alex's point of view:
Arena gigs never really were my thing. They all feel the same. Every arena has the same shape, the same corporation managing them, the same stage. It's all so big. The stage feels like it's made for an entire marching band, yet there we are, only the four of us. How could my voice and the melody coming from our instruments possibly fill this gigantic space? Because that's what it truly feels like, as if you're floating in space. The only thing keeping my feet planted on the stage and my guitar from floating up into the clouds is the overwhelming noise from the crowd. Because that's the one thing that's never really the same - the crowd. Every crowd is unique, every crowd brings a different kind of excitement. It's the same, yet it's always different. It's always a thousand eyes you've never looked into, yet it feels like they're your family. Without the audience filling the arena, it would be like floating in a star-less space. Without any stars, space would just be a black hole, it would be non-existent. Without the stars filling the cold empty space, there would be nothing. The thousands of twinkling eyes in the crowd are stars, and we are the space in which they fill the void.
The rush of adrenaline you get when you walk up onto the stage is unlike any drug. Spilling your heart and soul out in front of thousands of people you've never met before. Playing until your fingers bleed and your wrist aches. Although the thousands of eyes staring at you are eyes you've never seen before, there is something familiar in them. Like somehow, you've known these people all your life. It isn't only the fluorescent lights from above that light up the stage, their radiating energy casts a light that bounces right back, sending a sort of spotlight upon me. Their energy and excitement manufactures a make-believe headlight drowning us in light. For a second, as I hold the microphone in front of me, beckoning the glowing crowd in the pit to sing along, I feel as if we're the audience and they're up on the stage.
"Well now then Mardy Bum
Oh I'm in trouble again, aren't I
I thought as much
Cause you turned over there
Pulling that silent disappointment face
The one that I can't bear"
The chaotic voices of a thousand pumped up kids somehow manage to sound like a beautiful choir in my ears. I smile as I continue to sing my heart and soul out, focusing on putting every ounce of energy I have left into my work. As I strum that last D chord I almost feel empty inside. I feel as if every thought I've ever had, every secret I've ever kept, everything, has just been revealed to a cluster of hysterical strangers all dancing at my feet. But as the cheer and buzz of the crowd roars on it slowly fills me up again. It's as if someone just telecasted my own private journal onto the big screens surrounding us, letting everyone see into the inner workings of my mind. But as the instruments quiet down and the roaring of song turn into applause it's almost as if it all never happened. With every clap and every whistle, it's as if they're all saying, "it's okay, we'll keep your secrets". It makes me feel vulnerable, having spilled my heart out, yet it also makes me feel stronger. It is as if I'm telling a story to a crowd of children, they all look up at me with wistful eyes and open minds. They listen to every word I say, watch every move I make, yet they all hear and see different things. That is why I still feel strong after performing, because I know that our work leaves a different kind of impact on every single person in the sweaty stadium. I know that our songs tell stories that everyone relates to in their own personal way. I know that our music can help heal and comfort them, just like fairy tales do to children, and just like crafting the melodies has helped me.
* * *
It has been three years since that last performance. Three years to the very day. When you are out on the road, constantly being scurried away from one arena to the other, you can constantly feel the buzz. Whether it's the buzz of performing or if it's the literal buzz of the multiple alcoholic beverages consumed in-between it's still a feeling that I crave. Having gone three years without getting to experience the high that performing generates I've tended to rely on other sources on my thrill-seeking escapades. The emptiness left by not being up on the pedestal of speakers and stage lights that notoriety has created for us has to be filled in some way. So, I relied on the most basic human needs to fill that hole inside me. Nourishment, human contact and peace of mind - brought to yours truly by alcohol, sex and drugs. I wouldn't call it an addiction, rather a way to pass time. I could go without drinking, shagging and snorting but I simply did not want to.
Pulling up into the empty driveway I turned off the car. Checking my rearview mirror to see that the moving van had parked as well, I unbuckled my seatbelt and headed out into the cold December evening. I had to carefully watch my step so as not to fall over as I made my way to the bald man standing behind the van.
"Can I give you a hand?" I asked as I watched him unload the boxes from the back of the van.
"Nah mate, is alrigh', little Jimmy righ' 'ere is helpin' me. Isn't tha' right, lad?" The man chuckled as he ruffled the hair of the young man standing next to him. The boy gave an awkward smile and a slight raise of his shoulders, assuring both me and the old man that he would help.
"Cheers, lads. I'll just take these two and head upstairs. If you need a hand I'd be happy to help." I grabbed the two boxes labeled 'books' and 'CD's' and headed towards the front door. Yet again I was precautious of my steps on the blank ice underneath me. Putting the boxes aside I fumbled around for my keys in the pocket of my coat. Fags, lighter, money... Aha, there it is! I quickly unlocked the door and walked inside my new home. I was greeted by a sterile smell as I walked further into the empty house. It felt like I was walking through the exhibition area of IKEA, everything was so pristine and well thought out. It was as if someone had stood with a ruler, measuring the space between the chairs, to make sure that they all stood at perfect distance from both each other and the kitchen table. It didn't have that homely feeling that you would expect from a house. Not yet, at least.
I put the boxes down onto my bed and threw my coat onto the settee standing opposite it. Quickly but carefully I opened the box of books and started to sort them out. I arranged them by genre on the small bookshelf by the door. After finally deciding that it was indeed a good idea to put the horror novels next to the poetry collections I went on to open the box of CD's. They in turn were arranged in alphabetical order, starting with Arcade Fire and ending at ZZ Top. My collection of CD's was truly a sight to behold. I had everything you could ever imagine. Yes, there was even a Miley Cyrus CD in there somewhere. Music is an art-form that should be treasured, therefore I did my best to try and relish in every melody surrounding me.
At 1:24 p.m. I could feel my eyes starting to close. I had spent hours trying to make this dollhouse feel more like a home and my arms were aching. I dropped the box I was holding and dragged my tired body up into my bed.
Please let me sleep well tonight.
____________
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a certain romance | alex turner/arctic monkeys fanfic
Fanfiction"Disappointment. If I were to explain myself in one word, that would be it. A big, fat disappointment." Charlie used to be on the very top. But after a dark string of events her laughters slowly died down and the smiles faltered. That was until a ce...
