A Confession

I have a confession to make. I have a man crush.

Now I’m not embarrassed about this fact. Time was when it would be taboo…but all the success of recent popular Hollywood bromances (Superbad, Sherlock Holmes and Tallageda Nights to name but a few), it’s now just as ordinary as wearing a green one-sie complete with purple top-hat and neon sequined wellies in Shoreditch.

But I digress – back to my man crush. It’s the lavishly lyrical lead singer of the Arctic Monkeys, contemporary poet, and all round cool-mother ******, Alex Turner.

               

And as luck would have it, I just so happen to be going out with a girl who knows a guy who’s friends with a dog who once slept with a duck who used to swim in the back yard pool of a guy who used to be someway involved with the Arctic Monkeys. So Alex and me are basically best mates already. But again, I digress.

Through my lil’ lady’s connections (sexist or cheeky? You decide), we managed to swindle ourselves a pair of tickets to see Mr. Turner and co. rocking - and I do mean rocking - their stuff at The O2 (VIP suite, thank you very much!) and he, and they, were...outrageous!

The entire arena was awash with such original artistry, such deserved confidence and such magnetic swagger...man...at one point, I think it was in the gap before the final barnstorming flourish of Brianstorm,  Alex and the band took a moment…the echo of the previous drumbeat still reverberating around the 23,000 seats (which were all full by the way)…and Alex paused…and paused…staring out into the audience...everyone just waiting for the emphatic exuberance of the final crescendo led by the unmistakable work of Matt Helders to signal the song's continuance...and he holds...he holds...30 seconds have gone by now...and still he holds…and he pulls out a comb from his back pocket, fixes his (impeccable Greaser style) hair...and looks out again and holds the gaze of 23,000 strangers all hanging expectantly for the next notes...and after a nice even minute of growing expectation and unbearable anticipation...he collects his pick, and with a series of almost invisible strokes, his guitar, the band, the speakers, the stage and the sweating stampeding spirit soaring crowd bursts into life as the Brianstorm finale drenched us all in the energy, exuberance and raw swagger that epitomises what Rock and Roll is all about!

I mean come on - that's balls...that's sheer, what you see is what you get, look me in the eye and I'll tell you who you are, balls! Phewee! So, my ladies, lords and gentlemen, that is why I’ve got a man crush on Alex Turner.

Care to disagree? Pah – you can’t disagree with that. The guy’s a single-handed tour de force! And there’s nothing as enviable as swagger – it’s just completely captivating. And I for one think Turner pulls it off with effortless aplomb. 

Just a thought…