It's the mark of a good show that my internal dialogue of earlier in the evening (too tired, too old for a weeknight show) evaporated as soon as they hit the stage. I was on my feet and dancing my ass off, afraid to sit down lest Yorke or Flea catch my eye. These guys are 40+ years old and leaving it all on the floor. It's my job as a concert goer to give it back, to feed the beast, and I was not about to let them down.
Yorke's moves are all over the map, each one weird, inspiring and so very, very perfect. He's the nerd's dancing hero. As I looked out across the stadium, I saw them (us) channeling his energy, dancing with a reckless freedom and confidence (maybe less with the confidence on my part). Thom Yorke is life affirming.
Flea radiated energy. He dominated the stage, his bass and the skirt he wore. This man is 50, and he.did.not.stop.
The music, itself, was other worldly. Layers and sounds and beats...I can't write about music without sounding like a tool. It got me moving, got me thinking and made me happy...all of my favorite things.
I'm writing this at 1AM on my phone while trying to go to sleep. If it doesn't make sense, let's blame it on that.
I'm writing this at 1AM on my phone while trying to go to sleep. If it doesn't make sense, let's blame it on that.
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