I have just got out of bed after getting home at three and spending half an hour scrubbing the shit (well, dust) off. I still have grit in my eyes, my throat is coated in a fine layer of stoneware, and my snot is as black as a Londoner's. This is what it is to go to festivals and outdoor concerts in Portugal - dust. Not the knee deep squelchy mud of festivals in Britain, but all-pervading air-borne dust, this time from a mix between sand and earth in a big field near Lagoa de Albufeira, which is normally a twenty minute drive away from me.
Yesterday afternoon, it took an hour to get to Super Bock Super Rock, even taking the back roads that not that many people know about. We left at five, because I was going to have a tantrum if missed Stereophonics at seven oclock. I have had fantasies about putting tiny Kelly Jones in a cage in my kitchen so I he can sing gravellily whenever I prod him .... but that's what ipods are for, I s'pose. Driving in to the enormous car park field, it was impossible to see much other than dust. Dust in the air, dust on the staff, already wearing facemasks and scarves, dust on the parked cars. Me being the slob I am, I think this is amusing. The friend who went with me is more Portuguese about dirt.
After a quick feel-up by a sour-faced policelady who confiscated the lid to my bottle of water ("Why?" "Because blah blah blah blah" "oh, ok..." well, she had one of those faces that you don't ask more than once) we were in with time to have a wander before Messers Stereophonics began. It was all very Super Bock, BES, EDP, etc., and a shit LOAD of food. One could have been forgiven for thinking that the only reason the Portuguese EVER go out is to eat (it IS the only reason the Portuguese do ANYTHING) .... where there's food, there's queuing.
Them there Stereophonics were great. We were right up front, and I finally realised just HOW tiny tiny Kelly Jones is, but just as adorable and just as gravelly... I don't know how he manages to not lose his throat entirely. The five of them on stage and the crew all had a great time between themselves, which compensated for the not exactly huge (but enthusiastic) crowd and everyone was very happy that they played "Maybe Tomorrow" and "Have a nice Day".
When they finished, we wandered off to enjoy the dust a little more.
More dust.
Some more dust.
Then a beer. OH, god, I shouldn't have, because then there was THE LOO, which, although not the latrine of the eighties, WAS absolutely grotesque, like an individual plastic sun-warmed latrine full of poo.
Some more dust.
Some sitting and some sitting and some sitting, which included a lot of taking the piss out of everyone. We are bad.
As the evening went on, The Nationals and Spoon did their thing, which we ignored - I have energy enough for jiggling about and "woooooo-ing" for only two popular beat combos per day - and the crowds grew and grew, until there were a good 30,000 people there.... and the crowds WERE ALL OLD PEOPLE.
So, old means over 35. But when we were 17, that was damned old. That was "holy shit, who's that loser, why's he hanging round with US?, he's always got some dope, I s'pose, but damn, he's weird and creepy" old. There WERE people under 35, but more fun to see were the older ones. There were people in their forties (yes, me), a woman who I recognised from somewhere, probably some "famous people are great" magazine, whose teen daughters were incapable of eating with their mouths shut, plenty of leathery tias in their fifties who would be horrified if I told them that they looked like the gypsies they despise, gentle looking people in their sixties, and some in their seventies, looking at odds with their doner kebabs.... a very un-festival crowd. It was funny.
Half past eleven, and we wandered down towards the main stage which was already pretty full. We were close enough for Prince to be slightly larger than a large ant. That was ok.
Just before midnight, that ludicrous symbol appeared on the side screens and the backscreen and WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
More WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! and some intro music played as the New Power Generation (they're STILL called that) got themselves onto the stage.... bear in mind that I had decided that this was going to be a heap of shit, that Prince has gone too far up himself and Jehovah to be even remotely enjoyable (see here) .... Prince stepped onto the stage and my mouth, entirely of its own volition, grinned like a mad box of dominoes (my mouth IS that shape). I remembered all of a sudden that when your hero from when you were fourteen steps onto a stage in front of you it doesn't matter one fig roll that he is the biggest kook EVER and his apolitics and religion and conspiracy theories are kind of questionable and idiotic....
I had no idea what he was going to play. Convinced he was going to do his latest album which I haven't heard, but hear is pretty much THE BIBLE, and that it was going to be a bit dull, I planted myself in my horribly gritty-on-the-inside shoes, prepared to be slightly bored but happy, because I was just a hundred metres from Prince... something I never thought would happen.
"Dearly belov-ed, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life...."
HOLY SHIT, everyone realised, he was actually going to do THE HITS, the good stuff, the sugar.....as he started on "Let's Go Crazy", did "Delirious", went on to "1999", "Little Red Corvette".... oh who GIVES a shit that he's a Jehovah's Witness Conspiracy Theorist Nutjob, he's still absolutely bloody well the best showman.... "You Got the Look", "Kiss", "Nothing Compares 2U" and some crowd pleasing stuff with the absolutely gorgeous Ana Moura (she's a fadista... but she's a GOOD fadista. There's a difference) .... ok, things about his lyrics and style don't match up with his religion, he's weird, he's lost in Planet Prince (see Kevin Smith's talk about Prince on ytube) but FOR GOD'S SAKE, A FOUR MINUTE INTRO TO PURPLE RAIN HAS JUST BEGUN, I have goosepimples ALL OVER, and I KNOW that, as soon as he gets back on stage and starts to sing "I never meant to cause you any sorrow....", I'm going to CRY.
A huge paisley shaped tear fell down my cheek.
Prince thought it was a GOOD idea to get 30,000 people to do the "woooooooo, woooo, oooo, ooooo," bit of Purple Rain.... for about five minutes, until we all felt very VERY silly doing it.
After that there were a few more songs - he KNOWS how to work a crowd, that fellah, and his smile still lights up the stage - and he finished after two hours, having screamed out "DO I LOVE YOU, PORTUGAL???!!!"
"YEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!"
"DO YOU LOVE ME, PORTUGAL??????!!!!!"
"YEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!"
"DO WE ALL LOVE GOD, PORTUGAL?????????!!!!!!!!"
"er... well, yeah, well, I guess, meh.......kinda"
"DO WE ALL LOVE GOD, PORTUGAL?????????!!!!!!!!"
"yeeessss"
He is mad. He is still tiny but beautiful in a not very-masculine-at-all way with a horrible taste in satin pyjamas. He is still a total nutjob. He is still quite far up himself.
But by god, he's still got it.
the rest of the photies here
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