Marius
The free concert on the beach is a fucking success.
The team worked all afternoon to make sure anyone who had a ticket to the original concert would get priority entrance, a free drink and some weird glow stick to wave Anca’s idea, one that turns out to create the fun, carefree atmosphere we’re been hoping for.
Thousands of people line the beach and surround the makeshift stage we’ve set up on the esplanade and by the first signs of sunset, local musicians are taking their turn warming up the audience.
I can’t help getting caught up in it all. The sense of spontaneity, community. We’ve played the big stadiums and fancy halls, but this… this had a nostalgic, rustic feel that we haven’t had since the early years of our performing.
From the first moment the stage lights up at the beginning of our set, I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
We try out a new opening, with Seb taking the lead, with a dark, deep, somber rendition of Cedric Vermua’s Dark Cello Lullaby. The heavy, requiem feel of the piece coupled with the unearthly nature of Sebastian’s playing is magical. I watch as the music washes over the awed faces lit by the setting sun and rising moon. And just as they’re settling into the darkness of the piece, Jez joins in with a slow but insistent bass beat, and before you can pick it, the music slowly morphs into a driving pop beat. Brad gives me a wink and counts us down as we join in just as the chorus breaks. And the crowd raises their voices as they recognize the song.
“You came in like a wreeeeeeeeeeeecking ballllllllllll!” Thousands of voices sing, playing tribute to Ms. Cyrus. It’s a lesson in pop euphoria. The four of us pour ourselves completely into the performance, and it shows. By the end of the first song, I can already see Brad shaking his head and a spray of sweat creating a halo around his head.
We play another three songs, before the flurry backstage reminds me that it’s time for Anca’s performance.
As the stage hands busy themselves with setting Anca’s harp and stool up, I step to the front of the stage and take the microphone from Sebastian. He’s a little surprised but steps back and gives me a pat on the shoulder.
I look out into the crowd, and the focus of thousands and thousands of eyes on me brings on the beginning moments of anxiety, my own stage fright coming back to haunt me. But I bite it back. This is Anca’s moment. And I’m going to make sure she knows that I, and this crowd, is behind her.
“Bonsoir, tout le monde! Ca va?!?!!??!” The crowd reply with a wave of screams and shouts. I wave to them, raising both my arms in the air.
“You guys are in for a TREAT tonight! As you’ve probably heard, on our tour we have a VERY special guest star, and that is the one and only, brightest new star in the music world, Ms. ANCA PETRESCU!!! GIVE IT UP FOR ANCA!!!”
A wall of sound crashes onto the stage from the audience as they yell and scream and whistle as Anca walks onto the stage. She’s dressed in a short, white lace dress with long, kimono sleeves. With the backlight washing over her silhouette as she approaches the harp, she looks like an angel. She doesn’t look at me, or the crowd, but settles quickly and quietly onto her stool. I know she’s trying to block it all out, and I hope it’s my voice she’s hearing in her head, reminding her to breathe.
But now, I want her to hear my voice, and those of a thousand adoring fans, reminding her to enjoy it all to.
“I CAN’T HEAR YOU! One more time! GIVE IT UP FOR ANCA!!!!!”
The crowd obey and the cheers are more deafening than ever. So much so, I notice her tilt her head to the side, and just for a moment, let her gaze wash over the crowd. There’s a slight rise of the sides of her mouth and she lifts her hands to her harp. The cheers subside instantly. A pin falling, a single breath, a cracked smile, can all be heard in the silence.
And then she plays.
She plays like I’ve never heard her perform before. It’s sweet, and it’s light and it’s stunningly gorgeous. But most of all, it’s playful. And it’s fun.
She’s having fun.
I’ve heard her play like the world is ending, and I’ve heard her play like her heart is breaking. Like the storm clouds looming on the horizon, and like the halo of dark around the full moon. But this is different. This is like the first breath of spring, when you open the shutters and the sun lights up corners of your house and heart that have been dormant for a long, hard, winter.
I can’t turn away, I’m riveted to my spot on the stage, watching her fingers dance over the strings, drawing the corners of her mouth wider and higher up her face than I’ve seen them in the time we’ve been together.
When I can’t ignore the building sound from the crowd any longer, I tear my eyes away from her and look out into the audience. And they’ve come alive. Waving their lights and alighted phone screens in the air along to her music, dancing in unison to the melody, her happiness infectious.
And it’s not until we’re nearing the final chorus do I realize the tune, it’s Beautiful by Christina Aguilera.
How fitting, I think, as the lyrics run in my head.
Now that I know her story, I can’t help but fall even more for her than I have.
And it’s there, in front of ten thousand screaming fans that I realize, there’s no more room to fall.
I’m there.
In love.
Then, like a slow motion montage, I see the crowd’s arms rise in unison, and in the corner of my eye, she jumps from the stool and runs into arms I didn’t even realize I was holding open for her.
And I spin her, spin her so long, we forget to be dizzy, and simply lose ourselves in a kiss, as the whole world around up cheers.
The whole world that is, but one.
***
“Oh my god! Did you hear the crowd? They loved it!” She screams excitedly at me as I try to lead her off the stage after our set is done.
“It was a little hard to miss, babe.”
“Oh my god, it was for me!”