bebereader
djafan
voiceadmin
How do I begin to describe watching David brighten the blighted northeast Ohio for two short Autumn days?
Skate-for-the-Heart
photo credit niceprtty
Do I begin with the surreality of picking up Angelica near a mall where I shop? Or our giddy anticipation of being about to experience Archuleta back to back? Or sitting with her and the Snowangels in a restaurant in downtown Youngstown speculating which song he will perform while Joannie Rochette glides through the ice?
How will I forget —
sending furious texts to Angelica in the darkness after the show started, to tell her I found closer seats;
glimpsing the elderly lady next to me who came to watch the Olympic skaters but could not take her eyes off David during the entire time Joannie skated to his rendition of My Kind of Perfect;
watching Joannie climbing up from the ice to give him a big hug after her performance; the pair skaters skating to him to bow their head after THEIR performance; and Straight No Chasers walking over to shake his hands in the group finale;
grabbing Angelica’s arms when we caught sight of David emerging at the side of stage to re-perform his two songs;
witnessing the skate show turning into a de facto mini-concert, David giving his all to perfect his performances, and the skating fans watching in awe of the young man they don’t know much about;
and finally,
listening to Falling Stars with Angelica, in silence, as we drove home from the show in the dark night, barely recovering from the magic we just experienced …
Q92-Stripped-Down-Concert
photo credit YJfanofdavid
What touched me the most?
Is it the generosity of a perfect stranger who shared her hard-won concert tickets with me?
Or the straight-A student who skipped school to come to see David, giving up her perfect attendance record? The genuine concerns David expressed because so many teenagers skipped school to see him? The urgency with which he showed them how to go for extra credit to make up for missed school?
Or is it the camera dude who sang along loudly to Elevator when David commanded the GUYS in the audience to SING? The female DJ who gradually turned to mush as she videotaped one performance after another? The Cook fan who came to the concert and lingered till the last moment, and later wrote her own recap?
Or is it the gentleness and kindness with which David treated every fawning woman, every giddy teenage girl, every bashful teen boy, every oblivious toddler, and the occasional self-conscious guys? Or the enthusiasm he greets us with as if each one of us were his ONLY fan? The hundreds of fan-given bracelets and charms tied to his backpack he carried with him everywhere? His twitter compliments to the venue’s chef for the chicken chowder he ate from a Styrofoam cup in the car on the way to his next engagement?
How I wish a camera captured the beautiful Autumn sun that was reflected in his porcelain face; the glistening jewel-colors I saw in his eyes as he looked up at me after signing the autograph; the tenderness with which he touched a little girl’s hair after having greeted 200 fans.
Ah. My kind of concert. My kind of hero. My kind of Ohio.
The Voice David Archuleta 