Short short story 63

Nostalgia (by bettiwettiwoo)

It's a free, outdoor concert. I'm standing on the side of, almost behind, the stage. The band is dressed mostly in black. There are sausage rolls beneath the shirts. The singer has a little pony-tail and VKL.

They're an 80s band. They formed then and had their only hits then. They sing serious 80s songs: nothing too poppy, no catchy choruses. For some reason I keep thinking of Lou Reed although it doesn't sound like that at all. One song sounds very much like another.

The rock chicks are still backstage. But they are all too busy looking after children to pay much attention to the men on the stage.

All songs are greeted enthusiastically by the audience: lyrics are sung, there are hands waving in the air... sometimes even clapping, bodies sway (not necessarily with the beat) to show that this, this music is real and this is real music. It's a sober affair and probably drug-free (only the sound technicians smoke anything at all and then only Marlboro - very self-consciously). It's a settled audience, only young at heart.

Some fans (in fact, quite a lot of them) have brought children. The somewhat older ones look embarrassed and seem to be doing their best to become invisible now, here, please, please, please, dear God. The somewhat younger ones try dancing, except for one of them who is busy pretending she's a horse.

It's all over by 9.15.

A la recherche du temps perdu. The many forms of nostalgia.