The Case of the Sitting Couple
Yesterday, at the fourth and final, sold-out, wall-of-sound-to wall-of-sound two-hour U2 concert in Toronto at the Air Canada Centre, a couple in the row behind us sat out the entire concert. With the exception of the final encore, they sat. They sat, on the edge of their seats but not quite, poised to leave, but not just yet, yet sworn to sitting the show out, as politely as they could. They sat.
Even though. Even though they were wedged between rows of people on their feet throughout, and Deen and I smack in front of them, so that they truly could not possibly see anything, neither the stage itself nor even the monochrome visuals of the band in full throttle, reported by the helpful video screens on high.
Even though we were not the only people screaming each song aloud and hooting as if to blast the roof off, but that an entire congregation of 20,000 had risen to their heels now that Bono had arrived to the reassuring thunder of “Oh! You! Look! So Beautiful! Tonight!” Still they did not budge, but sat. Sat. Even though they sat in on one of the most light-lavished of rock concerts of the past years with $50 million worth of prime-time technology tuned to the U2 tempo, this couple rose once--toward the end.
“I couldn’t believe those two behind us,” Deen commented after the concert was over and as soon as words could rise a little above the din in our ears. “They sat right through it. And I am sure they couldn’t have seen a thing, we were right in the way. At one point I wanted to suggest that they take our seats because we were the first row, but then I thought—“ “Why?” I interrupted. “Why would you want to swap with them? It’s a U2 concert, for God sakes. They were at a U2 concert! I mean, duh!”
They were at a U2 concert, for sure, but I am not sure they knew it. They were committed to their assigned seats and chosen positions. Once they even tugged at us to sit down and join them, “Wouldn’t you like to sit down for a moment?” That was the one moment everyone had in fact rested briefly because Bono had launched into a relative ballad, posing a moment’s lull. But they had lulled themselves into a chronic indifference to the thump of the tunes at all other times. It was in the way their hands folded neatly into their laps as everyone else’s arms reached for the rafters to clock the mounting beat. The way they stared stiffly ahead as if past us, waiting out a portrait sitting. Why not leave? Why not go?
But they stayed till the last notes of the crowd-intoned new song became echo. They had stayed this long, after all. Now all that was left to do was to rise, to gaze from afar at the crowd below as the last notes of light diminished into darkness. The houselights blazed on and it was time to file out.
And they did, filing out right behind us, as if they were everybody else.
Even though. Even though they were wedged between rows of people on their feet throughout, and Deen and I smack in front of them, so that they truly could not possibly see anything, neither the stage itself nor even the monochrome visuals of the band in full throttle, reported by the helpful video screens on high.
Even though we were not the only people screaming each song aloud and hooting as if to blast the roof off, but that an entire congregation of 20,000 had risen to their heels now that Bono had arrived to the reassuring thunder of “Oh! You! Look! So Beautiful! Tonight!” Still they did not budge, but sat. Sat. Even though they sat in on one of the most light-lavished of rock concerts of the past years with $50 million worth of prime-time technology tuned to the U2 tempo, this couple rose once--toward the end.
“I couldn’t believe those two behind us,” Deen commented after the concert was over and as soon as words could rise a little above the din in our ears. “They sat right through it. And I am sure they couldn’t have seen a thing, we were right in the way. At one point I wanted to suggest that they take our seats because we were the first row, but then I thought—“ “Why?” I interrupted. “Why would you want to swap with them? It’s a U2 concert, for God sakes. They were at a U2 concert! I mean, duh!”
They were at a U2 concert, for sure, but I am not sure they knew it. They were committed to their assigned seats and chosen positions. Once they even tugged at us to sit down and join them, “Wouldn’t you like to sit down for a moment?” That was the one moment everyone had in fact rested briefly because Bono had launched into a relative ballad, posing a moment’s lull. But they had lulled themselves into a chronic indifference to the thump of the tunes at all other times. It was in the way their hands folded neatly into their laps as everyone else’s arms reached for the rafters to clock the mounting beat. The way they stared stiffly ahead as if past us, waiting out a portrait sitting. Why not leave? Why not go?
But they stayed till the last notes of the crowd-intoned new song became echo. They had stayed this long, after all. Now all that was left to do was to rise, to gaze from afar at the crowd below as the last notes of light diminished into darkness. The houselights blazed on and it was time to file out.
And they did, filing out right behind us, as if they were everybody else.
posted by EvaB at 6:26 PM
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