My fingers were playing—my violin was singing—but it was like they no longer belonged to me but were fellow birds in a flock of music. It was scary and exhilarating at the same time; I felt out of control, connected to the ground only by the notes resting lightly to the stave, birds on a telephone wire waiting to soar. Even stranger, I could feel this mood was flowing out of me and touching the audience. They were linked to me, enraptured as I was.
I reached the end of my riff and the crowd sang out their pleasure, subsiding only to hear the final verse and chorus. I had to nudge myself to remember to provide the harmony to Jay’s voice. ‘Star-Crossed’ came to an end and we received a prolonged barrage of applause, shouts and whistles. Jay’s face was gleaming with a mist of perspiration and pleasure. Matt gave me a thumbs up. I was still shaken, convinced some strange alchemy had taken place inside turning me into a very different sort of musician.
It was then that I noticed Marcus and Kurt. They were standing in the wings, watching our performance alongside the stage manager. Both were dressed in black so they looked like members of the backstage crew but I would recognize them anywhere, the relaxed posture of the rock god and the defensive vigilance of his younger friend.
Kurt I had expected, but Marcus?
‘Thank you, thank you,’ said Jay. ‘And now a few words to introduce the band. Over there on the drums is my main man, Matt.’ The crowd cheered. ‘We have Owen on guitar, Kyle on bass, Richie on sax—and … ’ He paused. This last was a public admission he was loath to make. His swallow was almost audible. ‘And Angel on vocals and violin.’
I received a huge whoop and many wolf whistles. My friends started a chant of ‘An-gel, An-gel’ just to annoy Jay.
Our lead singer gave a sickly smile at my reception. ‘And I’m Jay.’ He was cheered too—after all he was doing a great job this evening. Spirits restored, Jay bent back to the mic. ‘Now for our next song: ‘Broken Queen’.
The rest of the concert passed too quickly. I was acutely aware of the listeners in the wings but somehow my mind had managed to split in half: one part was doing embarrassing fangirl jiggles of delight but the other was lost in the new understanding of how music resided inside your bones, not in the brain. When we got to the end, the audience shouted for an encore. Jay was going to sing ‘Broken Queen’ but the crowd chanted ‘Star-Crossed, Star-Crossed!’ and he was canny enough to give in. It was even better the second time. I was ready for the swooping feeling and could go with the flock of notes this time. I even forgot about our audience of two backstage. There was nothing but the music.
As much as we would have loved to stay and prolong our spell in the limelight, the next act was gathering in the wings and we had to relinquish our spot. As the applause died down, Jay thanked everyone for being ‘the best crowd ever’
‘Thank you for your great Rockport welcome. We’re going to start with a favourite song of ours called “Star-Crossed”. I really hope you enjoy it,’ said Jay, wooing the audience with more charm than he usually showed to people when he met them in the singular.
I couldn’t see Kurt anywhere front or backstage, which was a shame as this was my biggest number.
Head in the game, Angel. I closed my eyes, counting myself in from Matt’s percussion intro. And play.
The song was going really well. Jay delivered the lyrics with an emotional charge he would be totally unable to manage in real life, as his empathy was the depth of a kiddie’s paddling pool. He reached my favourite verse just before my solo.
I see you standing at your window
My life starts again
Love falls like stars
A glitter of pain.
Then something happened inside me; it was like a key change from minor to major. As I reached my section, I took off and began to fly. My fingers were playing—my violin was singing—but it was like they no longer belonged to me but were fellow birds in a flock of music. It was scary and exhilarating at the same time; I felt out of control, connected to the ground only by the notes resting lightly to the stave, birds on a telephone wire waiting to soar. Even stranger, I could feel this mood was flowing out of me and touching the audience. They were linked to me, enraptured as I was.
I reached the end of my riff and the crowd sang out their pleasure, subsiding only to hear the final verse and chorus. I had to nudge myself to remember to provide the harmony to Jay’s voice. ‘Star-Crossed’ came to an end and we received a prolonged barrage of applause, shouts and whistles. Jay’s face was gleaming with a mist of perspiration and pleasure. Matt gave me a thumbs up. I was still shaken, convinced some strange alchemy had taken place inside turning me into a very different sort of musician.
It was then that I noticed Marcus and Kurt. They were standing in the wings, watching our performance alongside the stage manager. Both were dressed in black so they looked like members of the backstage crew but I would recognize them anywhere, the relaxed posture of the rock god and the defensive vigilance of his younger friend.
Kurt I had expected, but Marcus?
‘Thank you, thank you,’ said Jay. ‘And now a few words to introduce the band. Over there on the drums is my main man, Matt.’ The crowd cheered. ‘We have Owen on guitar, Kyle on bass, Richie on sax—and … ’ He paused. This last was a public admission he was loath to make. His swallow was almost audible. ‘And Angel on vocals and violin.’
I received a huge whoop and many wolf whistles. My friends started a chant of ‘An-gel, An-gel’ just to annoy Jay.
Our lead singer gave a sickly smile at my reception. ‘And I’m Jay.’ He was cheered too—after all he was doing a great job this evening. Spirits restored, Jay bent back to the mic. ‘Now for our next song: ‘Broken Queen’.
The rest of the concert passed too quickly. I was acutely aware of the listeners in the wings but somehow my mind had managed to split in half: one part was doing embarrassing fangirl jiggles of delight but the other was lost in the new understanding of how music resided inside your bones, not in the brain. When we got to the end, the audience shouted for an encore. Jay was going to sing ‘Broken Queen’ but the crowd chanted ‘Star-Crossed, Star-Crossed!’ and he was canny enough to give in. It was even better the second time. I was ready for the swooping feeling and could go with the flock of notes this time. I even forgot about our audience of two backstage. There was nothing but the music.
As much as we would have loved to stay and prolong our spell in the limelight, the next act was gathering in the wings and we had to relinquish our spot. As the applause died down, Jay thanked everyone for being ‘the best crowd ever’
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