I was 13 yrs old. At the zenith of my hair-brush-mic, lip-sync-in-the-mirror performances.
I had already nailed Mariah Carey's Vision of Love, and thanks to MuchMusic (Canada's answer to MTV), I knew, visually, how to successfully incorporate the nuances that made a performer a performer - the smiles and glances to acknowledge your back-up singers, the head nod to the guitarist when he busts out a killer riff. Heck, I even came up with a few of my own extraordinary moves (the "flip-and-whip-your-mic-in-the-air-and-catch-it-on-the-beat-and-keep-singing-without-mishap").
That one took lots of practice.
I even had a scenario: it would be the end of the lunch hour in the school gymnasium, which would be packed with students who were wrapping up with intramurals. And as they were putting away the sporting equipment, I would climb up on stage, grab a mic and just start singing. Or it would be a Talent Show at some Sunday afternoon tea (in the school gymnasium). Some students would do lame magic tricks for the parents and staff, some kids would play an instrument. But I would take the mic, despite the perplexed look of my peers ("What? Is Cat gonna sing?").
Or a school dance (in the gym).
Or an assembly.
It didn't matter - it was always the gymnasium, and no matter the scenario, there was always - ALWAYS - a talent scout there. (WHY NOT.)
And I would blow everyone away with my Whitney Houston-esque vocal abilities.
After the initial shock of the crowd hearing moi singing subsided, they would uproariously cheer and clamour for more, and I would be signed on the spot by the fedora-wearing talent scout and whisked away in the limo that was waiting outside the gym, taking me straight to the recording studio to begin my lifelong singing career (this is pre-Idol days here, folks - I was clearly way ahead of my time).
But I grew tired of Mariah's octave-jumping and trying to pull off Bryan Adams' tunes. I needed some new inspiration.
And then, it happened.
And NOW I instantly had an imaginary partner - I WAS PART OF A DUO.
But this was different - this music, the blending of harmonies, their unique look and distinct sound - this was special.
This took the whole fictional-gymnasium-singing experience to an entirely new level. Now I found myself incorporating the air guitar and air keyboards. And I was good.
I developed an instant love affair with this Swedish sensation and their poppy brand of ear candy. Of course I'd heard their music before. My brother (though he may now deny it) owned Look Sharp! (which housed such hits as The Look, Dangerous, and Dressed for Success, and which I inevitably "borrowed without intent of returning"). But now, with Joyride, I was a bonafide fan. Hooked.
Next thing ya know, my hair brush became replaced with shampoo bottles (suddenly I was on tour - got some confidence, wasn't just singing in my room anymore), remote controls, bottles of salad dressing - whatever was in reach when Roxette came on the radio.
I bought all their cassette singles. I religiously played nothing but their music. Per and I were an absolute HIT when I'd bring him up on stage in the school gymnasium. And when I was outta line, and my parents had to enforce discipline, they knew how to really put a stranglehold on my independence: "Hand over your Roxette tapes." My dad was ruthless, I thought. I always kept one or two singles behind to listen to quietly at night.
And then, something happened - something so unexpected and unfathomable and wonderful and sleepless-night-inducing: Roxette announced a worldwide tour, including Winnipeg! February 22, 1992!
My very first concert (well, technically this would have been my second concert, but I'm not counting Roy Orbison - I was 4 or 5yrs old when my parents brought me along to that show). For weeks leading up to this momentous event, my diary was FULL of newspaper clippings about the upcoming show, pictures of Per Gessle (the Rox in Roxette), lyrics to my favourite Roxette songs that I felt were relevant to the day I'd had at school - anything that would have/could have been related to the show. I recall my dad waking me up on the morning of concert day, opening my bedroom door and doing his rendition of Joyride with his infamous shoulder-shrugging, finger gunpoint dance.
Show time. I would have peed my pants with excitement - heck, I probably did - and wouldn't have even cared. I was at a concert. A Roxette concert. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Beyond anything I could have ever dreamed up. Giant beach balls were crowd surfing the masses at the Winnipeg Arena, skimming the fingertips of cheering fans as colours, lights and sounds swirled around me. My favourite songs were being played out in front of me, filling my eardrums with such bass never before experienced, on a sound system that was a bajillion times louder than the little ghetto blaster that sat on top of my dresser back home.
That sound would leave my ears ringing for days, and my emotions soaring high for weeks.
Marie came out on stage wearing a Winnipeg Jets jersey for Dressed For Success. I still didn't care about hockey, but at least now I wouldn't be so dismissive of it going forward. (Marie Fredriksson wore a Jets jersey! Cool!)
I was getting pushed by the people behind me as they danced and threw their arms up in excitement. I probably pushed people in front of me for the same reason.
It was surreal. Pure unadulterated ecstasy.
And then the show ended. And us Joyriders went home and tried to sleep that night, still reeling from excitement. And then days and weeks came and went, and with the passage of time came new loves (Bono, for one).
As the years passed, the Joyride posters were replaced with certificates and awards. I pushed Roxette aside, but never forgetting what they were to me - what they did for me.
Fast forward 20 years - my former obsession has resurfaced.
Roxette is touring - and after 20 years, they are coming back to Winnipeg.
I find myself cautiously giddy; as my first ever concert experience, and remembering the frenzied bliss it brought, I am reluctant to taint the memory with a Roxette show I may not appreciate as much. They've released albums since Tourism (the follow-up to Joyride) that I neglected to check out. The 33yr old Cat is a bit more frugal - I would put money down in a heartbeat for a Roxette show that is guaranteed to mimic the experience I had 2 decades ago. What if I don't know half the songs they perform? Won't it be a disappointment? Maybe I should just leave my Roxette-ness to revel in the memory of what used to be.
It's been YEARS since I've listened to their songs.
But as I sit here, revisiting Roxette with YouTube clips, I notice my fingers finding the familiar staccato of the notes as I play the imaginary keyboard that was, just moments ago, my kitchen table.
I can still sing along, word for word, without missing a beat. I realize this music is just like an old friend, we can pick up right where we left off. It's as though no time has passed between us.
The 33yr old Cat may be reluctant.
But the 13yr old Cat is looking for the nearest hair brush - time to play Marie again...
SoundTracking: Dangerous (Roxette)
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