What spurs you on to book concert tickets? Or more to the point, what makes you fork out the considerable amount of money needed to see a favourite artist perform live? You know the tunes backwards, so you can sing along; you’ve seen them on stage before and know they put on a great show; or perhaps you’re getting pressured into it by a small(er) person.
Or it could be a combination of these. In my case, when Icónica Fest here in Seville (15 June – 22 July) announced its line-up of artists for this year’s (third) edition, back in March, the name that jumped out at me immediately was Nile Rodgers & Chic. Like any normal 1970s child, I have a deep and abiding passion for disco, soul and funk.
Icónica takes place in Plaza de España, a monumental building in the middle of our largest park, Maria Luisa, where Sevillano families perambulate of a weekend, go running, do yoga, walk their dogs, and escape from the searing city heat. The plaza – a semi-circular brick edifice decorated with tiled panels depicting each region of Spain, enclosing a circular area with central fountain – was originally designed by architect Anibal Gonzalez for concerts at Seville’s Ibero-American Exposicion in 1929. It is spectacularly lit up at night for the Icónica Fest concerts.
The night of this show, Wednesday 12 July, saw temperatures still in the high 30s C as dusk fell. The silver, sale-reduced sequinned trousers that I had snapped up a few days previously, with both this and the other concert in mind, were left at home in favour of something lighter and thinner. A sparkly top added the right touch. I bumped into lots of other British and Irish people at the gig, drinking overpriced beer in the bar area before the show started. It was easy to get to the front, from where we had an excellent view of the whole band.
500 million+ albums
Nile Rodgers, for anyone who isn’t aware, is a musician, composer and producer who has written, produced and performed on albums that have sold more than 500 million copies. Prolific doesn’t even begin to describe him. Rodgers wrote, with this creative partner Bernard Edwards, the dancefloor-filling bangers for Chic in the 1970s – think Everybody Dance, I Want Your Love, Le Freak (whose chorus was originally “Aaa, f***off, apparently), and Good Times.
But he also penned hits for huge stars like Diana Ross (I’m Coming Out, Upside Down), Madonna (Like A Virgin and Material Girl), and Bowie (Let’s Dance and Modern Love). Sister Sledge’s He’s the Greatest Dancer and We are Family, classic disco anthems, were also his work. I bet you didn’t know that he wrote Lady (Hear Me Tonight) for French group Modjo (this was news to me), or Rapper’s Delight by the Sugarhill Gang. Is there no end to this man’s talents? In 2015, Chic released their first album in two decades and they played at Glastonbury in 2017. His longevity matches that of the Rolling Stones.
Disco glamour
That is just a few seconds form his highlights reel. The man is a legend in his dreadlocks and trademark beret, bearing a diamante Chanel badge and matching shades (he’s the current face oh the brand’s eyewear). At this concert, he performed with Chic’s two amazing singers, Kimberly David and Audrey Martells, who wore glamorous, wafty 1970s dresses appropriate for the steamy night temperatures and looked as sexy and slinky as it gets. They stopped to fix their faces several times – no amount of make-up setting magic is going to survive under lights in that heat. How the men coped in their suits is anyone’s guess.
The band kicked off with a medley of Chic’s greatest hits – although this is understandable when Rodgers’ back catalogue is the size of Minnesota, and time is limited, I would have liked to hear full-length versions of these much-loved tunes. Another favourite was Get Lucky by Daft Punk.
During Thinking of You, photos of some huge names with whom he has worked over the years were projected on to the rear screen.
The lady singers performed all these classic numbers brilliantly, especially the Sister Sledge and other soul numbers, while the keyboard player took on the David Bowie tunes, and looked as if he understood the weight and significance of his role. Hearing all these classics from the 1980s was like a time-machine back to my teenage years.
While enjoying this relaxed, stress-free experience – close to the stage, plenty of space to get one’s groove on, and easy to reach (I was lucky that the venue is 20 minutes’ drive from my home, and I was dropped off and picked up right next to the park) – I was very much of aware of the difference with my next musical experience, two days later – Harry Styles in Madrid, on Friday 14 July.
This was my daughter’s combined birthday-and-Christmas present, which I consented to under considerable duress, wondering what on earth all the fuss was about – some bloke from a boy band in a tight-fitting spangly suit turning out decent pop tunes. She insisted, I relented, and the train tickets and hotel were booked.
Who are the Harries?
Harry fans are a breed apart – the outfit is carefully curated, and will inevitably feature a brightly coloured feather boa, sequins, sparkles and generally shininess, including “face jewels”, and probably a cowboy hat edged in feathers. Customised denim is also popular, especially with his initials on the back pockets.
In my daughter’s case, new customised platform boots, adorned with “Love On Tour”, “Fine Line” and Matilda”, as well as a “TPWK” – one of his songs, and slogans, “Treat People With Kindness”. Accessories – earrings, necklace, rings – must also be chosen with care and attention to detail – this tour was all about hearts. As you’d probably expect, the large majority of the audience were teenage girls aged around 13 to 19, with plenty of parents accompanying them.
Queuing for the concert
The venue, a large flat patch of land with no permanent infrastructure, was located in the Villaverde district of southern Madrid, next to the M45 motorway (a “dusty field”, as Harry accurately called it). It was also used recently for Mad Cool festival, and is a new venue for this year.
My daughter had hatched a plan with her two older cousins – they would come at 6am to bag a spot in the queue (behind those who had already been camped outside the venue for up to nine days) , and other friends would arrive in subsequent shifts to hold the place. Thankfully it was in the shade of a pine tree, as the day was blisteringly hot, with a hairdryer-hot wind blowing in over the field next to us. Firemen came to hose people down, and when the queue moved into the sun, I was thankful for my wide-brimmed hat (decorated with sequins, obviously) and white anti-sun umbrella.
Corralled for two hours in full sun
At around 4pm – we’d joined the queue at 1pm, taking a Cercanias train from Atocha after arriving from Seville earlier that morning – there was rush into the entrance area of the venue. We were then kept in a holding pen with no shade for two hours. People sat down in the cramped space, while I chose to stand up, catching any breeze. Without my hat and parasol, I would undoubtedly have gone the way of the many poor souls who succumbed to the heat, being taken away out of the sun by ushers.
I tried my best to shade my daughter, whose fair skin was burning, covering her up with my sarong. The conditions were more akin to how some authorities might treat unfortunates who have arrived illegally in a country and were being deported, rather than people who had paid to see a show. We had chosen to be there. Everyone deserves to be treated with a degree of dignity and respect: none on show there.
I won’t dwell on this any further – you only have to read any Spanish newspaper from last Saturday, or look at furious comments on promoter Live Nation’s social media accounts, to gauge the strength of feeling among those who attended the concert. I will also be making reclamations from both the Madrid City Council and the Autonomous Community of Madrid.
Separated by sun and shade
When we were finally allowed in, I could not spend another minute under the blazing sun. My daughter and her cousins (one of whom is in her 20s) sprinted towards the stage to get as near as possible (we were in the marvellously Spanglish “Pista Back”, or the rear section; the best views were from Pista Front and “pods”, small, enclosed areas right in front of the stage).
Thankfully there was plenty of shade next to one of the bars, with tiny bottles of water for 2 euros. I have to confess that I didn’t move for the next hours, and kept in contact with the rest of my group by phone.
When Harry was about to come on stage, I had to decide whether fight my way through a tightly-packed crowd, carrying a large backpack, or stay nearer the back and resign myself to seeing him on screen only, rather than in the flesh, and without sharing the experience with my daughter. I chose the latter, and while my daughter was sad that we couldn’t watch it together, we had known beforehand that this might happen. In any other circumstances I’d have felt despondent at being separated, but the atmosphere was warm (literally and figuratively) and friendly, so I just enjoyed it knowing that was safe with her cousins.
The indefinable magic of Harry
I was never a die-hard follower of Duran Duran or Spandau Ballet as a child – I loved pop music, but wasn’t obsessed with any particular artists. I never saw any major stars play live in stadiums. On this occasion, I didn’t know most of Harry’s songs – more recent ones like As It Was (which has an Aha-style riff) and Music for a Sushi Restaurant, yes, but not firm fan favourites like Matilda or Medicine, as mentioned on my child’s footwear (which was much admired, although proved tricky in our epic trek home afterwards).
So I came with no preconceptions – the concert was a big deal for my daughter and nieces, but I was just along for the maternal ride. As soon as Harry came on stage, bouncing with energy, he captivated the entire field of 65,000 people. I’ve never seen such a bundle of charisma, dressed up in a gleaming silver suit. His force of life was extraordinary, and he soon had everyone eating out of the palm of his hand, calling the madrileños (and us visitors) by their local nickname of chulapas, as well as guapetonas (gorgeous).
Several times Harry had to stop in the middle of songs to indicate a person who had passed out from the heat, saying “Give them water, someone is coming to help”, which does not reflect well on the organisers. He asked people to let him know if anyone was “down” – if they needed assistance, and many did. His concern was genuine, and so I sincerely hope that news of how we were treated before and after the show reaches him.
Being in the crowd
It’s hard to describe the sense joy that suffused the 65,000-strong crowd – perhaps like flamenco concept of duende. Everyone was affected by Harry’s life-affirming performance, moving between soft yet intense ballads like Fine Line and Matilda, and more upbeat, dancier numbers like Sign of the Times. I was disappointed not to be able to see him in person, apart from as a tiny figure in the distance, obscured by a lighting rig, but being in the presence of such an enormous talent was an experience in itself. The songs themselves move from pop to R&B to disco, with some funky influence too.
Harry’s backing band was phenomenal, with an unusually large number of women. Yes, they were backing singers, but they were also drummer, pianist, and bass guitarist. Female musicians also played trumpet and sax, which I found extremely encouraging as role models for girls in an industry where such instruments are predomidantly played by men.
You didn’t get waves of testosterone coming off the male musicians either, including the keyboard player, the incredibly talented Niji Adeleye. This article has plenty of information about his band. It was guitarist Mitch’s birthday, and Harry presented him with a cake on stage, and everyone sang to him. Harry loves to involve his fans, as I discovered – he revealed the sex of a pregnant Gibraltarian woman’s baby, after building up the anticipation among the crowd (it was a girl).
The danciest numbers were kept till the end, with the famous brass YMCA intro tagged on to the beginning of Music for a Sushi Restaurant, an up-tempo burst which worked brilliantly, then As It Was and Watermelon Sugar. Harry’s star quality is undoubted, as is his dedication to giving his fans his all, telling them “You’ve changed my life over and over again”, although he also comes across as playful and spontaneous, looking as if he’s having the time of his life.
The aftermath
When it was all over, the journey home was a nightmare, thanks to the lack of organisation and signage: it took 2.5 hours, as opposed to the easy 30-minute trip earlier in the day. Questions need to be asked, and they will – Instagram is seeing a movement of people who will make a formal complaint to the authorities.
Returning to the essence of what makes a great performer – it’s a mix of the look (his wardrobe is always fabulous and fun, and he has a strong individual style), the attitude, the engagement with fans, and of course the music. A friend who had seen Harry play at Wembley recently, where she said he seemed tired at the start of his performance, told me that I’d become a convert. “Yeah, right,” I thought. I’m a 50-something woman – not exactly in line for a teenage heartthrob. Then, when we were playing back videos from the concert in our hotel the next morning, I found myself overcome with emotion, welling up at the memory. Why? I guess he touched me, and now I am indeed a “Harrie” – and have already learned many of the songs, less than 48 hours later.
I spent the train journey back to Seville reading the newspapers’ accounts of the night’s activities – all unfailing positive about Harry, and wholly negative about the venue and its organisation (as were stewards who had worked there).
When we arrived at Seville train station, I thanked my daughter for suggesting we go and see Harry. Before leaving, I had told her I was extremely apprehensive about what a long, hot and uncomfortable day it was going to be. So when I told her how grateful I was that she had insisted going, or I never would have seen Harry Styles play live, she looked puzzled, and had no idea how to respond. The idea of both of us loving the same music must seem strange to her. But that’s just how it is – now I need to get her into 1970s funk.