Last Friday I took Gilda to the Palacio de Deportes to see the legendary The Pet Shop Boys.. The amount and density of non-heterosexual patrons in the venue was staggering... At the most holywood-like almost disco-sound sounding song a passionate kiss just in the row in front of us was a sobering experience... A tiny bald sweetie, with prince of wales red and black trousers, engaged in french-kissing with a bearded thirtysomething with the looks of a bureaucrat in the Internal Revenue Service... But multiculturalism oblige we just avoid eye-contact and try to keep on enjoying the gig..
The use of extremely youthful doppelgangers of the Pets was a a very successful device. Neil Tennant was in top hat and Chris in a yellow parka, subdued and quiet, while two pairs of top hat and yellow parka claded dancers were jumping and breakdancing like mad. Clever way to elude the lost-youth issue...
The projection on the screen of a bit of "The Battleship Potemkine", with soundtrack by the group, was a great moment of irony. Einsenstein would never have thought that his masterpiece of Bolshevique propaganda would be shown in a decadent mass concert, where corridors were saturated with the acrid-sweet smell of marijuana...
Twenty years ago I saw the Pet Shop Boys in London... As a matter of fact, in the Wembley Stadium.. Wait a second, Wembley Stadium does not even exist anymore!.. Oh Dear..
Go West!
No comments:
Post a Comment