Wembley Park: It’s no room for Elbow

Descending the steps from Wembley Park would present a daunting sight to any away fans.
The imposing active shrine to English football looms high, higher still the closer you get.

For the music fan the view is different. Cattled right once under the bridge, it gets less impressive.
Ahead is the Las Vegan styled mega church of the latter day super group

If outside it’s a church then inside it’s an airport, council office and cinema, all in one L-shaped corridor.
But none of these architectural assumptions are delivered.

In the arena proper I am the average age attendee.
To my left and ahead everyone is over fifty. Behind me and to the right are the under-ages.

I smelt three things that cemented the sad acknowledgment that this was not a seminal psychedelic set from the sixties.
Hotdogs, cough drops and perfume.

Even if he says, “I love you too” it’s nothing personal.
He can’t even see you and because of you I can’t even hear him.

Your photo won’t come out, it’s from a camera phone at twenty feet.
You don’t need the flash, it’s best to stop dancing first, check them on the way home – not now.

Elbow were outstanding but I don’t know what seeing a live band is for.

Am I hearing an enhanced rendition of their most recent album?
No. The crowd see to that.

Have I come to see the personalities behind the music?
No. My enjoyment is in placing myself within the song – seeing the artist from within a crowd only undermines this self-deception.

Do I need affirmation of my music preferences by joining an adoring mob?
Yes but I don’t necessarily want to meet that mob.