Do you remember the first time you saw a major concert? Me, it was in 1997, in what was still called the Molson Center. I even remember the date: May 10, a spring day when no one at school had yet completely given up on No Doubt, with the mega hit Don’t Speakwhich suggested that we listened to music different from that of our parents.
I kept the ticket for this show, as I always did at the time: between the cover and the plastic of the box of the CD to which it is linked, as if to solidify a memory. If it bothers me to listen to the album again Tragic Kingdom one day, I will be able to say to my children: “Look, I was there. Besides, without any parents. Because even though I was Just a Girl (“ Oh I’m just a girl, I’m just a girl in the world… “), at 14, I was granted this right.
Times are changing, it is often said. Today, at 40, this amphitheater moment no longer has the place it had in my little pantheon of great concerts. First because I’ve seen tons of shows since then, but especially because as soon as I set foot in the Bell Center last April, I knew that I would live one of the most touching moments of my life.
Angela.
Plus three little girls.
Half-sisters, all three fans of the Belgian singer, who had spent the summer doing choreography on Swing your what in front of the river. There was the river, they had each other, and they could use a small loudspeaker on the gallery. They didn’t need anything else.
Then, at Christmas, a lover’s card: “Because you are beautiful to see singing and dancing, for Christmas, we take you to see a show at the Bell Center. Hint: the singer has the letter E twice in her name…”
One of them cried for 15 minutes. It was big. She had just watched the documentary on Angèle on Netflix and therefore had the impression, perhaps, of finally going to meet a friend?
I will always remember the words of the little one as she walked through the door that would lead to our seats on the night of the show. The Bell Center was still lit up, half of the public hadn’t arrived yet, but she imagined it, remaining completely motionless in front of the immensity of the bleachers.
“But why did we get all pretty, dad?” There are a billion people here, Angèle never goes to see us, there are too many people to watch. »
Disappointed little owl, with her two carefully made toques, which I like to call bear ears. Then, sitting down, she experienced a new feeling for which she was able to put words: “I don’t feel well. It’s so big, here, we’re really high, and it’s all open. »
Tell you how my heart stopped beating for a moment. Did we find out that night that one of our daughters was agoraphobic? Fortunately, all it took was a moment of sweetness and exchange, next to the hot-dog counter outside, for her to return to her seat. Not 100% reassured, but capable.
When Angèle arrived, that evening I was treated to four shows at the same time. The one on the stage and those close by: the three girls with the beating heart of all kinds of dances. The emotion, the joy, the oops! the mustard stain on the new pastel pants (impossible not to miss anything in those seats), the excitement, the feeling when thousands of people sing in chorus the refrain that we have listened to so much alone… I probably looked at their eyes and their little fingers on their cheeks and then in the air more than Angèle herself (who was far from any manner).
And the one who apprehended the immensity even exclaimed: “I want to come back here often, OFTEN! » Yes, the music gives wings, and had won over fear for little bear.