Space Intruding in Pluto with Bjork
Monday, February 11, 2008 was the day I had been waiting
for. I wish I could say that I had been waiting for it my whole life but then
it would be hyperbolic. But Monday, February 11, 2008 was really the day I had
been waiting for for 12 years. It was the day Bjork had finally landed. On that
stinking, old fashion, beat up Soekarno-Hatta airport of ours. She’s going to
perform the next day. So Tuesday, February 12, 2008 was another day I had been
waiting for, for 12 years.
The waiting continued as I got to the venue, exactly 45
minutes before 8pm when she was supposed to be playing. No opening act. Like,
who could be deserving enough to open for her? Seriously. From this country? I
really don’t think so. Not yet anyway. If there was one person or band, they’re dead already. This, was ladies and gentlemen, B-J-O-R-K.
I looked around at the flock of fashionable freaks flooding
the gate to the venue. They’re dressed to kill modesty, shyness, ordinary,
fashion cowards whom by then had disappeared into other mundane and mediocre
gigs around town. No blacks that were just black, and no Swan-dresser being
assault by the media on E! Channel in their typical "Worst Dressed 100
Specials". There was actually, a girl wearing a Swan Dress. Cover version.
She didn’t have the egg bag to pair it with though. For a moment I felt like I
was in Newtown- Sydney or downtown Melbourne or somewhere in the
streets of Bandung,
or hopping through the pages of TeenVogue and GoGirl and other fashion-it
catalogue and mags. And there were more bules than usual. There was something
different in the air tonight. This was in many sense imaginable, a B-J-O-R-K
concert.
Everybody wanted to see, what kind of plug Java Musikindo
could pull on this most particularly incredibly inspiring and untouchable woman
in the world. This was after all, a B-J-O-R-K concert. Where interviews were
not available, press conference was not of value, smoking and eating and
drinking were not permitted, taking photos was strictly prohibited, and press
passes were scarce. The media crowded the entrance with their cameras and
predestined questions, ready to stop any celebrity less-Bjork for a meaningless
word or what have you. Krisdayanti, dressed in humble black of something
designer and toned down make up, walked in behind with Melly Goeslaw and her
insignificant outfit with loud hair color, was teased by one of the eager
reporters,"So you’re a Bjork grouppie as well?’ Krisdayanti answered, as
a matter-of-factly, "No, no I’m not, I’m Melly’s grouppie!" I smiled
to myself upon witnessing this and thought, ’sure you are’.
This was ultimately a B-J-O-R-K concert. I looked around
again and called Hendra to inform him that I was already at the venue, he said
he was on his way. I told him I was sorry I couldn’t wait for him. I excused
myself from a few friends I ran into on the way to the entrance and walked
inside Tennis Indoor Senayan in a trance. I couldn’t wait. I’ve waited for this
for 12 years. I was not about to be delayed witnessing it. I ran into more
friends as I walked in and found a modest spot about 5 people away from the stage
barricade.
And then I nervously and anxiously waited some more. It was
half an hour pas 8pm. Her stage crew were still plotting and adorning the
stage and backdrop with colorful flags and microphones. On the screens at both
stage sides were screens displaying this gig’s TVC and 5 blinkers of ‘Declare
Independence’ clip. The ‘lobby music’ of some quirky Japanese traditional songs
filled the room. I could feel my hands turned cold, butterflies filled my full
stomach and I started to well up. Any sound coming from that stage hinting a
note of any song would just do it. A plump lady suddenly appeared on the stage
bringing a few big glasses on a tray. She placed them next to the most upfront
microphone.
And then…came the moment I had been waiting for for 12
years and 2 hours. The stage went dark and we could hear brass instruments
filled the room. And there she was. BJORK. Dressed in cauliflower-like metallic
dress and silver legging, barefooted. Jumping and marching to the intro of
‘Earth Intruder’. And the wall of my well exploded.
This was definitely ultimately undeniably a BJORK concert.
You didn’t come late, you didn’t eat, you didn’t drink nor smoking and you
didn’t take photos. Because you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to miss a
thing. You didn’t want to miss a single second. You didn’t want to miss the
well thought presentation of visual, performance, voice, composition, music and
sound that roll seamlessly song after song after song, on that minimalist
stage that could remind her of her first days of performing during her teen.
You didn’t. You just didn’t.
You wanted her all for you. You wanted whatever you saw on
that stage that night to be yours and yours alone. You couldn’t risk sharing it
with anybody who cannot appreciate let alone listen to her genius
interpretation of events, visual, sound and composition. This was not about
some weird songs sung by some weird looking woman. This was about Bjork and
what her life was all about. You didn’t care if you’re the only one who can
appreciate her music, her songs and any of her creation. You just didn’t.
So after 12 years and 2 hours, my waiting was over. Marked by “Pluto” where she exploded the words that filled my head hours after that. “Excuse me, but I just have to explo-o-o-ode. I’ll be brand new, brand new tomorrow…”
I can’t believe it’s already over. Java Musikindo pulled the plug alright. The wall of my well that I had built for 12 years had exploded. And
it’s spilling water still.