Friday. Hurry. Bus 25, O'Connell Street, Grafton Street, Harcourt Street in a hurry, a club door, an exceptionally nice security guy punches stamp on the inside of my right wrist and warns me not to smear the red coat cuff. I refuse the idea of double gin & tonic because the bars are obstructed with tipsy gay guys. The entire space is filled with slightly older intellectuals, ultra-young gays and some attractive personalities, and a few cabaret-inspired girls. We all trying to get as close to the stage as we can and waiting for Alison's golden curls to float uncontrollably. There is an active fight for personal space. And here she appears, a goddess in transparent voice, a princess in pioneer electronics and an ambient shadow primadonna in one, wearing a pink-ethnic robe with a glow of the fluorescent sun and no fear of barefoot on stage. And the performance begins… from the beginning, Alison sings "Human". Around the third line, tears run down my cheeks. And...
My life in words, pictures and emotions