Friday, 28 March 2008


Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it - shock, horror! - a skinny boy in my bathroom?
Nah, that's just me in the dead of night, arriving home safely after the Whitest Boy Alive concert. As you can see, my rediscovered love for Franz Ferdinand has already started to show. I've started to dress like them again. So far, the list I am compiling to help explaining (to myself) why I like that band so much has reached #19. Scary.

But, anyway. Whitest Boy Alive! So. Much. Fun. Max and I stood in the first row and the stage was so small that I could have touched Erlend Oye's shoes, if I were so inclined. As a matter of fact, I was not. I was occupied with dancing. They are such a great band to see live, their new songs were quite amazing - especially one about courage, I hope Max downloads it from somewhere - and they played a cover of GloryBox! Erm, how great is it to see a tall Norwegian man sing the wonderful words "Give me a reason to love you. Give me a reason to be a woman. I just wanna be a woman." Ha!
Well, it was great. There're probably pictures of us everywhere. Afterwards I ran into a bunch of nice people including Cat and Christian who I've promised I'll meet up with soon. The t-shirts were so lovely but 20 € are too much even for the one with the boy reading a book. I regret not buying it now, of course.
Here's a video for "Courage" from the Lowlands Festival. It's so good! But way too short. The bassist is ein cooler Hund, to use my family's lingo. His bass stopped working at some point, so he just used the synthesizer.

Max and I had a rather lovely time getting home. We stopped at the greatest McDonalds I've ever been to - I can't believe I just said that - where we ran into his university friend Eva. She's learning Albanian right now and I'm both jealous and in awe. She must be great. Max and I then proceeded to miss our bus, so we walked to the Danube. On our way we practised the dance moves of old and young Morrissey. Max got to be the young one. He did quite a good job at swinging an imaginary microphone and slapping his own backside, I was impressed. Old Morrissey just pretends to tear his heart out, so it wasn't a hard task for me.

So, overall, successful night.

No comments:

Post a Comment