The Rossman and the Angel of Music (AKA Sarah Brightman)
Let me start off by saying that if there ever was a singing voice that I wanted to physically ravish, it would be Sarah Brightman's heavenly soprano. Without a doubt. If you'd ever listened to her perform or feel her lyrics melt your ears you would know exactly what I'm talking about. Not to get too personal but a few of her more dreamy songs can usually bring me right to the edge of, um, auditory satisfaction by themselves (this is just a note to all you Rossman honnies out there who wanted to know what you can do to kick me into 4th gear from a full and total stop) Once in a Lifetime and Who Wants to Live Forever work best, but I digress.
Why do I bring this up? You see, on October 6th, 2000 my friend Karen and I had the opportunity and experience of a lifetime. We went to the Angel of Music's (from now on referred to as the "AoM") live show of her pimping her new album and got to meet the petite pretty one after much running and hiding from large security men with guns and a small Dieter-looking limey with a very loud mouth. But I'll get to that in a bit. It wasn't the first time I'd seen the AoM live. Done that a few times actually. But it was the concert that I came closest to getting arrested at.
We began our journey into darkness by driving to the Atlanta Civic Center and flashing our tickets to the man (Karen swears it was a woman) at the door. We then proceeded directly to the bar. First things first you know. After an few overpriced import bottles for me and a Coke for Kare (she didn't even try to put anything from a hidden flask into it, I was soooo disappointed in her -_-) we mingled with the crowd for a bit and made fun of everyone's total unappreciation and lack of knowledge of the mortal goddess that they had all come to pay homage to that evening. They knew nothing of her history or merits! They may as well have been there to watch a trained (or even untrained) monkey run up and down the stage flinging his banana-filled feces into their faces for 2 hours!!! Those heathens!!!
Whoa! Karen here. I'll try to fill in the gaps of the story for the Rossman when he starts to seeth with anger or when her falls into his "Brightman Trance" and begins staring intently at the wall with a giddy smile on his face as if he were listening to some faraway Sarah Symphony that nobody else can hear They both happen more frequently than I'd like to admit and they're both scary as hell to actually witness. Anyway, we got there, the Rossman put a few people in their places by churning out Brightman trivia and factoids like a freaky automaton, he got tipsy, and then the lights dimmed so we took to our seats. Well to the seats that should have been ours. It took us and the elderly seat-finder-helper lady 4 minutes to convince the obnoxious and large couple that their rumps were in fact in our cushy chairs. Well, we didn't really convince them per say, but the Rossman got them to vacate the premises by imitating Dr. Jones in the Last Crusade by throwing them off the balcony and while dusting his hands off explaining to the rest of the theater goers "No ticket" pretty matter of factly.
After that we settled in for the concert of a lifetime. I had never heard Sarah live before (and had only been force fed all of her albums by an anxious Rossman over the course of the past three weeks as preparation). I probably would have enjoyed the symphonic show a bit more if my companion didn't feel the need to lip-synch along to all of the numbers being performed. Sure he wasn't making any sound (God forbid!), but I kept having Milli Vanilli flashbacks and I just had to get him to stop. You see, I did smuggle some Jack Daniels into the concert hall for just such an occasion. I'm happy to say that it shut him up quick-like.
First of all, I wasn't that bad. I stopped waving my arms
around like a conductor after the first ten minutes on my own.
I felt that the 20+ piece orchestra had it down pat by that point.
And everybody around us thought that my silent singing was very
well mimed too. Kare's just jealous that she didn't know the
lyrics (even to the songs in English) enough to belt one out
After the lights eventually came back on the Rossman just stood still as a statue in his place holding his hands to his heart while grinning like an idiot (that he has a tendency to be sometimes) and "sighing" like a wounded seal in heat. I couldn't move him an inch. I had to go out into the lobby and buy another Heineken to use like a worm on a hook to drag him out of his trance and into the parking lot. But to my distress cars were already in total gridlock trying to force their way out of the single entrance to freedom. We were stuck for a while, so we just headed back in to the now empty Civic Center and found some company with the cool limey audio and light guys. They told us some pretty funny Frenchie jokes and I had the Rossman tell them some clown jokes and the ChiChi joke while they passed around a bottle of some very expensive Champaign. Soon though, we noticed a mini tour going around the theater being led by some mid-twenties unbathed loser who kept insisting to everyone he was guiding that the whole show was "Sarah's and his" doing. They must have been family cause they bought every line. My favorite was when he insisted to Sarah that she sing a bit from Phantom of the Opera (fyi, the Rossman insists on having me tell you that the role of Christine was written for her and her alone end footnote). "Sarah, I said, the audience would just LOVE it if you covered something from your past like that. She took it into consideration, and if you didn't notice used my advice and it was so perfect I might add!" to quote the odd tour guide.
That dude was freaky. Even after half the bottle of bubbly I knew he was a tool. And you've got to be quite a tool for me to see through my liquor goggles and still perceive your toolness. But the limey audio and visual guys were making fun of him with us and set us straight as to how the whole show is thought up and how every act and song is implemented on stage. Then they brought out the doughnuts and let us have one (well, Karen chose not to seeing as there were no jellies) as they praised American cuisine. I still don't know if they were being sarcastic or not, but they did love those Krispy Kremes.
It was about "doughnut" time that we noticed that the mini-lame-tour was heading backstage. So without missing a beat (musical pun intended) Kare and I slowly got up and followed them. We had to climb and negotiate our way around tons of large guys with hammers and stuff who were taking the whole damn set apart faster than I can get Karen trashed on a Friday night after I insist that she looks sexier when her eyes don't focus. Then we found ourselves in the holy land Backstage. Since nobody had stopped us or questioned us yet about any sort of pass we thought that we were safe. But just to play it safe I told Kare to follow my lead and walk in a straight line with her eyes straight ahead. I've learned long ago that the key to getting in to places that you're not supposed to be in is to look like you're supposed to be there. I also took off my shirt (relax ladies, I was wearing a t-shirt) and tied it around my waste to look more like a roadie. Then I got my strut going. After wandering around for about 5 minutes we finally found some signs pointing to "Dancers >: Musicians >: and Sarah Brightman ^". It was about to happen!
Please follow our angelic lead and continue to Part II of the AoM Adventure