Going to the movies on your own is one thing.
Going to a rock concert alone is completely another.
Technically, I didn't. The Killers, Mexico City, December 13: Sarali and Pablo have taken me there, both of them equipped with tickets for the main floor section, me equipped with money to buy scalped tickets for the main floor section.
When I discover the Mexican scalpers here are just as bad as Australian ones, and prices for that section have tripled to around $200, I decide to shell out $45 to a guy whose friends have cancelled and hope that the seated C4 section is not somewhere behind the stage. From now he will be refered to as The Tall Guy.
I strike off on my own, buy a beer (it comes in one-litre paper cups here), buy a water (another paper cup) and then make the mistake of buying a donut. Apart from the unmanagable flavour combination, there was the small issue of not having four hands (one more to keep showing the ticket to people in the neverending sequence of doors).
I make it to my section with minimal spillage, find my seat and look around. Hmmmm. Three rows behind me, empty. Three rows in front of me, empty. All the seats stretching off to either side of my, empty. There I am, with my various refreshments, feeling quite in the middle of a wide, open space.
I sit down, give myself a little pep talk about this being just a 'different' experience and really, you don't get to talk to your friends during live music anyway, you're just standing with them, that's all.
Still no people.
I look down at the people in the fun zone. Someone throws a cup of beer 20 metres onto a guy who extends a finger in the general direction of where the cup originated. Everyone is waving to each other, finding their friends, talking. On the big screen, the camera zones in on one person until they realise and wave, before moving onto someone else.
This goes on for 40 minutes. Rivetting viewing. Noone thinks to flash.
The area around me gradually fills. I attempt conversation with the girl who has bought the other ticket the guy was selling, and she's either hostile or shy. Or racist. Actually, that would put her in the hostile category, wouldn't it?
Finally, thank the Lord, there is a loud drum beat that reverberates through my ribcage and fills me with that glorious, swelling live music feeling.
It's one of the sound guys doing a test.
And then, when I have almost run out of pep-talk momentum... the music starts.
I immediately transform from vaguely-self-aware-mute to rabid-screaming-fan (who knows most of the lyrics) The Tall Guy materialises and like me he is bellowing words that sometimes coincide with what's being blasted out of the speakers. Between us we pep our whole section into action. The hostile girl is even raising her arm and omitting intermittent sound.
Brandon sings and sweats his way through Sam's Town, then the prelude, then When You Were Young and then produces "Bienvenidos". The crowd goes wild.
Whatever he produces next though, is open to question. Noone is sure what language he has spoken, or what the general message is... which cures him of talking for the rest of the show.
Palacio Deportes (Palace of Sport) is more affectionately known to Mexicans as Palacio Rebotes (Palace of Bounce) in reference to the sound dynamics and yes, the beginning of Jenny Was A Friend of Mine is unrecognisable. The tambourine in Indie Rock And Roll is absent.
WHO CARES????? This is the best show EVER!!!!
The difficulty is jumping up and down in the seated section without falling down the crack behind the chair in front. The Tall Guy secures a deal with that chair's occupant that I can use it to put one of my feet, despite the fact that my beer doesn't always stay in its cup.
But for serious jumping, I just steady myself using The Tall Guy's shoulder.
I can see the profile of a guy three rows in front, who is also singing to many of the words. I love watching Spanish speakers singing in English, because the words don't always match. And both of us do that thing where, if you don't know the words, you just move your mouth in a generic fashion.
My neighbours are screaming something that sounds like 'a-wim-ba-way' - are they requesting the jungle song?
The Tall Guy explains that they're actually screaming 'Oevo-wey' which he loosely translates to 'Fuck Yeah'.
My job of explaining the title Glamorous Indie Rock'n'Roll is a bit more difficult.
And then, after what seems like five minutes... All These Things That I Have Done is over, and they are leaving the stage.
Inevitably they return, Brandon utters his only other spoken words "This is a Killers goodbye" (for someone who writes such interesting lyrics, he's really not holding up with the light banter), they sing the Exitlude and Dave the Drummer throws no less than 10 drumsticks into the audience. One of them, he throws so far I suspect he might have a career in javalin after music, if he's not too busy fighting a civil action for personal injury arising from a high-velocity drumstick incident, December 13 Mexico City.
Then, the lights are on and I find myself kissing the hostile/shy girl goodbye, hugging The Tall Guy, and being swept by a sea of singing Mexicans out onto the street.
"I've got this energy beneath my feet - like something underground's gonna come up and carry me."
The Killers, Sam's Town
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