I just want to go to a bloody concert.
Or do I.
Ever since this long, lonely, no love lost Lockdown I’ve been manically moaning to my mates on how I have missed many of my cool music concert moments.
And constantly kicking off about how my happy place, beaten only by my hair and beauty bits, has been snatched away quicker than the butch security Bird searching your stuff as you stand patiently in line just gagging to get to the Bar.
But, truth be told, would I want to make my way to the manic mosh pit now. It was grim enough squashed up against those scores of sweaty, burly, blokes in the old normal so not sure if I could stand, or quite literally survive, the same in these crazy Corona Virus times.
And how could I scream, shout, and sing at the top of my voice if my deep, dulcet, tones were dulled by a makeshift mask. Ummmm, that might not be a bad thing actually if I’m honest. Mind you, they say just because you can’t sing, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t, and I’m sticking with that, thank you.
I’ve been over thinking about this a lot lately, the venues not the voice, as one by one, my book early band nights, with super fan status, have been booted into the long, green, green, grass of 2021.
As were all those eagerly-awaited art exhibitions, longed-for film forays, totally terrific theatre treats, and craved for City Breaks. Gutted.
But then I took a swift step back and thought, would I actually go if it was suddenly switched to Gig Girl game on again tomorrow.
Oh my Christ, imagine my next booked Modfather moment…travelling on the Tube…to bustling Brixton…for an overcrowded O2 occurrence. I’d be on my last bloody nerve – even with sanitiser in hand and mask on mush.
Apart from the wonderful distraction of work, and that now seven-hour long Supermarket shop, I actually went out on Saturday for my first event since that fatal fag end of March, and it was well weird.
I went on my daily exercise, no more than five miles, with my face covered, to metaphorically make my voice heard as, here in the town, we Speak Up Barry for the #BlackLivesMatter movement.
Barry did this beautifully – peaceful, respectful, and socially distanced – but I can’t see that happening at a Gallagher Gig, in a Bad Manners mosh pit, or a Happy Mondays happening, can you. Music is what feelings sound like and when emotions run high, it could all go well Pete Tong.
Seriously though, for me, how the whole entertainment industry opens back up, smoothly and socially-distancing safely, giving gig goers, and other art loving patrons, the security to come back confidently, is a real dilemma.
I have no clue to the answer but I’ve definitely put my penny’s worth in to the Music Venue Trust’s (MVT) credible consultation on returning to Live Music Spaces – and I would urge you to do the same here please.
My life without live music is one of weirdest things I’ve had to anguishingly adapt to in this, twelve weeks to date, isolation nation.
Becoming a Virtual Culture Vulture, and staying queer in quarantine with the online Wales Wide Virtual Pride has helped.
And whilst I can’t stand this lethargic life stuck on living digital daily forever, I can just about cope until a new, new normal, and possibly a virus vaccine, is in place.
For me, 2020 is a write off really so the world may as well crank up the Christmas Tree and call it a year.
I shall spend the next six months spinning the decks, taking a trip down the Memory Lane of Gigs gone past, and sorting out my singing voice.
Brace yourself.
Speak soon.
Mrs SVJ
Sue Vincent-Jones, writing as Mrs SVJ, is a Barry born journalist, editor, and communications specialist. She blogs about Barry – and her life in the wider world, through the eyes of a, quirky and queer, local girl done good.
Gig Girl Reviews is where she shows that the world is wider than just our town by writing about the gigs, the films, the theatre, the exhibitions, and all things arty – all through the eyes of a local girl done good.
This Blog is also featured in My Corona Virus Diary, Sue’s take on this pandemic palaver – the long lingering Lockdown, our queer quarantine, the isolation nation, and how our town took to these crazy Covid 19 times.
Mrs SVJ, Barry’s Boldest Blogger, can be contacted here.