2004-03-13
5:08 p.m.

Katynka's BEVR/Columbus, 3-10-04

Rhapsody and Fugue in E major

Even though I tend to pretty restrained and self-controlled (at least by Clay Aiken fan standards), I was prepared to lose it a little bit at this concert. I'd seen all the downloaded videos and received a number of cellcerts, so I knew what I was in for.

Or so I thought.

I warned my friend Brandy, who would be attending with me, that I might get a little, um, excited. That she shouldn't expect the same stoic, sedate Kat she knows in real life. Not that I'm likely to scream like Erin or knock people down like Robin or have a nervous breakdown like Melissa. But I've been told that I did indeed jump up and down and squeal at the Atlanta Frosty concert (or so Wendy tells it). So I expected I might surprise Brandy by doing the same.

I didn't.

It was worse.

You see, I wasn't prepared for being so ding dang close to the Aiken.

Close enough that I could see his spit. And his stubble.

And his *ss.

Yea, that did me in, as you might expect.

According to Brandy, who is a mental health professional, I was in a fugue state.

I looked it up. "An altered state of consciousness in which a person may move about purposely and even speak but is not fully aware...A pathological amnesiac condition during which one is apparently conscious of one's actions but has no recollection of them after returning to a normal state. This condition, usually resulting from severe mental stress, may persist for as long as several months."

Hmm. I guess that would explain it. Although I do have some memories.

I vaguely recall Kelly singing. I thought she was quite good, but I couldn't really focus on her. My brain was beginning to misfire. My neuronal network was shutting down.

During the intermission, the frenzied crowd started the wave. I was already losing all feeling in my arms, so I couldn't really participate.

And then Kyrie. There are no words to describe the excitement when he triumphantly takes the stage with that thrilling last chorus. It's clear he has conquered us. We are powerless.

I could not focus. Literally.

I had Erin on the phone and couldn't talk or scream or yell or sing.

All I could say was "TERRIBLE hair."

And yes, it was terrible. I'm talking Ed terrible.

I fixated on the hair as a way to ground myself, to convince myself that he really is just a man, to keep from sinking completely into the sea of oblivion that was calling out to me.

So I concentrated on the hair, wondering why in the world his people let him go on stage like that, with pieces sticking out all over the place. And then I focused on the hated fugly outfit, which really is too ugly for words.

But he was still too beautiful for words.

It was of no use. Bad hair, bad clothes--these could not keep me sane.

I was doing okay, though songs like Perfect Day and No More Sad Song challenged my willpower. I even managed to smile during All About Love as he "danced" and did the bump with Angela, and ripped out some amazing air guitar.

But I think I entered a truly dissociative state during I Survived You.

O, to be a mic stand.

All the videotaped mic debacling I'd watched the past three weeks could not prepare me for having him do that a few feet away from me.

And then, as if that weren't enough, that evil, evil man went for the jugular.

He unleashed George.

Fugue state? Yea. I was just lucky to be alive. One cannot gaze directly into real life, close-up George and maintain any shred of rational thought.

But Clay cruelly continued his assault.

The accoustic set rips out one's heart with its beauty. That voice. Oh, there is nothing like that voice. It is otherworldly.

And then, When Doves Cry. He pulls out all the stops.

He screams.

He strips.

He grinds.

He gropes.

He grasps.

The fugue played on.

And by the end of the night, I think Clay was as emotional as we were.

But he also seemed happy.

And so was I.

--Text and pictures by Katynka. Psychological diagnosis by Brandy.

You can see more of my concert photos in my concert recaps over in my journal.