we’re off to a Musical Concert this evening.
and suitably attired.
because the Concert will be given by our delightfully leather-clad friends called Depeche Mode (as an ensemble they are called that – they have individual names too like Mr. Gahan and Mr. Fletcher and Martin (he’s very much a Martin and less of a Mr. Gore, you’ll know that by his outfits which often contain spangles in the body paint which is delicious)
we got ready Early (because we are dining with our friend GB first – in Chinatown – and it can take up to 90 minutes in heavy traffic from here to There *wavesvaguelyEast*) and then started to giggle at the outfit who-we-are-in-RL is adorned within.
black liquid eyeliner, brown eyeshadow and mascara. and who-we-are-in-RL used to dye her hair (various and many colo(u)rs – marmalade was our Favo(u)rite circa 1993) but she stopped in 1998 so this is the same as when she was Fifteen (we did up the saturation on the digital printing device and lit her carefully but that’s the benefit of talent in the virtual darkroom, love).
bob. and beauty spot. and black t-shirt (there’s a shortish black tunic and black leggings – Not Shown but most certainly worn).
the EXACT same outfit from 29 years ago when she ran away *coughs* from boarding school with her friends and went to see our friends Depeche Mode play at the Hammersmith Odeon in London and she remembered everything as it was and then fictionalized (because there was no Henry, sad to say – sometimes it’s nice to make up a special friend for one’s lost teen self) in Emerald.
ooo! listen! the BBC (doff cap) were There too, back in 1984:
may we share that passage with you again?
you are Very Kind.
shall we wait while you make a cup of tea?
The Hammersmith Odeon loomed large and bursting with life as the cab swung round the last roundabout. A long queue of black leather coats stretched as far as the eye could see. They swept in on Sven’s special VIP status tickets and waited in the vast auditorium for what felt forever.
Suddenly the loudest, most insistent drumbeat shot out across the thousands of souls gathered in the darkness.
A single spotlight burst onto the stage, looking for something or someone.
A white t-shirt, taut, stretched across an emaciated frame, already drenched in the sweat of an adrenaline-fueled god. The light pool expanded to expose shockingly revealingly tight black leather hips, then motorcycle boots. The beats became louder and louder, pulsating through each body.
Then, like a crack of lighting breaking across the stage, strobes shot across the bows of the frenzied throng gathered for this intense experience at the end of a working week they had already forgotten.
It was the most seductive, enticing opening – but it felt wrong, bad and somehow sexual. Emerald was confused and excited. The crowd was on its feet dancing wildly, Bacchants all at the feet of the on-stage Dionysius. Ancient, spiritual, decadent – all this flowed through Emerald Katz and she felt re-born.
Something inside her said to let go of Henry’s hand. She knew there was another road she could take. She did not have to feel like this. But then, suddenly, Henry broke away from the boy and kissed Emerald and the rest of the world faded into insignificance. She fainted onto the floor and was carried out by the ambulance men. Henry faded into the crowd. Sven was gone. Sebastian ran away into the night.
The next thing Emerald remembered was Darcy standing over her, holding his coat.
“Well, decadent beauty – a Depeche Mode concert? Whatever next? An Otto Dix exhibition in a bare studio Berlin or Lou Reed at the Academy?”
Emerald smiled, weakly. Those all sounded delicious.
And they were. In time.
such a gloriously Tragic recounting of the fictional aspects (as we said – no Henry in RL) of a truly splendid Musical Concert from 1984.
and so we head out of the door of our apartment in Los Angeles 29 years later in remarkably similar an outfit.
but considerably happier.