I told you recently, Gentle Readers, that as Pearl Jam’s Number One Fan in the Universe, I had the obligation to go see them when they came to Arras, France for the Main Square Festival.
Norm parked the car; then we walked until we got to the entrance of the square.
Actually, Norm walked; I skipped.
I couldn’t contain myself and got ahead of Norm.
I suppose he took this photo to show to the police when I got lost.
“I’ve lost my wife, officer. She was wearing blue jeans.”
“Everyone is wearing blue jeans!”
“Yes, that’s true. Here’s a photo of the back of her head.”
The quintessentially French cobblestone streets soon morphed into a quagmire of mud.
It had rained earlier, but fortunately, the rain dissipated before Pearl Jam took the stage,
and it remained away until after they had finished playing their set.
As we were waiting for the show to start, I took a look around the square.
Of course, I noticed an unobtrusive church and just had to take a picture.
…the crew began to prepare for the show.
Then the show began. What can I say about the music? How can I tell you anything about what this music is to my soul? No, music cannot be explained; it must be heard, felt, absorbed.
The music settled on my core, though it had always been there. I can no more put into words the facets of Pearl Jam’s music than I could the colors of my soul.
Though dusk eventually took its rightful place in the day…
…until nothing else remained…