The best thing about that woman…
The best experiences, I have found, are the ones you don’t expect. The ones that sort of sneak up on you.
I kind of saw the Shania Twain concert last weekend and I kind of didn’t.
Let me explain.
My wife was the lucky recipient of a last-minute gifted ticket Friday night. We had decided in the spring not to go because of the cost, and we have been sooking about it all summer. I dropped her off and, just getting over a cold, was headed home when I pulled over and listened to Shania’s voice drifting out over the city. It was wonderful.
My wife, who grew up listening to Twain’s music, had a time, loved the show, and loved Shania.
The next night she talked me into taking the dogs and just wandering up to Churchill Square. We didn’t have tickets, but we could hear the performance. It was a lovely evening. Why not!
I wasn’t prepared for what I encountered. There were easily more than 1,000 folks gathered in the dark in and around Churchill Square.
If I was a 35-year-old party animal (and I was once) I would have been inside the venue with the other 15,000 folks, yelling, screaming, drinking and having a time.
Instead, I wandered through the darkened crowds of people who, for one reason or another, weren’t inside the grounds. There were all walks of life drawn to the music. Standing in groups, or sitting on the grass, there were people who looked like they couldn’t afford the ticket price. There were a few people who looked like they could.
People had blankets spread on the grass for a nighttime picnic. Others stood by the barriers swaying to the tunes, rocking out when Shania did, lit only by the streetlights.
An old couple sat on folding chairs together in the dark, holding hands and singing along softly. A Muslim girl, her head tilted back, hajib floating in the evening breeze, sang along with Shania “You’re Still the One.”
A grandmother, daughter and grandchildren, all in the middle of an empty Elizabeth Avenue, holding hands and high kicking in unison to Twain and her amazing band.
I ran into an elderly couple I know, well-to-do types. They were just out for a walk to see what all the fuss was about. She said to me, “I prefer it out here, not so crowded and we can hear people talk.” Yup.
I had such a good time I went back the following night.
I have seen many, many shows over the years. Maybe because I wasn’t expecting anything, this seemed one of the best. I have seen more than my share of performers. I have never seen anyone better than Twain. And I didn’t really see her.
I stood in the dark outside the venue, with lots of others, listening to the music, watching the show on the Jumbotron, and listening to the paying customers inside on the grounds cheering, hooting and hollering.
Sunday night she wore a huge maple leaf on the back of her jacket. She spoke proudly of Canada, of Newfoundland, of how she started her career here 41 years ago, in a band touring clubs around the Bay when she was 17 years old.
I stood thinking. I thought about Ms. Twain, and how proud she was to be Canadian, and how the thousands upon thousands of fans were right there with her. I thought that while there is so much wrong with this place – this city, this province, this country – on a warm August evening a remarkable performer reminded us we are all, first and foremost, Canadians.
Politics these days are so divisive. Corny as this sounds, Ms. Twain was quite the cure for all that corrosive negativity. It’s one thing to know it in your head – at that moment she made us all feel it in our hearts.
Three nights, 15,000 people a night – 45,000 friends and neighbours. Orderly, cheery, peaceful. Nothing remotely resembling government or officialdom anywhere in sight. The security staff were upbeat and cheerful. The promoters, very kindly, each night dropped the netting for the last half hour so we in the shadows outside who hadn’t paid could see.
Then it was over, and she was gone. I will never forget 15,000 happy people streaming home down Elizabeth Avenue in the middle of the night. A sight to see.
My little dog found a slice of fresh pepperoni pizza on the street, and had it half eaten before I noticed. All in all, everyone had a super evening!
Ivan Morgan can be reached at ivan.morgan@gmail.com