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Everything can wait when your favorite song plays


You don't even have to like a group to go to their concert; the greatest spectacle is that of the public

From time to time, I put on YouTube one of my favorite videos of all time: the one of Dustybun and Suziepooh, as they call each other, singing

Never Ending Story

at the end of the third season of

Stranger Things.

Dusty connects Suzie by radio to find out Planck's constant, she reproaches her for the time she hasn't talked to him ("I was busy saving the world from Russians and monsters," Dusty replies) and, to give him Planck's constant, she He says “I want to hear it”.

And Dusty begins to sing: “Turn around / Look at what you see”.

Since I've seen the video two million times, I have recorded all the details (Erica's face when Dusty starts, that fantastic opening of the eyes and the gesture of him looking away to be less embarrassed).

The other characters, who are effectively saving the world from Russians and monsters, resignedly eat the song on the radio to finally find out Planck's constant.

But first, a change wrought Dusty.

When Suzi joins in on the song ("Make believe I'm everywhere / Given in the light"), Dusty smiles and goes upstairs, forgetting everything: that a monster is hot on his friends' heels, that other friends are about to discovered and shot by the Russians, that the world is minutes away from being plunged into chaos and destruction.

Even those threatened seem to understand, a little dazed, the situation: anything can wait when your favorite song plays.

There is no more definitive cultural expression or with more scope.

That moment when, at a concert, the group plays the song that you sing loudly at home, the song that you put on in the morning, the one that you play before going out to dinner;

the song that your parents listened to, the songs that played as a child when you went on a car trip,

You don't even have to like a group to go to their concert;

the greatest show is that of people who find themselves sharing everything that makes them happy or reminds them of happiness, even their most intimate misfortunes.

And gathered, singing.

A friend of mine says that she knows of no worthwhile day when no one, even for a few seconds, sings.

Or, if she is surrounded by people, think about singing.

Or sing to yourself, unconsciously, with a song stuck in your head.

Like the verses of

Martín Fierro,

by José Hernández (recited by Calamaro in

Estadio Azteca):

“Thanks I give to the Virgin, / thanks I give to the Lord.

/ Because in the midst of so much rigor / and having lost so much, / I did not lose my love of singing / nor my voice as a singer”.

I was always impressed by the story of the Michael Jackson trial.

One of the pieces of evidence consisted of footage from a documentary he shot at Neverland;

the movie started with

Billie Jean,

and several members of the jury that judged him for sexual abuse of minors could not help but move their legs to the devilish and fascinating beat of the chords.

When Suzie and Dusty clip her voices over her radio it's wonderful to see her moving around the room as if she were on stage, and him, embarrassed a second before, walking past everyone listening.

How long is a song you like, three minutes?

There is always time to kill the monster.

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Source: elparis

All news articles on 2022-06-29

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