The Gig

My body aches all over. My shoulder hurts; both of my arms are tender. My ribs hurt. My legs have an unfamiliar ache about them. I feel as if I’ve been in a couple of rounds with someone.

Well, more accurately, I’ve been involved in a rumble with a few thousand people. I’ve been crushed, stamped on, hit across the head with over-zealous arm-waving, pushed, shoved, humped against and kicked. Such are the perils of clinging on to dear life at the front row of a Franz Ferdinand concert: three hours of alternating hell and sheer unadulterated bliss.

The bliss, of course, was being mere metres away from the band. Well, Bob. We took lots of pictures of Bob, then decided that, near as he was, we wanted pictures of the other members of the band. No more pictures, Bob. Then Bob posed, so we took another picture. Then Alex and Bob messed about, so we needed more Bob. Damn you, Bob! Most of my film features you! He did keep looking at us, though.

ALEX WINKED AT US.

I can’t describe how pathetically weak-kneed I became in that one moment. patchworkgirl_ thinks she may have caught that moment on film, so we’ll see. I think it was the moment I realised I have a pathetic schoolgirl crush on the man rather than passing respect. D’oh! The music was fantastic, but you knew I’d say that. Instead, I’ll rave about being front row. Now I’ll be pretentious!

It sounds so facetious, but the stage seemed to be set up to emulate the terrifying, exhilarating fervour of the Russian regimes and their crowds of people rallying to a speech, of even the verboten fervour of the Nazi rallies. Red banners cascaded down, spinning slowly to reveal the faces of the four members of the band in grainy black and white photographs reminiscent of mugshots of fighters in the Spanish Civil War or the World Wars, the picture of the shouting girl itself a relic from a 1924 photograph, while a huge television screen for the benefit of the audience further back in the arena broadcast black-and-white pictures of the band playing as if it were some newscast.

I could probably have written that off as a coincidence with any other band, but I have a feeling it was the effect Kapranos et al wanted. It tinged the fervour of the concert with an eerie edge, and I loved it.

I am now about 2000% more in love with this band. I want to have all of their babies. Yes, even yours, Bob.