When you can't keep on keeping on
And everything you lean upon is all but gone
Everybody falls sometimes
But love shines on
And on and on and
With love in your eyes and a flame in your heart
You're gonna find yourself some resolution
A million miles with one step
You'll find yourself yet
Walking with the revolution
JC sat in his hotel room, looking out at the north-eastern skyline, well, what he could see of it anyway. The receptionist called it ‘fret’, which he took to mean the horrible thick, wet fog covering the whole of the city. Within minutes of stepping out of the door he was soaking wet and his hair had turned into a giant frizz-ball the size of the Grand Canyon. He’d given up the idea of shopping and had come straight back in to dry off and try to reduce the hair back to normal ‘fro size.
Newcastle sucked. Big Time.
He should be having the time of his life, what with his number 1 album and sell out tour. It hadn’t been easy, he’d had to work his ass off getting here, but finally here he was, the biggest solo star of 2005 and he was pissed off, jaded and annoyed. Nothing was right in this wet, horrible country. No wonder thousands had left it for America all those years ago. For example, today, he’d ordered a sandwich from room service. Ham and cheese, what could go wrong there? It had come on some weird round bread, cut into triangles and covered in flour! Someone had stuck his or her finger in it too! The waiter had called it ‘stottie’, to him though it was just damn weird. What was wrong with plain ole sliced bread, or a roll? Not some strange local bread thing.
It had actually tasted okay, once he’d got hungry enough to actually try it. Sort of chewy and dry, but light and moist at the same time, it was odd. Same as the rest of this weird ass country. Nothing was normal, the food, the alcohol, the people. JC rested his head in his hands. He just felt as if something was missing, something that he couldn’t put his hands on, couldn’t get close to, couldn’t reach out and grasp.
He was playing two nights at Newcastle Telewest Arena, then an intimate club night at the Riverside, for the over 18 fans. He’d done the first of the two big ones tonight and he felt like shit. It had gone okay, the fans had enjoyed it, but he’d just not felt right.
He sighed, loudly, trying again to see through the thick fog and failing miserably. It wasn’t Newcastle that sucked, it was his life. He sucked. It was obvious in the beginning that no one liked his music. He’d had to compromise, release a ballad, do the talk show circuit, even pretend to date a couple of blond, buxom celebrities. Hell, he’d had to tour with Jessica Simpson! How demeaning was that! In the end though, it had worked out, people had got to know his music, people had picked up, seen where he was coming from, seen the man and the music behind the boy band hype. It was such a shame that he thought himself that he’d sold out, betrayed himself by playing the corporate game, being a puppet once again.
There was no motivation, no love. Nothing making him want to get onstage anymore, nothing for him to love. His life was North Eastern fret. Useless, but hanging around. Bringing everyone down.
The next night on stage, he only put 50% into it, people seemed to realise and there were a few boos from the front. JC Chasez, not performing at 110% was unknown, he’d never done it before, but it felt good. He felt empowered, as if he’d taken back some of the control over his life. Never mind the fandom rocking with the reports of half-effort. Never mind the fact that his ‘people’ were getting worried. He just stared out at the fog over the Tyne and didn’t care.
“JC. What the hell are you on?” JC rubbed his eyes as he was rudely awoken by a very familiar voice. He opened one eye and confirmed his brain’s suggestion that the irritating person poking him in the side was indeed one Mr Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick.
“The fuck, Chris? What you doing here?” he asked, before turning away and hiding under the bed sheets. Confused as to why someone he hasn’t seen or heard from in over 3 months is suddenly sitting on the edge of his bed.
“I’m here for you, fuckwit. You’re losing the plot, man. Have you seen the internet? You’re not right, man. I’ve come to see if I can help” Chris stopped poking JC and pushed himself up onto the bed properly, leaning his back against the headboard, playing with JC’s curls.
“I’m fine.” JC muttered.
“No you’re not. Get dressed. We’re going out.”
An hour later, JC and Chris were standing in front of what seemed to be a big rusty bit of metal, in the shape of a man, with big aeroplane wings. They were on a hill, cars streaming past them not 100 yards away heading north on the A1M.
“Chris, it’s cold, it’s damp and it’s windy. Why are we here?” JC muttered, burying himself further into his big woollen coat.
“C. Welcome to the Angel of the North. It’s a big ass rusty statue, for sure. But it’s so much more than that. It’s a symbol, a symbol that where there was once hope which turned to despair, hope can once again take hold. Where we’re standing used to be a pit. Coal. It shut down, as did a lot of the pits in this area. The people were left without work, without hope.”
“Then, out of nowhere, someone decided to put a big structure up here, on the top of an old mine shaft. People laughed, saying why should our money be spent on something which is going to rust, that looks like an odd aeroplane. What is it going to do for us.”
“It got approved though, and it got put up. Now it stands, welcoming people into the North East. It’s seen as a vision of hope, a vision of what was and what could be. Something that people can see, take pride in. This rusty statue has touched an entire country. People know it, people respect it, people travel to come and see it. When I got the phone call saying that you weren’t yourself, I googled Newcastle. All I got was things about this Angel. This isn’t a city of depression, no matter what the weather is like. It’s a city of hope.”
Chris looked JC in the eye, and lent in towards him. His lips barely touching his once bandmates.
“It’s a city where what once was can be changed, and a new future made. Where people can take a chance and succeed. Are you willing to take that chance?”
Their lips met again, this time with more passion and need, and as the north-eastern winds ripped around them, the two men stood, oblivious to all, making their future underneath the Angel.
Number of reviews: 0
Print:
