I’m happy to have been wrong about Ariana
Imust admit I had my doubts about Ariana Grande’s One Love Manchester concert. Too soon. The sorrow still raw. Many of the dead unburied. How could pop stars possibly strike the right note in the face of such horror?
Well, I was wrong. It was a beautiful evening in every sense. The sky was a delicate sugared-almond pink, the heavenly clouds above Katy Perry’s elfin head could have been painted by Turner. The whole event felt blessed. Exactly what was needed by fans who narrowly missed death two weeks ago and had come back to see their idol.
Ariana pranced across the stage in her stiletto boots with a sweet defiance that was incredibly touching.
The real stars were the girls in the audience, their happy-sad faces tilted upwards as they sang along with their favourite songs. There was clearly comfort to be had in joining your voice with 50,000 others.
This wasn’t about the terrorists. It was about the children, telling them that who they are will not easily be destroyed.
The innocence of youth was brutally ripped away from them. Pop music’s lovely daftness gave a little of it back.