How Do You Wake Someone Up From Inside a Dream?

I have reached a point in my life where I think about nothing but music. I don't feel as though that's an exaggerated statement. Besides doing things like making shopping lists and the scattered moments I can actually focus on readings and research and essay planning (which are very few and very far between), I don't think there is a moment in the day when I am not thinking or talking about music: whether it's the music itself, the people who make it, the industry, getting a job in the industry, or planning for Coachella or other hypothetical concerts this summer, I have a one-track mind these days. I've stopped spending money on anything that's not food or music-related. Music has been occupying a large percentage of my brain since I was thirteen, so maybe this isn't a wholly new development, but I literally cannot spend more than two consecutive minutes being bothered with anything else. Even when I'm flying into rages about university, which is happening on at least a weekly basis again, I soothe the rants by thinking about music.

In itself, this isn't a bad thing. I think in the long run, it's actually a great thing. But the problem is how it's juxtaposed with university. I have two modes: being ridiculously happy when thinking about music, and being ridiculously upset when I think about university. Today marked the halfway point of my last semester. Somehow I am not overjoyed. Those six weeks and those two exams, which admittedly are after a nice month at home with a trip to California dedicated to music, feel like the rest of my life. The other problem is that because the music world, or the side of the music world I'm interested in, is so white-hot right now, I spend all of my time keeping up with it and critiquing it, and very little time keeping up with what I should have a grasp on for my law seminar, which is kicking my ass. Last night I should have been reading Schechter v. United States, but instead read about ten different articles on ticket scalping and ways the industry could prevent it. Today in class, I went into a rage-panic when I saw everyone else had plans and research for their essays already done, whereas I don't even know what I'm even writing about yet. The panic wasn't even about whether or not I could write a decent essay for a decent grade: it was over the fact that I have to bother to put in the time to get it done. But then I thought of a goofy photo of The Strokes I saw this morning, and I felt better. "Lotus Flower" and its accompanying awkwardly hilarious video (released today), which I watched on my iPod during out 15-minute class break, also helped.

I feel like I'm having some sort of midlife crisis at age 21. Yes, so I've felt this way since fall 2008--it's not depression, a) because I think I'm incapable of being depressed outside of temporarily when caused by specific factors, b) because I know what's causing it and I know I will feel much better once it's over, c) because I still get enjoyment, embarrassing amounts of enjoyment, out of very specific things. But the difference now is that I'm doing things like spending wild amounts of money shipping myself to California to bake in the sun and mud for three days with my favorite bands, and I almost did something else just as crazy and both academically and financially ill-advised before I had something of a reality check. I'm thinking these things are the equivalent of the flashy red convertible cliche. I'm also contemplating my own mortality a lot more than I used to. Not in a doomed, neurotic sort of way, really. I just feel like I've wasted so much time in the past few years doing things I should have never even started that I wonder how much time is left to get to the good part. That, and I'm extra-careful these days when crossing the street and going down stairs, because if I die before March 21 without hearing Angles, I...I don't know what. Thank God it's coming out before I next have to get on a plane.

It's just that I feel like a whole continent could be blasted off the face of the earth by a meteor and I would still only really think about Radiohead and The Black Keys and Mumford and Sons and The Kings of Leon and Arcade Fire, and above all, The Strokes. Today I read an article reviewing and describing The Strokes' highly anticipated new album, and I don't know if I've ever felt that dizzy just reading words before. When the single played on radio the first time a week and a half ago, I screamed and my housemates came rushing in, thinking we were being robbed again. I already mentioned that I watched "Lotus Flower" for the first time on my iPod in our class break today. I was grinning like such an idiot that my professor asked me what I was doing, for fuck's sake, and I started explaining and we got into talking about what I want to do in the industry a bit. You could tell he was surprised I could be that animated and engaged, because I spend most of that class hiding. Even when I'm trying to get myself to do my work, all that float through my head are various song lyrics about how you don't want to be doing something you have to, or how much it sucks to be stuck somewhere bad, or escaping. And then my mind drifts off into ideas on how to revolutionize the live-music ticket industry. Or how to finagle a job out of people I want to work for. Or how close I am to just packing up and going home six weeks early and a degree short.

I don't really know what I'm trying to say here. I'm trying to say that in the past, I've always said I've given up on uni and that I wasn't going to care anymore. Usually I say that, and yet I still get into some small panic about grades at some point along the line. But this time I think I'm serious--I get into rages about the time wasted, not the worry over how it will affect my degree or what my instructors will think of me (hey, it's anonymous anyway!). The only other time this has happened was exams last year, when I really didn't prepare that much and actually didn't even technically complete one of my exams, and I still managed to get a 2.1 on all of them. I don't know if I can pull that off again, especially with this law class. But we'll see.

I know that this is such a non-issue, such a first-world, white privileged girl problem. I think I can hate my experience and regret my decisions while still being grateful for being able to have them. I blame myself first and foremost anyway, for not letting myself think that what I was most interested in was "legit" enough to want to pursue until it was too late to stop the train I already got on. All I want is to explain myself, why I've had such a miserable time. I think I want people to understand why I've not just looooooooved the college experience like all my high school friends seem to. I want to make sure everyone knows I'm not just trying to be contrarian or unique, that I have reasons for all my still-probably-unjustified whining. So I think, once all my actual work is done, in the interim between exams and graduation, that I will try to write an essay. A proper one. A hopefully-not-so-rambly one. I don't even care if no one reads it. I just want it...formally documented for my own purposes, lest I ever forget how I felt at this time in my life, even if I do end up looking back on it with some degree of fondness in the future (hah).

In the meantime, I will be trying to survive by clinging to music. As much as it's always been my favorite thing, the thing always on my mind, it is now my life. It's my security blanket that I'm clinging to to make it through these last six weeks. Roll on, 2011, best music year in the history of my life. You're all I've got til August.

Cultural Difference, University Whining, the Usual.

So I'm back in England after what felt like the shortest break from university ever. And in some ways, it kind of was, since 5 days were shaved off of it due to London's snow and poor excuse for damage control, and I only got four weeks to begin with. But I got to see Coldplay again in that time, so I can't complain too much about that.

I mostly did a whole lot of nothing at home, which is exactly what I wanted and needed. It snowed three times (one of those times it snowed three feet!), it was absolutely freezing, I got to eat all the disgusting food I've been missing, I got to live in a clean, mold-free house again for a little while, and I marveled at the sheer size of my bedroom, which never felt large to me before I moved into this 5x10 foot box that I currently live in here in Norwich. All of these are good things.

It's interesting, though--I think I've reached the point in my ex-patriotism, which is slowly coming to a close for the time being, where I'm not phased by the constant country-switching anymore. Last year when I came home for Christmas, I had the most culture shock I'd ever had in my life upon returning to the US. I didn't have any when I got to England that September, but by the time I came home for the first time, I had epic reverse culture-shock. It seems to have lessened each time I've switched countries since then, to the point where now my spelling and vocabulary effortlessly switch to suit the country I'm in the second I land. I was only surprised by American accents this break for a few hours, and the same for English accents when I came back here. I think I'll forever be startled by the way I talk here when I do open my mouth, but I think that in itself marks my complete acclimation--until I'm reminded of my country of origin by my voice, I don't think about being a foreigner unless I'm confronted with something new (which still happens a remarkable amount of times for living here for so long).

And yet, despite all that, I think I've decided for the next few years, at least, that I know where I belong, and it's not England. I've said that before, but perhaps not that bluntly. That's not to say I never would live here again--I actually plan on it, probably for a masters degree in a few years, and a good chunk of the industry I want to work in is in London. But for the short term at least, I feel a burning desire to return to America. To do what remains to be seen, as I don't have any grand plans for the coming year and I'm more than OK with that, but after being an expat for two years, I need to reacquaint myself with the country I grew up in for longer than a month at a time and see it through my new lens. If I'm going to be completely honest, I'd go back right now if I could, move out this very second. The idea that I'm going to have to bum around Norwich all summer between my exams and my graduation actually has begun to traumatise me. I thought I'd be OK with it a few weeks ago, and then I remembered what my everyday existence is like here upon returning to start this semester. I saw the 727 bus on the road today, the one that goes to Heathrow Airport, and I instantaneously wished I was on it.

This probably has something to do with the fact that I have very little affection for either of my classes this term, whereas I was in love with one of them last semester and at least generally OK with the other. I'm taking a class in Native American writing and film, which is actually pretty good despite the fact that I don't have any stirring interest in the methods of studying the topic, and a class in the Supreme Court, which I feel wholly unprepared for and uninterested in, probably because I didn't really have a whole lot of choice in taking it. This has happened before. This has happened pretty much every semester of my university career, but somehow it feels like insult is added to injury since this is the last semester and my last semester was actually marginally good for once. The Supreme Court class has already begun to put me over the edge two weeks into the whole thing, not only because I feel like I have no background in this stuff but also because I can't seem to muster a scrap of shits to give about it. PLUS I have to take exams for these classes, an experience that didn't exactly go well last year, as well as write two essays for each. By American standards that sounds like nothing, but the fall semester and the spring semester are imbalanced with regards to means of assessment, and I most certainly prefer the fall semesters, to put it lightly.

Anyway, this has been nothing new by way of me writing about anything, except that I'm reaching the point where I'm no longer couching my situation in noncommittal, diplomatic terms: I want this whole gig to be over already and I want to live in America again.

CALLYFOURNEEYAH.

I was going to write a post about being back and all the routine stuff about England vs. America, but I think I need to write about something else first.

On Thursday, the lineup for the Coachella Music Festival in Indio, California came out. Usually these things only really exist on the periphery of my attention to the music world (which is to say that I could probably recite you this year's lineup for Benicassim faster than I could give you a summary of the readings I'm supposed to be doing for uni, but I think that's partially because I have a freakish memory). Festivals have always seemed a bit too hardcore for me. They're full of thousands of people and mud and camping and activities that I find questionable, like not showering for three days straight. But they're also full of epically good live music, so I always said someday, when I had the money and a festival had the right lineup, I'd go. Turned out that would be this year.

The lineup is fantastic. I can only think of about three or four bands that I would add to that list to make it so good I wouldn't be able to handle it. At first I just was like "wow, that's awesome, too bad I can't go." A few hours later of watching people on the internet express frustration that they would also be unable to attend the most awesome music event of the year, the wheels of my brain started turning, just out of curiosity. I started to do what I do best: logistics planning. I would be in the US during the festival, after all, just on the other side of the continent. And despite the fact that I already knew it wasn't going to be cheap to potentially get me to California from Connecticut, the money in my savings account is pretty much solely intended for use on music and/or travel, and a jaunt to SoCal would count as both. So I started to research. I made a budget, that I ended up going ever so slightly over in the end, and I figured out how to get every aspect of the weekend short of food and gas taken care of. As crazy as it was, it was doable. Expensive, and probably ill-advised, but doable. I convinced myself to go over the course of about 12 hours. My bank account quaked in fear. All I needed was someone to go with.

I could have gone alone, of course, and I really considered it for awhile. But not splitting the cost of a hotel and a car and the like made the whole thing a bit out of reach, and as independent and isolationist as I am, I'm kind of sick of doing really cool stuff by myself. I'm still enjoy spending time alone in my room above all else, but when it comes to the exciting things, like travel and concerts, I've done it alone and had a great time, but I think it's time to stop doing that. So I was on the hunt for a Coachella buddy, which is a lot harder than it sounds when all of your friends are either on the other side of the country or the other side of the world from California. I had high hopes for three different Coldplayer friends, who have done crazier things in the past, and they almost said yes. But on Thursday night, 24 hours before tickets went onsale, I was convinced I was going to have to give up all hopes of going, mostly because the cost was just too much for one person. But then I got an email from my mom: her best friend's daughter, who actually used to be a concert-buddy of ours in high school, goes to college in San Francisco, was in the same boat as me. She wanted to go, but she had no one to go with, and wanted to go with someone who was there for the music rather than the shenanigans. I had also forgotten that she was an epically huge Strokes fan like myself. Everything fell into place.

I've gotten a hotel in Palm Springs, California, and either tonight or tomorrow I will be booking my flight and reserving my rental car. Oh, and we got the three-day passes yesterday. I'm going to be on a mini-roadtrip from Los Angeles to Palm Springs to Indio. This all sounds like someone else's life to me. But for that lineup, man, it's going to be so worth it. It will be about 90*F in April and I will be outside all day and I will smell and be jammed up against people under the influence of various things, but I will be seeing The Strokes and Arcade Fire and Kings of Leon and The Black Keys and The National and Brandon Flowers and a whole host of other artists that I have been meaning to check out and get more into. All of this in a new place I've always been meaning to go to.

82 days until I fly to California. Every time I say "California" in my head, it comes out like Arnold Schwartzenegger: CALLYFOURNEEYAH. And, for the record, 18 days until The Strokes first single, "Under Cover of Darkness," and exactly two months until their first album in five years. I never thought I'd see the day.

London Snowpocalypse and Coldplay Karma Part III

I don't even know where to begin with this story. There's so much before the Coldplay part (which is the part most readers will be interested in) that needs to be explained...I guess I'll do this in chapters again. And yes, this will be supremely long.

(As an introduction, in early November, Coldplay announced that they would be performing two one-off Christmas gigs for the homeless charity Crisis in Liverpool and Newcastle. I was gutted that they were one day after I was to fly home for Christmas, even though I'd gotten my equalisers in the form of the boat/shoot experience and Top of the Pops).

CHAPTER 1: HEATHROW'S CLUSTERF**K

Basically, I was supposed to fly out of the UK to America via Heathrow on Saturday for Christmas. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing when I saw the snowy forecast on about Wednesday, but I thought it would mean delays at most, and I could deal with that. I didn't expect London to go off the fricking chain about four measly inches. So I go to the coach station in Norwich on Saturday morning. The coach is cancelled. They tell us that they have booked taxis for us instead, which sounded hunky-dory and plush to me, but in the end the coach pulled up an hour late, even though it hadn't snowed for 12 hours in Norwich. The closer we get to London, the more it's snowing, but being from Connecticut, I look at it and think that this is nothing. Turns out, when the coach makes its stop at Stanstead Airport, a man from the coach company comes on board and tells us the coach will not be going any further due to blocked roads to Heathrow and Gatwick, and what's more, Heathrow and Gatwick are CLOSED and National Express coaches are going offline as well.

So I get off the coach at Stanstead and try to devise a plan. My thoughts were that I needed to at least get to Heathrow and wait for my assumedly-delayed flight there. I tried to book a car to Heathrow--no dice, all taxis were cancelled. In the end, I booked a train ticket on the Stanstead Express to Liverpool Street Station, my home-away-from-home in London. This takes forever, but I get there. I flag down a taxi to bring me to Paddington Station, where the Heathrow Express departs from (if you saw the size and weight of my suitcase, you'd see why the Tube was not an option). I book a train ticket and make the Heathrow Express as the doors are closing.

I shouldn't have gone to Heathrow at all. Everything, absolutely everything was grounded, and there were thousands upon thousands of people with luggage and children on every scrap of floor. I decide to wait in the queue for the Delta Airlines desk to see what I can do about my ticket. They sent people down the line telling us we can't rebook at the airport, the only thing we CAN do is try to leave the airport and rebook by phone. The number they gave us is Mon-Fri only, and it was Saturday. Genius, I tell you. To top it off, once it hit 6PM, all the Delta employees left their desks and went home, leaving Heathrow staff to deal with us and the people flying the other airlines. The only thing to do was to try to get a hotel. I go downstairs to the hotel booking desk and wait in queue for that. I waited for 1.5 hours. Once I got to the desk, the man told me he had ONE hotel available in ALL OF LONDON, and it was the equivalent of $700 a night. I tried ringing the good ole Arran House, but I couldn't get through. Luckily, my dad got through and booked me 4 nights straight...because he had also rebooked my flight for WEDNESDAY, the earliest availability. This smacked of Eyjafjallajokull.

It took me 2.5 more hours to get back to Paddington Station via train, where I wolfed down Burger King like a starving child and then waited in a taxi queue for another hour. By this time, it was 11PM. I got to the Arran House, get settled in, update Facebook/Twitter to keep people updated, decide I'm too tired to shower, and attempt to sleep.

I'm actually quite proud of the way I handled all this. Contrary to my "Chicken Little" tendencies that everyone seems to think I have, I think I'm quite good in crises. I just kind of sighed and went with the flow, because what else is there to do? I know most people I know would have been the half of the people in the airport that would have just sobbed into the linoleum floors or raged at airline employees. Things are much easier to deal with when you see the humor in them. I will, however, not be seeing the humor in anything if my Wednesday flight is cancelled as well (very possible) and I can't be at home for Christmas.

CHAPTER 2: GETTING TO LIVERPOOL

I couldn't sleep that well for some reason. I woke up around 10, early for me, to messages from Coldplay friends on Facebook and the like telling me that the band just opened up 200 more tickets each for the Liverpool gig that night and the Newcastle gig the following night. I distinctly recall saying when they announced these gigs last month or so that I wish there was some way I could stay in England for 2-3 more days so I could go, but had no hopes of actually ending up there. The previous night, I thought "haha, well I'm in England now, what are the odds of miracles happening and me going to one? Slim to none." The catch with these 200 tickets was that you had to buy them in person, so that was out. Except that the lovely Mich was already at the venue in Liverpool and offered to buy one for me. I immediately turned down the offer, thinking it would be too expensive, time consuming, and complicated to get there, find a place to stay, somehow get out of my Arran House booking for the night, and deal with all my luggage. For fun, though, I looked up train times and prices to Liverpool in a few hours time. To my utter astonishment, a) trains to Liverpool leave from Euston Station, a 5 minute walk from the Arran House, b) trains to Liverpool from London only take 2.5 hours, in contrast to 6+ hours from Norwich, and c) round-trip fare would cost me only £40, half as much as it costs me the day before to go to London from Norwich. My heart began to beat very fast. I looked up hotels, and found one practically in the train station itself (and across the street from the gig venue) for £30/night. Getting excited, I ran downstairs and asked the Arran House staff how much their cancellation policy was. Because they're lovely people and they know me, they said they wouldn't charge me at all for the missed out night AND that they'd watch my luggage for me. Squeeing my brains out, I ran back up stairs to find Mich telling me she just found herself with an extra gig ticket anyway. I promptly booked train and hotel, threw a spare change of clothes in my purse, and high-tailed it to Euston smiling like an idiot and barely containing my glee.

I woke up at 10:30 with no notion of going to Liverpool and only a tiny shade of an idea to finagle my way to Newcastle the following day. By 12, I was in Euston early, waiting for my train, eating lunch, buying toiletries for the trip, and being the only happy person in the entire station (which was riddled with thousands of disgruntled travelers, just like the airport, as apparently England falls apart at the seams in snow). Trains were being cancelled and delayed left and right still, but Liverpool ones seemed to be running OK. However, my 2:02 departure time came and went and I started to get nervous. Luckily, it was only 20 minutes late and I bopped on the train happily, hardly believing that things were working out.

There was intermittent wifi on the train, so I was able to keep in touch with queuing Coldplay friends via Twitter. I found out that Chris Martin invited them all into the venue to watch the soundcheck! I'm not a jealous person, but the only thing I ever get seriously jealous about is when people get amazing music-related opportunities like that. However, I was just in such thankful awe about even going to one of the Crisis gigs that I didn't feel a speck of jealousy for a second and was only happy for them--and I've had a Coldplay Karma hat-trick of late, so I have no right to be jealous of anything. The only part I feel like I really would have killed to be there for is that Will's little daughter Ava was apparently there hamming it up with the guys, and I would have loved to see that adorableness.

I got into Liverpool at 5 and discovered just how close my hotel was to the station. I dropped off my stuff, freshened up as best I could (the previous night was the only night in 5+ years I hadn't showered before bed, so I needed it), and walked to the venue. Google maps lied to me about its location, and I discovered it had been right under my nose the whole time. I met up with Mich and Alison and a bunch of others, finally believing that I was actually there and about to see Coldplay for the...11th time in my life. I'm a nerd. We enthused about excitement, silver linings to snow-clouds (me), the sneak-preview of the setlist they got in the soundcheck (THEY WERE GOING TO PLAY SHIVER, OMG), and all the little things about the soundcheck. Crisis passed out special Coldplay badges/buttons with the dates of the gigs on them. It was absolutely lovely.

CHAPTER 3: THE GIG

My friends all had standing tickets and the one Mich had for me was seated, on the balcony, which I was completely fine with. I didn't expect to be there at all--I would have been grateful to be isolated to the toilet and only hearing the music through the wall, as I thought I'd be in an entirely different country for these two gigs. I queued with them anyway, because there's something about the happy stress of queuing that I love, even when it's below freezing out. The doors opened at 7, 1.5-2 hours after I got to the venue, and I stepped out of line to let the pit people fight to the death for front row. I discovered my seats on the balcony were actually great--the venue's capacity was only 1,000, and it was a tiny, old-fashioned theater that was unaccustomed to rock concerts, so I was right on top of them.

The opening act was The Choir With No Name, a choir of homeless people from London. They almost made me cry, and I haven't properly cried since about 2008. Some of them were impressive singers and some of them were not, but it was their enthusiasm and happiness, and their stories, that got me, and the crowd approved massively.

Despite a technical error before showtime involving lack of sound, Peter Kay (English comedian) introduced the band and they came out rocking. "In My Place" is an amazing opener--they should do that more often! I'm not going to go through the entire setlist song by song, but I will say to my utter surprise (and besides "Shiver"), "God Put a Smile Upon Your Face" was my absolute favorite of the night, and that's not usually high on my Coldplay favorites list. They nailed it, and Will was a beast on the drums like I'd never seen him before, and Jonny whaled (wailed?) on his guitar with everything he had in him. Musically, it might be the second-best I've ever seen them, even if Chris did fudge up the lyrics of almost every song time and time again. They were laid back and willing to ad-lib and experiment unlike they are on tour, where everything is pre-determined and highly scripted. Chris was in a great mood and didn't beat himself up over his mistakes, even though Will literally had to baby him through some songs and lyrics. Of course, he said about five times that they only have 3 hit singles, the only reason they're popular is because Guy is so handsome, the new material they're keeping under wraps is "atrocious," and that he's actually a jerk in person that everyone hates, but that's Chris for you, take him or leave him. Their enthusiasm was catching and more than filled the tiny venue. I stood up the whole time even though most people on the balcony didn't and sung my heart out. I videoed The Choir With No Name's rendition of "Politik," "Shiver" (which I'm hesitant to post because I give the most horrible girly squeal at the start even though I knew it was coming), and "Christmas Lights," which was note-perfect despite it being the first time actually played live (and Chris's dad played one of the three Elvises!). I got some decent pictures, which doesn't usually happen to me at gigs even when I'm front row. During "Christmas Lights," Peter Kay randomly came back on stage and started chucking out bags of Walkers Crisps and Quality Street chocolates to the crowd, in addition to bananas, which could have actually hurt someone by beaning them in the head. It was all very random, but highly enjoyable. I loved the ad-lib, laid-back nature of everything. They should try to do it that way more often.

Gary Barlow (Wiki link for clueless Americans) was the not-so-secret special guest (at least us Coldplayers knew because it had been alluded to in the soundcheck and my friends passed along the info to me). There is a multitude of artists that I would prefer to have as guests at a Coldplay gig, but I have a soft spot for Gary, probably because even though he's a member of a kind-of boyband, he writes all of their stuff and has talent as a singer, songwriter, and a musician. Also, I grudgingly admit when pressed that I actually like "Back For Good," their most known song that Chris professes his love for every three minutes. Before he came on as a surprise, Chris started to pluck out the song on the piano and sing some words before he said something to the effect of "nah, I wouldn't do a disservice to that wonderful song by trying to play it myself. If there was only someone here who could do it justice...." upon which a wild Gary Barlow appeared and belted out "Back For Good" with the band to 99% of the audience's surprise and 100% of the audience's glee (even Mich :P). One woman in front of me almost wet her pants, I swear to God. This is how popular Gary and Take That are here.

This was probably the best setlist I've ever seen them do in person. They had a wonderful mix of material from all four albums, not just the most recent and the overplayed singles. My dream setlist is eclectic and they'd never play it because a lot of the songs aren't suitable for gigs because they're mellow downers, but they could have played "Mary Had a Little Lamb" the whole time for all I cared, because they played effing "Shiver" and I can die happy now. Cross that off the bucket list as well.

After the gig, I went down to the lobby and bought myself a limited-edition t-shirt, featuring the band and Simon Pegg in his Elvis costume from the "Christmas Lights" video. Besides the fact that I wanted the shirt because it was awesome AND it had my love Simon Pegg on it as well, I clearly remember watching them take the very photo they used on the shirt when they snapped it at the "Christmas Lights" video shoot on the 25th. I thought it was awesome I could wear a literal memory of mine. The photo is actually great: Guy is looking moodily handsome as usual, Will's looking intensely tough as usual, but Chris is desperately trying not to crack up and you can tell Jonny is laughing too, he's grinning so wide, and Simon's Elvisness graces the middle of the photo.

I met up with my friends again outside, where we expressed our 110% approval of the night and how we were so surprised it ended up being so good quality-wise even though they've been out of practice in the studio for a year now. However, about a hundred people were lingering around the stage door, which was right next to the main door, unfortunately for Chris. About 45 minutes after the show ended, he came out only to be swarmed by fans. He obviously knew it was coming, given the location of the stage door, so he was nothing but funny and gracious to us all, but I just felt for him the entire time. The man can't walk to a car 50 feet away without it taking 30 minutes so each fan can have their moment. I actually apologised to security profusely for the way we were all so rabid. I snapped pictures like an obnoxious fan, though, which came out surprisingly well. Everyone's been asking me if he remembered me from the toilet incident/TOTP when I got my moment with him, and NO, he did NOT. This is because a) he is human, b) he sees hundreds of fan faces every day and even though we had a unique encounter he has no reason to remember me specifically, and c) it was an absolute mob scene and only had time to say "Hi, happy Christmas," etc to each person while signing whatever they put forth. He did smile at me again, though, and I said "Thanks, man" in my uber-American accent and cringed at my still-surprising to me voice, and I was once again a bit afraid of his eyes, but there was less eye-contact going on because there were so many people. He was also wearing a woman's hat, which for some reason cracks me up, probably because the man is clueless with fashion despite who he's married to. It was a North Face beanie with a pom pom (I know this because I was standing next to him, OK, I don't spend my time on the internet gossiping about the brands of his clothes), and indeed, it's from the women's department. He also talked about his daughter a bit, which seems wholly out of character. Someone mentioned something about his "babies," and he said that Apple's not a baby anymore, she's 6. Someone else commented on her name, saying they liked it/knew someone with the same name, and Chris said "well I like it, but most people don't seem to. I call those people c**ts." I hate when people use that particular word, even though I've got a sailor mouth myself, but there aren't many things I can't forgive that man for because I'm an utter loser. Of course, the other three boys sacrificed Chris to the lions and snuck out behind the huge throng of fans while our backs were turned all focused on Chris, getting into the car without anyone even giving them a second look, the cheeky bastards. If I were them I'd love to be famous and in a band and massively successful with almost none of the trappings of fame, but sometimes I feel like they could help lighten Chris's load sometimes by not sneaking around and pushing him out in front of them. What do I know about their internal dynamic on the matter, though? I think if it was an issue among them, it would have come to a head by now.

Once I got my ticket signed, I cleared off to find Phil Harvey (former manager, "5th member," current creative director of the band) and Craig and Roos standing in a much smaller group of people by the stage door. Somehow, Craig, who has the best Coldplay Karma of anyone we know, managed to get the venue to give him the HUGE poster advertising the gig, which Phil and Chris signed for him. Not only did Phil sign his name, though: underneath where the poster read COLDPLAY, he wrote in "with Special Guests, The Calligraphers," which is the name of Craig's band. The astonishing part about this is that Craig didn't tell him to write that at all: Phil remembered not only Craig from previous meetings, but the name of his band. This is why I love these people: they not only are kind and gracious to their fans, they go above and beyond the call of duty when they don't have to and treat us not only like real people with feelings, but like their friends. We had a nice small chat with Phil again (he was wearing a t-shirt and a scarf, the idiot, so he didn't spend a ton of time with all of us), he said he'd see those also going to Newcastle tomorrow, and he signed my ticket for me.

I suppose that's really all I have to say about it all. In a nutshell, I'm still in shock that I got to go, and as long as I'm not still stranded here past Wednesday (and therefore miss Christmas at home), I will actually be glad my first flight was cancelled. Besides the sheer luck that's befallen me for the third time in these past few weeks concerning Coldplay, it was also one of my favorite gigs I've ever seen them play. And I got to meet Chris and Phil again, however briefly, which is always a lovely thing, to put it mildly. My photos are here, for those interested, and I'll try to get videos up soon, but I warn you that despite the good audio, they're shaky and you can hear me bellowing out the words as usual.

In the meantime, I'm recovering from the gig (I'm telling myself my tiredness and sore throat are from dancing and singing and being so excited last night and not an impending illness) and my thoughts don't stray far from the status of my Wednesday night flight. It's too early to say anything, but Heathrow has been a huge, huge failure in all this concerning both management of crises and customer service. They've cancelled 2/3 of all flights til Wednesday morning simply so everything is easier to work out from a clerical point of view, which I think is appalling. They've chosen to ruin tens of thousands of peoples' plans and Christmases simply so they can have an easier job of getting things back on track--as a huge airport with hundreds of huge airlines in it, you'd think they'd have enough combined human and brain power to get everything up and running again with minimal cancellations. At this point, I'm only 60-70% sure I will actually be getting out of here on Wednesday, and if my flight is cancelled again, it's almost guaranteed I will not be home in time for Christmas. And as indescribably grateful and happy I am to have been able to go to this gig, I would trade all three amazing Coldplay events I've had come my way these past few weeks just to get home safe and on time for Christmas.

Coldplay, Top of the Pops, and the Perfect Day.

Yesterday was an utterly perfect day. It just...was completely flawless. I don't think days like this come around that often. I'm going to start at the beginning, even though the newest installment in my Coldplay adventures is probably the main attraction, mostly because the day was just made up of little brilliant things. This is going to be another long one, so brace yourself.

My alarm went off at 4:30. This doesn't mean I got out of bed at 4:30: I'm one of these people that has to get used to the idea of getting up by setting three separate alarms 30 minutes apart. So I got out of bed at 5:30 and went about my business getting ready for the day. My original plan was to take the first bus at 6:45 to get me to the train station a little past 7 for my 8AM train, but upon realising it was still pitch black outside and looking up that the sun wouldn't rise til 8 anyway and knowing that the buses can be iffy, I decided to just call a taxi at 7. I mostly just didn't want to have to walk to the bus stop and wait for a bus that might not come til the last moment I could wait until in the dark. There's something creepy about early-morning darkness. I don't find late night darkness sinister at all, but there's just something unsettling about waking up to start your day alone when no one else is moving around in what seems like the entire city and it's still going to be dark for several hours. As SpongeBob said in the episode "Rock Bottom," "This is ADVANCED DARKNESS."

I tend to get really awesome cab drivers all the time, but I just really liked this one in particular. In a seven-minute journey, we started to break down the differences between London and New York in a surprisingly sophisticated discussion. I proceeded to wait for my train for about 30 minutes in the cold, which is about 40 minutes shorter than I usually wait because I'm always stupidly early. It was still dark when I boarded, which says something about the season and the latitude of where I live.

I started to read Simon Pegg's book on the train, and it is amazingly good. Not only is he just as hilarious on paper as he is on the screen, he's an amazing writer and a perhaps surprisingly good analyst. There's one whole chapter about the cultural and historical relevance of Star Wars that could be submitted as a college thesis (which he did, evidently) and get a good mark if you clean up a few instances of profanity. I blew through 200 pages of it because it's that fabulous.

I got into Liverpool Street at 10 and immediately texted my Coldplaying friends in queue. Evidently, there were about 50 people in queue at that point and it was rapidly growing. Dan, one of the guys who waited with me till the end at the "Christmas Lights" shoot two weeks ago, was saving me a spot at the front with him and his friend Sam, so I wasn't utterly paranoid, but I hate being that person that cuts in front of others just because I couldn't afford earlier train fare. I got to the BBC Television Centre at 10:40, and I estimated that where Dan, Sam and I were, we were 20 people down from the front of the queue. Turns out, when we got our numbered stickers, I was the exact 20th person in line. Yay for good estimation skills. I also met some new Coldplayers like Phil and Laura, and met up with Kara again for the third time in my life, which was very nice.

It was cold. I was only out there for an hour and a half, but I didn't have the distraction of Coldplay on a stage filming a video a few meters in front of me this time. I was wearing an absurd amount of layers, and even though I wasn't as cold as I think most people around me were, I was rather uncomfortable. But there's something I just love about queuing for something important, at least retrospectively. It's kind of like how the lead-up to Christmas is just as good as Christmas itself--all the excitement and anticipation is bubbling over, and you can share all of your emotions with the people around you, because they're feeling the exact same things. Of course, high levels of stress and worry are also involved when queuing, and often discomfort due to the elements or lack of food and bathrooms, but it's always worth it in the end, and you always seem to forget about those things when you look back on it all.

Why can't all gigs be run as smoothly as this BBC taping was? At noon, they opened the doors and went down the queue, issuing each person a numbered sticker to mark their place in line. We then went through security and were ushered into a heated audience waiting area with tables, chairs, a cafe, a BBC gift shop, toilets, and a coat check. Obviously all concert venues aren't going to have a plush waiting room for concert goers to relax in before the show, but I feel like issuing numbered stickers or wristbands would be a practice all parties would benefit from so people don't hurt themselves in the ensuing free-for-all to the front row after the gates open.

We were supposed to go into the studio at 1, but we were delayed by 40 minutes due to "sound problems." I kind of wanted to shout back "how can you have sound problems when there is no live sound?" but I was very clear on the farcical nature of the so-called live music on Top of the Pops and wasn't attending the taping to hear live music, so I didn't say anything. The wait made people antsy, though, and we all started to crowd around the door despite knowing that they would call us in by number in groups of 50s. I was most certainly antsy as well, but I knew I was going to get in that studio now and I had a good chance of being somewhere where I could see something, so I wasn't nearly as stressed as I would be if it had been a proper gig. We killed the time by talking about Coldplaying and the boat experience and EMI. Phil had brought along a lovely print-out of the group photo we all took on the top deck of the boat on the night of the Christmas Lights shoot, intending to get it to the band somehow as a thank-you. We weren't optimistic about it reaching its intended target, but we all signed our names to it anyway and thought it was a lovely idea that might mend some of the bad band-board vibes that have flown around since that night.

They eventually called all people with sticker numbers 1-50 to the door, and all of us in our little group slammed towards the front. With sticker number 20, I thought I had hopes of being in the second or third row, even though we were close to the front of the 50-group smashed in front of the door. A BBC lady led us through corridors and across an outdoor courtyard before stopping our group in front of the studio doors. There was lots of mild pushing and speed-walking disguised as running as there is at gigs. She then called numbers 1-10 to the very front, saying it was only fair they got to go in first out of the 50. I was actually thankful she did this, because it separated the group into one small clump at the front of 10 people and one big clump of 40 at the back, and our group was at the front of the 40. And then we went in one by one.

To my astonishment, Dan, Sam, Kara, Phil, Laura and I all got to be in the very front row. I couldn't believe my luck--every day leading up to this event in the past week, I got more and more worried that I wouldn't even get into the studio, let alone be anywhere where I could see anything. Unlike at proper concerts, where there's a gulf of space between the front of the crowd and the stage, there was nothing but a tiny 2-foot wide strip of space for cameramen to crouch. This was the closest I was ever going to get to the band short of when I met them two weeks ago. I ended up on the left side of the stage, Jonny's traditional side, nose-to-nose with the new blue painted piano with rainbow keys.

There was an MC sort of guy onstage with a microphone, whose job it was to get us amped up so we looked like we were having a good time on TV. I didn't really need any more amping up than I already was, but I played along and wore out my hands and arms clapping and voice cheering before Coldplay even got in the room. He played us "Sex on Fire" and the infernal "Tonight's Gonna Be a Good Night" to get us to sing along to as a warm-up, since everybody in the western world knows all the words to those songs by now. Halfway through the Black Eyed Peas, Dan gasped and said "LOOK!" and to my left, about three feet away from me, the boys of Coldplay had entered the room and stood on the floor with us. Chris was drinking coffee out of the largest travel mug I'd ever seen and they were all talking amongst themselves (and the three Elvises--Simon Pegg was traded out for Matt McGinn this time) and pinning flowers to their jackets at the last moment. I gave Will a huge smile and wave and he returned it (that man loves eye contact, God damn). The MC guy cut off the song before it was over, leaving relative quiet in the studio, except for Chris singing along "let's dooo it, let's dooo it," softly in a pseudo-American accent. I had to resist the urge to hug myself.

And then they took the stage. This is the ridiculously fangirly paragraph, so skip it if you want. But my positioning was perfect. Not only was I unthinkably close, but I could see every hair on Chris's arm and every pore on his face and make out the finer details of his A and M tattoos. He stuck his vat of coffee underneath the piano out of sight of the camera, which also happened to be right next to my face, and made eye contact with me. Unless I imagined it, he did a tiny sort of double-take that said "I know I've seen you before very recently, but I can't exactly remember when or where, sorry." This was completely fine with me, given the hilarity of our last encounter. Despite the fact I was once again terrified by his blue eye-lasers, I smiled wider and raised my hand in a wave, and he smiled back before turning to talk to Jonny. Maybe I made all that up like a fangirl, but I feel like there was definitely a tiny note of "hmm, you look awfully familiar" in his face. Kara said she saw him look at me funny too, I think, so I'm thinking I didn't imagine it.

Chris seemed nervous. He always is before TV performances and proceeds to muck them up every time, but before he even took the stage, his armpits were completely soaked through. He cracked off a host of self-effacing Chris-isms, claiming he couldn't even remember the note of the "ohhs" that we were to sing and asked Jonny to pluck out the note on his guitar. Jonny tried, but the instruments were just for show and it wasn't plugged in, let alone in tune. Chris then turned to the piano and pressed a key only to find it was a mock-up and didn't make a single sound. He said he'd forgotten all the words and asked us if we did, and said "thank fuck" in a relieved sort of way when we cheered that we knew it like the back of our hands. He then asked the crowd if any of us had been in the video for the song, and all the Coldplayers near the front raised our hands and cheered excitedly while everyone else seemed a bit bewildered. "So the rest of you will have no idea what I'm talking about! We had a video, it was like a big orgy, loads of drugs... and some of the Spice Girls," he explained.

They did three takes of the song. Besides Chris's singing and our vocal participation, it was 100% mimed to a backing track, as I knew it would be. I hope no one went into it thinking it would be a live performance, though. But for me, it wasn't about the music for once and more about the fun of the experience, and ultimately the coolness of being able to hang out in their presence for an hour and listen to them talk to each other and behave like normal humans and not celebrities. My favorite part of the entire day was being able to hear everything they said to one another, not just what Chris said through the microphone, and having them engage us as the audience in banter. This is actually a relatively complete transcript of everything that was said in the studio that one fan recorded on his iPhone, which is awesome to have, but I think simply because I was right in their faces, I heard more of what was said than his phone could pick up. It's stupid, but I always giggled to myself when I saw them doing or saying normal-people things that I would do, like when Chris picked at the flower in his hands distractedly, or when Will picked the confetti (ripped-up newspaper, like in the video) off his drum kit in between takes, examined the text on it, and then sniffed it before chucking it aside. As much as I do still idolize them like I think all fans do of their heroes, I think my last two experiences in watching them film their video and watching them film this TV spot has grounded them as more real people in my mind, which I think is a good thing. I always thought if I ever got to meet them I would behave badly, like a flighty overexcited little girl, but after you watch them just talk to each other and have massive pit-stain and shiver and complain about the cold, like I got to do on two separate occasions now, your perception of them changes, and I think that's what helped me behave normally, if not giddily, in front of them (minus the whole toilet-conversation I had with Chris last time, but that was just kind of a minor poor judgement call).

Some people in the crowd got obnoxious halfway through between takes, asking the guys if they could have their drumsticks and picks before they were even finished with them, which I just found pretty rude. I'd never ask for those things straight out anyway, as much as I would like to have them, but to shout and beg for them before they're even done just struck me as really annoying, but the guys took it in good humor. I did participate when Chris jokingly asked the MC guy "same song again?" before the next take and we all shouted what songs we'd rather have them play. Sam next to me shouted "SHIVER!" very loudly before I could even open my mouth to bellow the same and Chris rounded on him good-naturedly, "oh don't you start THAT!" Well, dears, if you know how badly we all want you to put it back in the setlist rotation, why not consider it? When someone else begged for them to play us just one more song before they left, he mischievously reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his pocketwatch and poshly said "hmm, I'm sorry, we haven't the time" with a smile and then proceeded to protest that didn't we want them to go back in the studio to finish the album, which I thought was adorable. I didn't think he would have a real pocketwatch in there, either.

Chris's voice was better than usual for TV, probably because this was taped and not broadcasted live and he wasn't as nervous. Jonny and Guy just messed around on their instruments randomly underneath the backing track. There was a snow machine and newspaper-confetti and real firework fountains around the stage, and of course, the three Elvises. Jonny looked particularly impressed, or at least pleased with the fact that the 300 of us were note and word perfect on the entire song that they had only released seven days earlier and did a lot of smiling down at us. I will undoubtedly be glaringly visible on BBC1 on Christmas Day, displaying embarrassingly heartfelt vocals, out of time hand clapping, and awkward arm-swaying dangerously hampered by the cameraman in front of me and the photographer in the crowd wedged behind me. I will cringe when I see it, but I don't care.

The whole thing seemed so short, and it was, but because I didn't expect it to be any longer or more elaborate than it was, and because I had a better time than I expected I would upon winning the tickets, I was more than satisfied. Literally the only thing that could have made it better was if when the band was coming offstage, Chris handed me the flower off his waistcoat rather than the girl next to me, who withered from happiness on the spot, but my Coldplay Karma has been so off the charts lately I don't deserve to ask for a single thing. Also as they were leaving, Phil actually got to hand the signed boat photo to Jonny! We thought he'd have to try to pawn it off on a BBC studio person to see if they could get it to the band, but he got to hand it straight to Jonny, who took it despite looking a bit bewildered as to what it could be. I just hope they actually open the folder to see what it is out of curiosity and say "that was nice of them, I'm glad some of them had a great time," before they chuck it aside. It was a wonderful conclusion to the event, since we didn't really expect to be able to deliver the photo to anyone at all.

After gathering our coats back out in the lobby, we walked across the street to the massive new Westfield mall and gorged ourselves on much-needed Burger King and reviewed the day. All of us agreed it was much, much more fun and rewarding than we thought it was going to be, and that we never expected to be right at the stage. I also said that I was actually somewhat glad photos were forbidden: even though I was positively itching to take pictures being that close, I find that at gigs, I'm very intent on getting good photos, and my attention can be divided sometimes. This time, it was nice to be able to 100% focus on what was going on in front of me, even if I do wish I could have a memory card filled with close-ups of the band for fangirly reas--I mean, posterity.

We departed back to our various trains. I'm usually absurdly early for things and end up awkwardly wasting time in Liverpool Street Station trying not to freeze to death or get slammed into by masses of people and keep my things from being stolen, but I arrived the very moment they announced the platform for my train and went straight there to wait in warmth. I listened to Coldplay on the way back, of course, reflecting on just how happy they make me and how this month in particular, they've put a happy sheen on my end-of-term work coma and saved me from the depths of rage and dispair I usually experience when trying to finish up the semester. I was still grinning like an idiot. I think the guy next to me was concerned he was sitting next to a psychopath.

I waited for my bus back in Norwich, still heartbreakingly happy, when my bus pulled up after almost no wait at all (WHAT WAS WITH EVERYTHING WORKING OUT SO UNUSUALLY WELL?) to reveal everyone's favorite driver, Clive on the 25, behind the wheel. I haven't seen him at all this semester and I couldn't help but burst out "CLIVE!" when he opened the doors and he smiled and said "alright, love?" I don't think he remembers me specifically, since there are thousands of students at UEA that ride that line, but he used to give me lifts across campus on his bus when I had my cast on my leg last winter, even when I didn't have my bus pass on me and he was out of service. He's just a lovely man that everyone loves, and it was so nice to see him again.

And upon getting off at my stop and walking up my street around 9PM, it was snowing fat, sticking flakes. Snow to me is like a vivid double rainbow to everyone else, and it was a perfect ending to the day as I sang "Christmas Lights" on my walk back. Everything was shockingly perfect, besides the fact I was so tired I was beginning to feel zombified and I had mounds of work waiting for me to complete, but I never expected this trip to be so worth it. I expected it to be a good day out with a few glimpses of the band over some heads, nothing more, but it turned into the second-most intimate experience I've ever had with regards to them, and when the first-most intimate is when you're actually talking to them one-on-one, this wasn't too shabby.

I could muse about the importance of music and the people who make it in my life, but I really need to go finish off my Batman essay, so thanks for sticking with all that if you read it, and all I really have to say is that Coldplay owns my soul.

In Which I Discuss Coldplay's "Christmas Lights" at Length.

So this is it:

I can't really describe how weird it is to see in polished-video format. Saying that makes me sound like I was some really integral part of making it, which I obviously wasn't, but to be on set watching them literally make the entire thing (minus the CGI, of course) makes me have this very odd relationship with it. It's like having a film already exist in your mind before its release--the different shots of this video already existed in my memory before yesterday. All that was left to put them in proper order and see it close up and be able to play it at will.

If I'm being brutally honest, as a video, I'm not in love with it. If I didn't have a personal connection to it and didn't know anyone in it or anything, I'd probably say "aww, cute, but eh, not even close to their best video." I maintain that even though I was on that boat singing and releasing those balloons, the boat is a ridiculously random thing to have in there. It kind of breaks the mood, if you ask me, and they didn't even use more than two seconds of us, which I have no bitterness about or anything, but I'm waiting for the drama to flare. But to me, my favorite part isn't being in the video even for a second, or singing on the track (although I find that bit really awesome), it was simply being on set the whole night and watching how a video is made. This isn't to say I'm not grateful for being on the boat or in the video, it's just to say that I had the most fun watching the process, regardless of who was on stage or what was being filmed. It was just a ridiculously happy coincidence that it got to be Coldplay.

Besides the "plot" of the video, I think the guys look pretty miserable. Maybe I only see this because I know they were pretty miserable on set due to the hour and the temperature and the fact that they couldn't get certain parts right and had to do them over and over, but I guess I think it's kind of unfortunate to put so much time and energy into making a video and have the artists/performers be less than thrilled-looking. See The Strokes' "12:51" for another example of this: they all look like they were unceremoniously roused from their beds with killer hangovers and would pay to be anywhere else. In this, Chris can barely look at the camera directly in certain parts, and his little dance moves lack their usual energy. The other boys usually look kind of shy, I suppose, so maybe that's not a change, but I watch the video and see exhaustion.

I love the video to death because I have a strong personal connection to it. I love it because it's the product of the best night of my life thus far, even though I didn't work on it. I love it because I'm literally a part of it. But secretly, I like this better, just because it is literally my memories of the night set to music and put together professionally:

(And hey, my fat face is even in it! See me with my friend Anna on the boat? I've been getting messages and people I don't even really know being like "oh hey, saw you in that Coldplay video.")

The song, though. I love the song. The first time I heard it, when they played it for us on the boat, I did really like it, but my first reaction wasn't "oh my GOD, this is one of the best things they've done in a while," it was "ooh, pretty, but totally predictable." And I do think it's predictable--it oozes Coldplay. But it's a holiday release, not a single off the new album or even a clue to the "new direction." Under those criteria, it doesn't need to be progressive and forward-looking in terms of style. In fact, my favorite thing about it is that it's almost backwards-looking in style: it's simpler than most of the stuff on their two most recent albums. It has subtle strings, yes, but the key word is subtle, and besides that, it really could be played almost live with just guitars, piano, bass, and drums, the way I think the best music is. It's less wall-of-sound and more reminiscent of what I believe to be their glory days, with a dash of VIVA style. And I love the lyrics: they're definitely more A Rush of Blood to the Head-like. I like that it's a little personal story about a relationship rather than something filled with abstract, oblique lines that you can't really imagine in your head. Chris is at his lyrical best with this more concrete style. It's sad but uplifting in the way only Coldplay can be.

I've listened to the song on repeat off and on for over a day now, and I have to say, the more I listen, the more I love it. I'm being careful not to overplay it, but I really think it's a grower of a track. Not that it needed to grow much: I thought it was beautiful on first listen. But I needed 100+ more listens, on the night at the shoot and after release, to realize that it's not actually just a pretty-yet-discardable Coldplay song, it's actually pretty damn great. I've always thought that their genius, their true worth, was very subtle, something inexplicable that a lot of the casual listeners who only like the singles (and obviously the haters) miss, and I think it's going full force in this song.

I suppose Chris said it best on BBC Radio One last night: "I don't want to be arrogant, but...it's not our worst song." That's a classic Chris-ism if I've ever heard one, but it sums it up perfectly: it may not be "Clocks," but it's absolutely fabulous all the same. And for a holiday song! They're usually crap, or at least cliche with sleigh bells or church choirs.

So speaking of Coldplay...I'm seeing them again next week on a total surprise whim. Last night they announced that they're going to be playing "Christmas Lights" on the Top of the Pops Christmas special, which records next Wednesday in London, and you can apply for free tickets on a first-come, first-serve basis. I debated not applying even though I don't have class on the day and it's a free chance to see Coldplay again, mostly because I really need to re-enter the real world and concentrate on my uni work in the final weeks of term, but also because it's a TV taping of a show that has notoriously bad performances, and it'll take me two hours to get to London for an hour-long event. But my friends convinced me to apply, so I did, thinking that because I hemmed and hawed for twenty minutes that I had no chance of winning...and I got the tickets emailed to me this morning. Now everyone's telling me that I should go buy a lottery ticket with the luck I'm having these days. I don't really believe in luck, or at least not luck that escapes beyond specific realms (I do believe in Coldplay Karma™, which all this obviously is), but it is kind of astonishing that for once all things are working out in the Coldplay World for me when usually I can't for the life of me ever get to see them without some huge drama over the timing. And I got to fricking be in a video and see it made and meet them and sing on a track. What?

But this whole Top of the Pops thing has me a bit nervous: apparently they can fit about 230 people in the studio, but they issue around 800 tickets and only the first 230 or so in queue make it into the studio at all. This means I need to get to London early. This means I need to wake up at the crack of dawn on Wednesday. Which is fine, because if I'm going to voluntarily wake up early it's going to be for Coldplay, but I do have an allergy to waking up early. Oh well. I'll see them "perform" "Christmas Lights," including rehearsals like the Today Show, and I might be on TV, and I might be right up against the stage, in their faces like never before (except that one time I met them...you know how it is), and my friends and I miiiiiiiight (slim chance) get the opportunity to meet them again. We'll see. But short of not making it to the studio in time and not getting in at all, it's going to be worth it, even if it's just an hour of Coldplay-ness. They're one of the most worth it things to me, even if I do some pretty crazy things to see them and throw caution to the wind.

Thanksgiving with Coldplay

I broke this into three parts to make it somewhat easier to skip to the good parts. You're a brave soul if you read to the end. But this is my story that so many people have been asking for.

Part I: Introduction

Everyone knows I’m a huge Coldplay fan. Not everyone knows I’ve been an active part of a pretty prominent fan board dedicated to the band for five years. It’s not something I’ve advertised: fan forums and the people that join them have strong negative stereotypes associated with them. Sure, there are the crazed fangirls and the borderline stalkers. But there is also a large percentage of everyday, thinking, logical people that can communicate well through the written word who just happen to love some band or some music very, very much for whatever reason. I like to count myself as one of these people. Though I haven’t been active on the board for about a year and a half now due to the real world getting in the way, it used to be my home away from home on the internet, and it was one of the things that got me through some hellish semesters at Dickinson. I’ve met some great people through that board, and have had some great opportunities.

Such as this boat trip. Last Thursday, the band emailed the owner of the forum (a friend of mine) saying that as a thank-you for being so supportive of the band for years, they’d like to throw a party on a boat in London for 100 members as chosen by the owner himself. At this party would be Phil, Miller, and Matt McGinn, three very prominent members of the Coldplay team. I applied for a pair of tickets and won. Besides the three members of the team that I was very much looking forward to talking to due to their jobs being basically exactly what I want to do with my life, there was also supposed to be a special “surprise” for us. We speculated wildly for a week as to what this might be. We assumed it was either a meet and greet with the band or a premiere of some new material.

Part II: The Boat

The boat was due to leave at 5PM from Butler’s Wharf Pier in London. I got there early, of course, because I’m a nerd like that. I could see people setting up, but no one else was around. Other Coldplayers started to trickle in and we made our introductions and reunifications. News had come only hours before arriving that not only would we not be able to Tweet on the boat, but we would not be able to take pictures, either. Debs (the band’s Jane-of-all-trades and fan liaison, basically my dream job), took our phones, cameras, and electronics at the door. It took a while for all 100 people to board, and rumors flew around about what was going to happen. Neither the band nor the three members of the team we were told would be there appeared to be on the boat, but there was significant sound equipment strewn around, in addition to a table of tea and biscuits and a table of sandwiches (the tabloids would have a field day with that: COLDPLAY SERVES TEA AND SANDWICHES TO FANS, SHOULD HAVE PROVIDED PIZZA AND BEER TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY). We caught the word “song” from the mouths of official-looking people around and tried not to explode from excitement.

Two guys with a megaphone started to talk to us. They were PAs for a film crew, and they informed us that we were not there to meet Phil and Matt and Miller after all, but to be part of Coldplay’s next music video for their new song due out on Wednesday. This had been one of the wilder suggestions for what the surprise might be on the board (as well as from my own mother), so it wasn’t a complete shock, but it sounded like a good surprise to me.

We were played the new song, “Christmas Lights,” off of one of the Coldplay crew’s iPhones. I thought it was great: it’s very “them,” very Viva-era sounding, and I definitely teared up the first time I heard it. We were taught to sing a portion of vocals from the middle, which we would sing in the video.

We had to sign very intense contracts. The first one was from the video production company, signing away our image to be used in any way they pleased. The second was from EMI, basically threatening our lives if we took photos, recorded audio or video, or talked about the video to anyone, especially on the internet, before its release. Later on we received news that EMI revised their position and we would be allowed to talk about it, because honestly, telling 100 massive Coldplay fans not to tweet or post or talk about being part of a video for a week and expecting them to agree is just naïve.

And then we all bundled up and went to the top, open-air deck of the boat. We were driven to South Bank on the boat, between the OXO Tower and the National Theatre, where a film set was set up and Coldplay were. The boat was anchored a bit offshore, so we couldn’t see anything of the guys or the set besides the camera shooting us and the lights on us, but it was thrilling anyway. We were each given a balloon, and were instructed to let go of them at a specific point in the song we were singing along to (which they will actually track onto the song: they recorded us singing hundreds of times with huge mics). We did four takes over the course of two hours. It was kind of a riot: being told hundreds of times through a megaphone “LET GO OF THE BALLOON ON THE FOURTH ‘OHH’” and “THIS IS JUST A REHEARSAL, DO NOT LET GO OF YOUR BALLOON ON THIS ONE.” It was freezing and we were all politely cutthroat about being at the railing so we’d be visible, but it was just a blast, to me, anyway. I was in the very front for all but one take with my new best friend forever Jamie, so I think I’m going to be pretty visible in the video. It was cold and a bit like being in school, but I thought it was epic fun. Chris Martin spoke to us over a walkie-talkie telling us how great we sounded and how much he appreciated us being in their video, and the guys waved to us from shore.

Afterwards, they opened the bar (which we had to pay for, which a lot of people find “unfair) and set up Coldplay karaoke and it was a very nice party. I had a pint, which would damn me later. I didn’t take very many pictures or anything, even though I should have—we didn’t have our cameras or phones most of the time anyway. It was nice to just talk to so many of the people I’ve known for yearsonly through the internet, or only through meetings at concerts. It’s also a shame, though, because there’s so much going on and so many people that you just can’t talk to everyone. I missed out on really talking to a bunch of people. But I would like to say that I love Debs Wild. This is not news, but she’s just such a nice person, and so lovely to talk to, even if I didn’t interrogate her about the music industry or ask for advice for someone like me. I got a shite picture with her, and she’s just so adorable. I want to be Debs Wild.

Since the trip, a lot of people have expressed disappointment with what went down. I am not really one of these people. I was very open-minded about the whole adventure from the time I found out I was going, and thought at the very least, I would hang out with friends for an evening. I do see where they’re coming from, though: lots of people flew out from all over the world thinking they would get a Q&A session with Phil and Matt and Miller. I think Coldplay HQ should not have used something that was not going to happen as a front to get people to come, but at the same time, I think being part of their music video forever is just about as good as a surprise. Several people do not agree. Fine, to each their own, and everyone’s entitled to their opinion. But some of the posts I’ve seen on the board are borderline disrespectful, to both the people that made the evening happen and the hundreds of fans that would have loved to be there in their places but couldn’t have been. Complaining that we had to pay for our own drinks is just lame, as is thinking Coldplay HQ lured us onto that boat with lies only to use us as free extras in their video. Can we just be happy with what we got? It was an amazing chance, and so many people would have loved to be there.

Part III: The Set

We pulled back into the pier around 10. A few of us decided to go back to South Bank on the off chance the band was still shooting. We, or I should say I, wasn’t getting my hopes up about them sticking around: making millionaire celebrities work late hours in the freezing cold seemed like a stretch, but we were going to try. We walked along the river for about half an hour to get to where the shoot was, and the scenery and security were still there and everything. We freaked out and asked security what our limits were. They let us watch as long as we didn’t take pictures, again, for confidentiality reasons.

We arrived on the set at about 11PM. The band was there on the stage, shooting takes of their part of the video right there in front of us, in plain sight. It was too exciting for words. I determined one of the extra three men onstage was my personal favorite actor Simon Pegg, a good friend of the band, and proceeded to get even more excited. One of the other men was good old Phil, fifth member of Coldplay and former band manager.

It was fascinating to see how a film set worked, regardless of who was being filmed for what reasons. I can freely say I would hate to be an actor: in front of a camera, repeating the same lines or lyrics and actions for hours and hours, potentially ruining a take with one muscle flinch or giggle or technical mishap. The crew told us they were hours behind schedule, and we saw quite a few errors being made and issues being worked out. Tensions were high, to say the least, but it wasn’t a complete shambles, either. We saw some brilliant, perfect takes. We also got to hear “Christmas Lights” about 400 times. It’s not even released yet and I know all the words.

It was between 25 and 31 degrees Fahrenheit plus windchill. I will not lie and say I wasn’t uncomfortable, but I have a pretty high tolerance for cold, and the crew (who were so kind and gracious to us, and fun to talk to throughout the night) shared hand warmers and promised us hot drinks. My main concern that I had to pee desperately, and had had to since about 10:30. It was late, and London is not a city known for having many public bathrooms, or places open that late at night that would let you use their toilet. I toughed it out for hours, though. The cold was kind of a blessing in that sense: I didn’t feel my legs cramping or my feet swelling or back aching or bladder bursting after awhile.

Phil came over and talked to us for a while, a good while. We talked about the boat and he answered some Coldplay-related questions for us, like how he came up with the name “Politik” (he was impressed we knew that he was the one that did: it’s from Karl Marx’s realpolitik, which isn’t exactly hard to work out). He told us “not to catch our deaths.” He said he meant to be on the boat with us, but got asked to be in the video instead. I said that made total sense, but I was actually looking forward to the Q&A with him, and he apologized and I said there was no need to, because we were talking now. But what a nice man. Oh my gosh.

Over time, several of our small number departed due to work in the morning or last trains home or frostbite. By 1AM, there were six of us left. I decided at about 1:45 that I might be doing medical damage to myself by holding my bladder for that many hours, and went on a trek for a toilet at risk of missing what we had been waiting there for all night. Security told me how to break in to the toilets at the nearby OXO Tower, and I took off at a run, but 20 minutes later, had no luck in getting beyond metal grates that stood between me and three separate ladies rooms. I gave up, partially because my bladder had turned to steel, and partially because I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that I was missing something great.

I ran back to set only to see the other five people I had been with walking away. I approached them demanding them to tell me what happened, and they said Chris Martin had just come over to them, had hugged them and talked to them, and had signed their things and taken photos. I missed him by three minutes. My heart started to break on the spot. I didn’t freak out or start to cry, but I felt utterly crushed. The first thing that popped into my head was the line from Coldplay’s “Animals:” I missed my chance by a stone’s throw. I clutched the barrier on the side of the set, close to the stage, and was trying to make myself OK with what I missed. My new friends Daniel and Graham offered to stay with me a while longer to see if Chris would come over again, but I was pretty resigned to my missed chance.

And then Chris called out to me from the stage. He said hi. I gave a smile and said hi back, saying I was sorry if he heard me, but I was just a bit sad that I’d missed him. He said “I’m sorry,” and I said, “it’s not your fault, it’s mine. I just picked the wrong time to go find a toilet.” He laughed and said, “when you gotta go, you gotta go!” This cheered me up. It cheered me up to the point where my mouth got the better of me, as it often does. “Well,” I said back, “the worst part is, none of the toilets are open anymore! I’ve still got to go! ARGH!” And Chris laughed and said “oh no, I’m sorry!” or something to that effect before Matt Whitecross (the director, who is awesome) had to call him back to attention.

I felt a bit better about things, even if I did just have a conversation about my bladder with Chris Martin. I was ready to just leave only half sad, but Graham and Daniel said they wanted to stay on anyway to see if they could meet the rest of the band. I was hesitant, because Chris already saw me being upset that I missed him and I was embarrassed, but I stayed. About ten minutes later, Chris got a break and came over to us again. I said that I was sorry if I caused a scene a few minutes before, and he said “not at all. What’s your name?” I told him my name was Chelsea, and he said “oh, hey Chelsea, I signed your book a minute ago,” and sure enough, the boys had given him my copy of Roadie to sign while I was on my toilet trek. He wrote my name in and everything. He stuck out his hand and said “I’m Chris.” I’m Chris. Damn, you’re Chris? I was waiting for Pope Benedict. We shook freezing cold hands. This is going to sound supremely fangirly, but I couldn’t really look him in the face after I realized just how blue his eyes were. I said my bit about how much his band means to me and thanked him for how happy he’s made me and hundreds of other people, all the cliché lame stuff. He took a quick photo with me, which turned out TERRIBLE, but that’s OK. I think I could tell he was just tired and ready to go home, and I felt bad taking him away from set for a silly fan picture, but he was just so, so nice to come over to me despite all that. These guys are such good people.

I was ready to be satisfied with that, but I stayed on with Graham and Daniel to catch the rest of the band. And catch them we did. Around 3AM, a bunch of cars pulled round to the back of the set, so we went back there. Guy came out first—he looked worse for wear and was a bit cheesed off and in a rush to get out of there, but he was still nice. I didn’t push him to sign my book, though, and we’re both looking a bit off in the photo. Jonny came out next. He also looked exhausted, but seemed excited that we had been on the boat and thanked us for doing that, and apologized for how cold it was, like it was his fault or something. And finally there was Will. Oh, Will. He came right over to us and hugged me and asked us a bit about the boat and took pictures with us and signed things, and acted nothing like he’d spent all night playing the same thing over and over and making nice to the camera over and over. To him, it was 11AM in the morning after a good night’s sleep, not 3AM after working all night in freezing temperatures. I apologized for keeping him from getting in the car to go home and he just looked at me right in the eye and laughed and said “there’s nothing to be sorry about, you’ve just been in our video for us, this is the least I can do,” or very close to that. The sincerity made me wilt in sheer love.

All of this may sound stupid to other people. When I’m being honest, I think it really is ridiculous how much I care for this band, for music and general, but music is just my thing. It always will be. I don’t have a rational explanation for why music and some of the people that make if affect me so much, and I don’t really feel like I need one. But I will honestly say that this was one of the best days of my life so far. There was nothing I would have changed, except for perhaps discussing my bathroom needs with Chris Martin, but even that is just comically mortifying, a good story.

I do write my name and date and location in all my books like a nerd, OK?

I found this in my bag the following morning--I had no idea the guys had gotten me one of these too while I was on my toilet adventure

And that was my Thanksgiving 2010.