moshpit high

the temperatures has cooled down a lot from the boiling point of the last fortnight. there is a sputtering of sunshine in the cloudy skies. but crap, where was this weather during blur last week in hyde park? the moshpit was exhilarating. the music was great. but i was pissed off with the raging rays. drenched in soaring heat, my temper usually explodes when exhausted and dehydrated.

but as soon as damon albarn lights up the screen, my furious disposition vastly dissipated. clad in fred perry, blur reunited serenaded the crowd with hits after hits, beginning the set with she's so high, diving head on to the ferocious beats of boys and girls and most of the menacing and gorgeous signatures of their britpop heydays; beetlebum, end of century, there's no other way, tracy jacks, poposcene, for tomorrow, song 2, the universal. the heartwarming harmony tender bouyed the throng to a rousing paean of healing and romance whilst graham coxon's vocals to coffee and tv conjured a joyous feeling of profound affection, as if a rift did not drive the essex foursome apart. albarn was in magnificent form, his voice cracking when addressing the fans, in between joyous renditions of the elegant pop songs that defined an era. i'll always be an outcast and a prude. though my inhibitions weren't altogether shaken by the presence of audacious spontaneity.

c'mon. c'mon

love's the greatest thing.