Justin Unbeliebable

 

 

It was Sam's niece's birthday, so being a good uncle he had been cajoled, implored and possibly blackmailed into taking young Betnee-Cloud to see her favourite singer perform live, a young man who has made his name singing tunes in the fashionable, if somewhat simplistic genre of music commonly known as 'pop'. His name escapes me but is something like Justin Unbelieber - and, so Sam informed me, his fans are sometimes referred to as Unbeliebable, or more often, bloody unbeliebable .

Sam, regarding me as a pillar of the community and someone likely to be of good influence on the youth of today insisted I accompany him and Betnee-Cloud to the performance. For my part, seeing this young man's act and being part of youth culture for an evening would be a unique experience that I hoped would be very elucidating.

 

As we arrived at the concert hall it warmed my heart to see so many of our young minds, their faces full of excitement and anticipation, either with their mothers or their fathers crowding outside the entrance. Much jollity, excitement and frivolity could be heard in their animated voices and witnessed in their deportment. This was clearly an evening that would remain a life changing event for many of those in attendance, although curiously, a large proportion of the parents looked less than keen to undergo an evening in the company of Mr. Unbelieber. Many however seemed to find solace in the joy of their offspring whilst others put on a brave face so as not to dampen the enthusiasm of their charge.

Finally, after waiting for at least an hour the doors to the concert hall were flung open and a sudden surge forward ensued, with parents and youngsters alike jostling and elbowing their way forward. Much to my consternation Sam assured me this was to be expected, and we both did our utmost to protect poor Betnee-Cloud from the worst of the scrummage.

 

Our turn came to hand in our tickets as the surge of animated and impatient bodies pushed us forward, after which we made our way to a safe distance from the furore at the front of the stage. Fortunately Sam had the good sense to get us seats near the rear although little Betnee-Cloud did not approve  and would have preferred to take her chances in the free for all that was taking place in what is known among today's youth as the mosh pit.

Patience was the main virtue required of such a young audience as there was another absurdly long wait before anyone thought fit to appear on stage. Eventually a couple of what I'm afraid to describe as very rough looking individuals who would have been equally suited to the environment of a downtrodden, back street public house full of thieves and murderous types, as presenting themselves upon the stage, walked on from the wings.

My first impression of these individuals was pleasantly and rapidly dismissed however as they both stepped up to a microphone. In turn they each said as clearly and as rhythmically they could, 'one two..one two...testing testing', followed by numerous phonetic noises such as 'puh puh...bah bah'.

This far exceeded my original expectations of the evening's proceedings as I had no idea such an artful performance of the conceptual school would be performed for such an impressionable audience. This could surely only be beneficial in helping to shape young minds to the possibilities of what the contemporary art world had to offer.

So impressed was I with this performance that I undertook what I believe is a customary way to show support for a popular combo act and held my lighter above my head, waving it slowly so the glow of the flame could all the more easily be seen. Judging by the somewhat perplexed and glowering expressions of Betnee-Cloud and Sam, neither approved of my actions, but I was undeterred and continued to waft the lighter flame so all could see. Such a performance with such artistic merit deserved all the encouragement I could muster, although I was a little puzzled why no one else appeared to join in this show of approval.

After this performance had finished there was another long lull in activities, and in fact there seemed very little else worthy of mention from that evening, except for one curious episode. A young, rather spoiled looking, and I confess irritating lad dressed in just a vest and baggy shorts dashed on to the stage somehow acquiring a microphone on the way. Events then became very confusing as he jigged frantically from one part of the stage to another whilst wailing incomprehensibly. All I could think of at the time was that he had lost his mother and was squealing for her from the stage. It was quite heartening however to witness how the young audience took pity on him and shreaked his name, each competing against the other presumably to attract the attention of his mother. Even little Betnee-Cloud joined in the clamour.

At this point I was overcome by all the commotion, all the shouting, and all the screeching so thought it best to leave Sam and Betnee-Cloud to enjoy the rest of the evening in each other's company, whilst I made my way out of the concert hall to hail a cab. I can only hope the poor wailing boy was eventually reunited with his mother.