TR # 21 - Moonlight and Valentino

I'm Luna, it's February 14, I'm going to see another concert by Bon Jovi. Could I choose a different title from that of the film starring Jon?!

TR # 18 - In excelsis Deo

Corrections on the title won't be accepted, since I spent 2 hours to decide what the right form was. And if the endings are random, the thought is what counts.

The day begins talking about funerals. No, it's not fault of my ancestral pessimism or of the snowstorm or some other tragedy, but only of intercultural exchanges between me and Toy, the Japanese. Because if in Italy there's a monotonous Catholic monotheism, in Japan they have more imagination and freedom of thought. In fact, almost all of them are Buddhists. And they dress in black and white (red and yellow are the colors of Tibetan), and watch the corpse all night eating sushi in the company (of the dead, of course). Then they cremate him and make the funeral at the temple. You spend a King's ransom (or better, a Buddha's ransom) for flowers, coffin, urn, and name. Yes, the name. Because when someone dies, they're assigned a new name. It's the monk to decide the name, according to the money he's been given. Then we talk about privacy, spirituality and mafia behavior. Ever heard of protection money?!

But the day doesn't end here, in fact I'm invited to a concert in a church in Christmas theme, with music by Monteverdi, Palestrina, Vivaldi. Ma' has no doubts: "Vivaldi?! Of course, they'll play the Four Seasons!" No. It 's a Christmas concert. And in fact they are two hours of magnum mysterium, lullaby (as if I needed it...), ode a te probo vir, and then Vivaldi: Magnificat and Salve Regina. Help. I had never been to an Anglican church... or rather, never except as a tourist. The ceilings are high, OK. Seatings on the benches are strictly for 3 or 4, which you can tell by the number of prayer books in the prayer-books-holder. Books have not only text, but also the score of the songs, how professional. The pews are hard as all the pews, and next to the books there are tickets to be put in the offertory "I'm not giving cash because I already support this church with Visa or Mastercard". Oh. Speaking of privacy, the supporters are listed at the end of the concert's booklet... starting from the most generous down to the least, but is that normal?! The church is decorated with Christmas lights and Christmas trees, and after some minutes I understand what's weird: we don't have garlands, or perhaps one under the statues of saints, and the tree is a pagan decoration, for goodness sake! On the other hand, we have miles of cribs. Finally the concert begins, and I am surprised to like it ... more or less. But being surrounded by slumbering spectators when not sound asleep, I'm delighted by my stamina. And I ask myself technical questions: why that unknown instrument, the theorbo, is so long and unwieldy? The soprano improvises her trilling or Vivaldi had written, "On the lu of hallelujah trill 7 times A-G-A-F-E-C-B sharp"? The Mystery of the Faith wasn't the death and resurrection of Christ (which among other things, to explain it to Toy this story seems an episode of Twilight)? So why the magnum mysterium of Palestrina is summarized in the fact that it was mysteriously allowed to an ox and a donkey to see our Lord? I'm confused, what a mystery. During the break, the Sleeping Spectator wakes up because of the applause and with perfect nonchalance turns to me and begins to comment on the technical aspects of the choir ... you were sleeping, what do you know????! But I appreciate him as one of the few Canadians -if not the only one- starting a completely random conversation with no ulterior motives. He tells me about the Christmas Carols, which are really a tradition here, with the singers who used to go door to door singing.

After the concert, with a well-wishing "Goodbye, stay warm" of my new friend, I decide to ignore him and take a brisk walk. With a temperature of -5°, that with the wind feels just -12°. And the flying ice -because if it doesn't snow how do they say? Icerains?- whipping my face while I admire the megavillas behind my house. Finally I get home and I take refuge under the blanket, in the warmth. Thank God... or thank the heating.

TR # 12 - I've seen a million faces, and I rocked them all

Whoever is not a true Bon Jovi fan can skip this post without any painful consequence.

But instead you faithful reader who keep on reading despite already knowing the topic, here is the chronicle of the second concert of this year, the sixth overall, of the most... most rock band in the world. My afternoon starts with the usual long-sleeved BJ shirt -what was I thinking?! - an atrocious hot, a hotdog and a hot water bottle at the stand. I head to the Rogers Centre at 5.30 pm, admiring the kitsch sculpture above the entrance representing supporters cheering on the athletes. I put myself in line at the gate and in the meanwhile the stand of the local radio station plays BJ songs at full volume while the lady guard tells us: "we hope you enjoy the show!" The building is huge but honestly I imagined it even bigger, considering it is a hockey and baseball arena. Canadians are smart: instead of putting a normal soil of any material they covered the field with fake grass, which is among the most uncomfortable things to walk on. The average age of viewers is incredibly high, with hale old guys ready to rock out with the 80s' hits of our idols. Of course there are also 80s' girls dressed in improbable matching colors and leather skintight leggings on thighs that they'd be better not show off with such impudence.

Already during the opening act I realize that for the first time I'm in a closed structure, rather than in a stadium or an arena. The acoustics are terrible, the sounds echo and the echo is unbearable. Good, very good. I have the opportunity to deepen the problem with the second performer of the evening, Kid Rock. I don't know much about him, except that he has long hair and a huge tattoo on his back, plays rock and metal with hints of country, that he's well-hung since the video shot during the story with Pamela Anderson (strange, a scandal related to our Pamelona!). Instead I find out that Kid Rock kicks ass on stage, has a stage presence and energy beyond description and also finds time to insult Britney Spears (here we don't do that shit, here we play live!) He ignites the audience with his most famous hits ("All summer long ", for one thing), but is also capable of much more intimate country ballads like "Picture", originally a duet with Sheryl Crow. And finally, it's time for Bon Jovi. Again you hear the jingle "This is our house" and then they start. Jon is in good shape despite a sprained ankle, women go crazy (me included), and he doesn't wait to be asked twice. "I spend a lot of time in bed but baby I don't like to sleep no" he sings winking, and then smiles to the girls in the front row singing the most famous ballads. The opening gave me a song that I never heard live, here's the setlist: Blood on Blood, We Weren't Born to Follow, You Give Love a Bad Name, Born To Be My Baby, Lost Highway, Runaway, It's My Life , I'll Sleep When I'm Dead, We Got It Going On, Bad Medicine / Old Time Rock 'n' Roll (w / Kid Rock), Love's the Only Rule, Lay Your Hands On Me (Richie Vox), Bed of Roses , I'll Be There For You, Something for the Pain, Someday I'll Be Saturday Night, In These Arms, Work for the Working Man, Have a Nice Day, Who Says You can't Go Home, Keep the Faith. Encore: Always, Wanted Dead or Alive, Livin 'on a Prayer.

This time I'm almost moved at the thought of how much water has passed under the bridge since the first time I saw Bon Jovi live in the dramatic Padua concert in 2001 that many remember with distaste. That was before 9/11, for one thing. And now I'm here, who would have thought?! I leave the Rogers Centre with my ears plugged, the smile on my face when finding out that the radio stand is still playing Bon Jovi songs. While crossing the bridge to catch the tram and go home I sing along with thousands of other people "Livin 'on a Prayer" while the stand turns down the volume on purpose to hear our voices. "Take my hand, we'll make it I swear... we're livin 'on a prayer" we sing in chorus as we go back to our lives. Until the next gig.

TR # 3 - New Jersey (finding Jon)

My adventure in New Jersey begins under a dreadful hot weather, hopping on and off three different trains and waiting endlessly for a cab to deign to come to the station -why in god's name am I doing this?! Oh yeah, it's because of Jon Bon Jovi. Finally the cab arrives, so I can chat a little: what are you doing here? All the way from Italy FOR A CONCERT?! And what's your job? Who do you teach Italian to, in Italy? Don't they speak it already? Your English is perfect, by the way! Don't forget to come and see me too, one of these days I'll be playing in the stadiums too! Yeaaahh, sure... whatever. Finally I get to my apartment hotel, in a suite with stadium view and the highway all around, which means I can't leave this place other than in a cab. Perfect. Therefore I shut myself in the room, try to hand-wash my t-shirts -and successfully manage to!- and I make a sandwich. The sandwiches are already cut, awesome. Then I cook a pasta for dinner, and I realize that here they don't use normal burners, but hotplates which turn fire-red when hot... it took a while, before I realized I wasn't supposed to wait for a flame.

My first night goes by in a dreadful cold, thanks to the crazy thermostat. The day before the concert is dedicated to visit Perth Amboy, Jon's hometown, where I take for granted I will meet him, since he will be certainly there to rest. And indeed... my breakfast at the station is made of a traditional local Donut and an also traditional local watery coffee, after which I buy a newspaper to read on the train. Perth Amboy is very nice, it looks just like Wisteria Lane: cute houses with their gardens, the wooden stairs, the porch and the American flag in the patio garden; the beach on the... well, the canal, smell of saltiness in the air. My iPod plays Bon Jovi's songs, which in some way gain a whole new meaning, in this context. After walking along the canal, I resign myself to not meeting Jon while he's walking his dog and I take a seat at local restaurant to eat something. Which means, for just $10: icy cold water, blue cheese salad, crab cakes with lobster sauce, baked potatoes, dessert that I don't have, choosing an espresso instead... full of cinnamon, what the hell. Right when I was enjoying the cakes, the unforeseeable happened: a black sedan approaches from the road next to the restaurant, signals and turns... Jon is driving, with his headphones on, beautiful as ever. In the end, I was right. I can hardly eat anymore, of course, so the waiter asks me if he has to pack what's left for me to bring home... oh no, God forbid! I go back to the station, take the chance to go down to the beach and wash my feet in the water -icy cold, it's always an ocean after all- and I walk past through the worst neighborhoods. I'm ready for the concert.

The first thing to hit you is the absence of any fee meter on the cabs, because the fee is negotiable. Or rather, it's fixed. Whether you go to the station or across the street (the highway in my case) in just about 5 minutes, you still pay the same. It's boiling hot, what was I thinking when I bought a long-sleeves Bon Jovi shirt??! The stadium is huge even from the outside, and for those who have followed this band for a while, it's a dream come true: the old Giants Stadium, next to it and already half demolished, is a memorabilia in BJ's history. I arrive while they're still rehearsing, therefore I hear some hints of the songs they're going to play. Finally they open the gates, I take my seat and stare at the 3 rings of this "home of the Giants and the Jets!" which will host the Super Bowl too. I can count about 100 thousands seats, and some of them are way TOO high. As they usually do here, the seats on the field are numbered as well, which is good to prevent crowding and illnesses, and also to give to the people the opportunity to sit down. The seats are provided with drink-holders, and they're also very slippery. Those sitting next to me are an alcoholics' family with bottles of wine everywhere, and on the other side two typical extra fat American ladies. Unlike what I was told, the Americans are all but cold at concerts, on the contrary. After the opening act OneRepublic (the ones playing "Apologize"), the concert begins, with a jingle "this is our house" followed by two of my favorite songs, "Who says you can't go home" e "We weren't born to follow". The concert lasts three and a half hours, and when Jon thanks us for our loyalty, because he wouldn't be there if it wasn't for us, I think that I should thank him instead, because I wouldn't be here if I hadn't had those tickets for months. Now I know that a new phase of my life is beginning, without regrets and no more "I wish I was there", because I'm here now and I want to live every second to the best. For all the BJ lovers, here is the setlist: Who Says You Can't Go Home, We Weren't Born To Follow, You Give Love a Bad Name, In These Arms, Born To Be My Baby, Just Older, We Got It Goin' On, Raise Your Hands, When We Were Beautiful, Superman Tonight, Captain Crash and the Beauty Queen from Mars, Bad Medicine, It's My Life, Love's The Only Rule, Lay Your Hands On Me (Richie Vox), Livin' in Sin / Chapel of Love, I'll Be There For You, Something For The Pain, Diamond Ring, Sleep When I'm Dead/Jumpin' Jack Flash, I'd Die For You, Work for the Working Man, Someday I'll Be Saturday Night, Keep The Faith, Dry County, Wanted Dead or Alive, Livin' on a Prayer.

Once outside the stadium, I try to call for a cab but it's too late to get one. So I resign myself to sit on the crash barrier together with other unlucky guys, to wait. There's a guard in the middle of the street, trying to stop the approaching cars with a flashlight, to warn them to do a U-turn because there's a traffic jam and it would take more than one hour to go through, but nobody gives a shit about him: "I hate my fuckin' job!" Finally a cab arrives, after almost an hour, and I share it with father and son from Indianapolis. It's time to go to sleep, and to begin a new phase of my journey.