After years of being concert-deprived on the island of Singapore, where mega-stars never tend to visit, I developed a sort of compulsion to attend the concerts or shows of anyone I'm even remotely interested in. The concept of 'there'll be another time' will never occur to me, for I have been brought up to believe that you get one shot and then it's over.
It should come as little surprise then, that for someone as completely amazing as Florence Welch of Florence + the Machine, I would make the trek down to the city of Milwaukee, 1.5 hours from Madison by bus. The concert is held at The Rave's Eagles Ballroom, and apparently, as Florence herself told us later on, it was one of the most haunted venues in the country. Ghosts would drown guests back in the 19th century as they swam in the basement's pool, tickling their feet and yanking them to their watery graves. Absolutely perfect for a Florence concert.
The ticket I had purchased was for the VIP balcony section, but a quick survey of the venue proved the balcony to be a completely ridiculous place to sit for a concert. It was far away and slanted in an oblong oval shape, utterly pointless for a concert where you'd want to be as intrusive to the performer's private space as possible. I wanted to be so close that Florence's flowly sleeves could possibly slap me across the cheeks as she twirled around the stage. I abandoned the idea of the balcony and instead got in the standing floor area where I slowly inched my way towards the front and center of the stage. I got to about 15 feet from the mic-stand before encountering a group of delicious looking strangers that I would like to accidentally rub up against in the darkness of a concert, and hence I halted my journey there.
To my utter disappointment, there was an opening act. I have never enjoyed openers, and I know they have it tough, trying to get a crowd to like you when all they want is for your cheap low-fat pudding ass off the stage and to bring on the main course. This guy was particularly awful, singing in a whiny whispery tone that seemed like a bad Michael Jackson impression. I had never seen so many people on their phones and talking to each other while an act was on. People might as well start standing with their backs to him. Just when I thought I could take no more, God must have heard my plea for he struck a girl down with a fainting spell, and right in-front of me, no less. I outwardly gasped as she fell to the ground but inwardly squealed with delight that there was something to place my attention on. The circle of people around her backed off slightly to give her some breathing room, but of course no one wanted to go get help and abandon their prime spots. The opening act continued playing his stupid electric guitar, oblivious that people were fainting in protest of his awkward horrid-ity.
The setting up of the band instruments took another half an hour after the opener finally left, and the lights dimmed exactly at 9pm. The crowd began screaming and stomping and I wondered if this ancient building was built to withstand this. Amidst the drumming and blueish fog, there she finally appeared, stately and majestic in a greco-inspired cape. Florence strode over to her mic, and it was magic from the first notes she sang. The crowd pulsated with a feverish, electric energy, almost trance-like, as we let her ethereal beauty possess us. Artistically, it was perhaps the best concert I had witnessed. Celine's Vegas show was huge and grand and has its own merits, but Florence's set was simply art. Unlike many 'artists' today who go for elaborate, jarring costumes in the name of 'art', Florence's persona just seemed natural and authentic. When a singer is genuinely creative, you don't have to go out of your way to shove it into everyone's faces, so by simply being connected to her music, she was demonstrating true artistry without resorting to 'shock value'.
She is a completely enchanting and weird person, especially when talking to the audience. She spoke of the ghosts in the basement, and invited us to summon the ghosts up to the ballroom where she dedicated 'Leave My Body' to them, because she thinks ghosts are misunderstood. To my delight, she had us do the thing where we all jumped up and down rapidly during the last chorus of 'Dog Days are Over', something I had seen her do with an audience at a music festival. At that time I just thought that being in that crowd would be amazing, and never imagined I would be part of it right there and then. The asshats up in the balcony must be just kicking themselves. The floor is always where it's at.
The show went on till it was almost 11, and by then I had missed the last bus back to Madison. I was stuck in Milwaukee with my phone almost dead and no place to go, and it was just the prime time for all the crazies and the junkies to start emerging from their holes. Why are they so interested in getting me to talk to them? Do they think I just walk around with my big bag of drugs and distribute it to whoever that says hi to me? They really need to reevaluate their game-plan if this is their primary way of getting high.
The only thing left to do was to check in to a cheap hotel to spend the night, and then head back home the following morning. Wherever Florence is, I hope she knows what I've been through just to hear her talk about ghostly problems.
