Bastille Beneath the Mountain

I forget sometimes, how lucky I am to live where I do. I was reminded last night when I went to watch Bastille play in Kirstenbosch, an unparalleled concert venue. Set beneath the mountain you could feel like you weren’t in a city at all, lush gardens emitting the fresh soil aroma after an afternoon’s rain as the half moon appeared above us and the mountain greyed to black, twinkling stars appeared.

Well, one could’ve forgotten, if it weren’t for the hundreds of high-pitched screaming teen girls as Bastille took to the stage. Dan Smith only had to open his mouth to set them off, over and over. I don’t blame them. Fifteen years’ ago, I would’ve been there, up front, as scantily clad as them all (age made me say that), too. Possibly not screaming in a high-pitched manner (I was never one of those), but certainly hopping around, fluttering my eyelashes!

Instead we sat beneath a tree far enough back that we didn’t feel claustrophobic, with our cold beers and snacks. As the sun set over the mountain I watched a young couple separate from their group to sit slightly to the right of us. Bare-footed, legs stretched out on the cool grass, they were all alone for a moment as their world tilted slightly. The moment we all had at some point. My own flashed through my mind, clear as day, nearly twenty years’ later. Are these old lady reminiscences?

As the beat thumped into my rib-cage, that joyous live music feeling, the one that keeps me going back for more, I looked up, at the clouds blanketing the half-moon, at Orion’s Belt, and back to the moon. Nope, I’m not an old lady yet. Just reminiscent. I like that.

As I looked back at the beautiful, shining half-moon, I swear I saw it wiggle slightly to that self-same beat as Dan Smith belted out Pompeii.

 

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