And then the music begins. Out of the darkness, while my eyes are still playing tricks on me and projecting dancing fairy lights against the black backdrop, the single note breaks into the opening strains of a tune so familiar, but I can’t pick it.
But I don’t care. It is divine.
Short notes on the violins dancing over the driving beat of the cellos.
I’m lost in the sound, with the lights completely out, my senses are all forced to shut down to focus just on the music coming out of the dark.
The notes cascade over each other, driving forward, forward, building towards a chorus that I can feel is about to break.
God, what is that tune… what is it?
I reach out next to me and Sarah’s hand gropes for mine, and we grip each other for a sense of reality in this surreal, beautiful experience. Her body bumps against mine as we give in to the sound wrapping itself around us.
And then, as the chords change in a familiar progression, I realize, it’s U2’s “It’s a Beautiful Day”.
I’m stunned. I’ve only ever heard the lyrical version, I am amazed at the absolute melodic beauty of this song now that I don’t have the words to focus on. It’s almost as if this piece of music was written to be played by these four string musicians, they’ve made it theirs.
But I don’t have time to muse over my revelation for too long.
Just as the chorus breaks, and the crowd raises their voices into a communal declaration of “It’s a Beautiful Day”, the stage lights up with the universe of dancing stars fallen from the ceiling.
The scream that projects from the crowd somehow is only just overtaken by the music, and I scan the stage, trying to make out the band amongst the white haze.
As the song pulls back into the second chorus, the lights slowly dissipate, and focus on a single spotlight, the lead cellist.
As my eyes blink away the excessive light, I can just start to see the musician’s form. It’s tall and slim, his head is down, hair over his face as he stands, lost in the music he is creating from his instrument. Or is it that it’s creating from him? It’s hard to tell, they look to be working in complete synchrony. In all my years of attending both classical and pop concerts, I’ve never experienced anything like it.
I can’t tear my eyes off the cellist, envious of his talent, of his connection to the music, maybe even jealous… of his commitment to the notes, his complete surrender to his passion.
And then, just as the song builds to its climax, he throws his head back, the hair falling from his eyes and he looks out into the crowd.
And my blood runs cold even as my body bursts into flame.
It’s him.
SEBASTIAN
I don’t know if it’s my breath, or Jez’s next to me, that is hissing in my ears. But it’s definitely my own blood I can hear coursing through my veins. It’s amazing I can hear anything over the crowd but it’s right there, in my ears, racing too fast to use to keep time. The ceiling light show is fading and we’ve just run on stage with whatever light there is left. Once it’s completely dark, I count under my breath – one, two, three, four and pull my bow.
That first note is always the hardest.
The sound to break the tension, to build the excitement, to meet and raise the expectation.
While we take turns taking the lead during our performances, that wuss ass Jez will never play that first note. So no wonder it’s me pacing the greenroom before every show.
But here. Now. I’m glad that mofo doesn’t get to do this.
I wouldn’t give anything up for the feeling this gives me.
Knowing that it’s that sound, the whisper from my bow against the cello string, singing out to this crowd, who have paid, can you believe, it? PAID! To come here and listen to us, is from me.
Yeah, I brought you here. And I’m going to give you the show of your life. I make my promise to the crowd.
I break the monotony of the single note now I know I have the crowd’s attention, and break into the intro to U2’s “It’s a Beautiful Day”.
Every time I play this, I remember the day we picked it. It was after our first paid gig in a tiny pub in Edinburgh and after a long night drinking our pitiful pay, we stepped out onto the empty streets feeling on top of the world. We ran all the way back to our backpacker’s motel singing “It’s A Beautiful Day” at the top of our lungs and during our rehearsal the next day, we arranged it into our now trademark opening.
I hear Jez and then Brad and then Marius’ instruments join mine in turn, and for a moment, I can’t help but grin at how we, the idiot boys of our class, can make such beautiful music, and even more unbelievable, do it together.
Jazz’s cello’s notes dance around mine, our instruments whispering and yelling at one another in kind, like lovers in the most tumultuous and passionate relationship. We know each other’s parts so well, we could chop and change between us without a beat. Something Dennis made us promise to stop doing just to try to trip the other up.
But today, today I’m lost in my own performance. It’s been a while since we’ve been on stage, and I’ve missed it. I close my eyes and just let me fingers do their thing. I’ve learned long ago never to interfere too much, my body knows what and how to play better than I could ever consciously tell it to. I feel the sweat start to drip from my forehead onto the flop of fringe covering my eyes.
The second chorus comes before I know it, and the lights start to fade in, focusing on me. This is usually the first time I can get a really good look at the audience. I flip my head back, and with a puff of air, blow the hair out of my eyes. I look out into the crowd. It’s a sold-out performance. I skim the tops of head and moving bodies. Until my eye catches on someone in the front row. She’s not moving. She’s standing still amongst the sea of writhing bodies. And her eyes are closed, her hand clasped like in prayer, her lips resting on the tips of her touching index fingers. She’s mesmerizing to me. A figure of peace amongst chaos.
And then the world comes falling down.
She opens her eyes and it’s her.
The girl with the perfect moon eyes.
Cadence.
***