Beyoncé and my Brain

It‘s been a while since I‘ve posted anything as I‘ve been preoccupied by the three Bs: first Beyoncé, then Bruce Springsteen and, in the next few days, err Harry “Bloody” Styles.

My desire to write has been replaced by an urgent need to rest. I fall into the shower in my hotel room and collapse, still damp, onto my bed with the air- conditioner turned up to maximum in order to cool down enough to sleep for a precious few hours.

After 5 days of construction it’s showtime in Cologne’s football stadium. 5 days involving hundreds of people for a Beyoncé concert which will be over after around 2 hours.

My job as crew boss for 306 people in different departments has made me wonder if ADHD has provided me with a super power. My chaotic mind flits from A to K over W, landing on Q from where it flies off around the alphabet sandstorm, never lingering in one place. With two walkie-talkies hanging from a lanyard around my neck I’m constantly bombarded with calls in English and German. I switch effortlessly between the two languages as I fulfill the requests as quickly as possible.

“Neil, I need four forklifts in front of the stage, two stage-right”.

“Neil, how many riggers do we have? I should have 2 more. Get them!”

“Hello, I’m from company XYZ and don’t know where to go.”

On the day of the concert I arrive at 8am, pushing to the back of my mind the knowledge that after the concert the fun really begins. My working day will finish at 3am after which I’ll finally get to drive back home to see my family for a couple of days before The Boss construction begins. I look at my phone’s pedometer and wonder how I only walked 47,000 steps / 35km. Surely it must have been the equiavalent of at least two marathons.

The stadium’s football pitch is covered by metal plates to protect the grass from the tens of thousands of feet which would otherwise trample it into a dusty field of impenetrable, compacted earth.

From my temporary perch in the still-shaded stands I feel some empathy for the people working below me. It’s still early and the Sun is still low behind the East Stand but soon it will appear to travel higher and around the stadium where it will send its rays onto the helmet heads of the workers on the field, lifting up the heavy plates for Beyoncé’s catwalk into the heart of her audience (separated from her fans by rows of metal barriers which are still to be erected).

The Sun heats the metal plates upon the ground, the midday heat launching a double-pronged attack on the workers. The Sun feels different these days. It used to be a pleasure for me to sit in the sunlight, even with my pale, north European complexion. I enjoyed the warmth on my skin and the slow process of getting a tan. These days it can feel as if I’ve put myself under a grill moments after stepping out of the shade, the intensity previously unknown to these parts of the World.This will only become worse and a colleague wonders if we will be able to stage outdoor concerts in summer as the global-warming increases. I ask myself why people still have more than one or two children, why people still have wood fires and barbecues at home, eat so much meat, make unnecessary car trips? Don’t they care about the future of the planet and their children?

I feel a tinge of guilt which stops me from feeling as if I’m preaching. I arrived at work in my diesel car, will sleep in my air-conditioned hotel and earn my money from helping to coordinate the unloading of around 50 trucks whose contents will be watched by people arriving in thousands of cars. The sense of urgency required to set up such a concert seems much more important now than the even more urgent energy we should be directing into saving our planet. The here and now is why we do nothing. Now is all that matters to most of us. The past has gone, the future doesn’t (and can never) exist. There is only now. But as soon as now happens it has gone so maybe the future is all we should worry about.

I recall the times I was one of the people working in the cauldren below me. Don’t get me wrong, I am also working and my days are longer than theirs. However, I don’t envy them as I watch them push heavy cases and lift heavy barriers and stage plates in the searing heat. I did this myself for a few years before my boss either realised that my talents could be better utilised in a leading role or he took pity on the old man.

My talents... As I started this piece I mentioned how ADHD sometimes works to my advantage. When I’m being constantly bombarded by requests and a thousand different jobs I can remain calm where others might implode. One minute I’m checking to see if the helpers have turned up in catering. The next I’m sending people to the wardrobe department. Drivers bringing workers call me to say that security won’t let them in and security calls me to arrange the passes required to breathe the same air as Beyoncé.

It’s a surreal feeling standing (out of sight) on a stage in front of 50,000 people, knowing that you were partly responsible for the whole event. Backstage is the calm behind the storm. Everyone is cleared away from the area as a black bus with blacked-out windows enters the premises, swiftly driving into the tunnel which leads to the stage. After a couple of minutes the roar of a packed stadium is felt as Beyoncè appears before her fans. Despite my backstage pass the nearest I get to Beyoncé is standing 10 meters away from the bus in which she drives past.

I go into the stadium and become, apart from access to forbidden places, just like anyone else at the show.

The job has made me jaded when it comes to concerts. I watch a few minutes of the show. It’s spectacular, perfectly executed and, love her or loathe her, you can see why Beyoncé is a superstar. To me, though, it’s just another day at the office and the thought of buying tickets and travelling privately to a concert is the last thing I feel like doing.

And then it’s over. As soon as the bus has whisked Beyoncé away from the stage and back to her hotel (with police motorbikes flanking the vehicle, don’t you know) the 300 people gathered outside are swiftly brought in to the stadium to carry out their respective. There’s a team for the barriers, a team for lights, another for the LCD screens, one for sound. A few teams stay outside to load the trucks with the huge pieces of equipment the team of forklifts bring to them.

The magic of the concert is experienced by few of the workers and the cases they push may as well be baggage at an airport. The crew of technicians which travel with the tour are fuelled by the desire to get out and gone and get some rest as they travel to the next venue. In this case it’s Amsterdam they’re off to as soon as the last truck is loaded and they don’t want to hang around. They’re tired and imaptient and sometimes lose their rag, forgetting that they know where every screw belongs and the stagehands are there for the first time.

After 4 hours a week’s worth of work is packed and already on the motorway, heading to Amsterdam. I sign time sheets for the workers we’ve booked and head off to my car.

Depite my tiredness, I’m glad that my car is parked 15 minutes away, the walk giving me a chance to calm down and, as always, take some photos. My ADHD brain has done me proud. It’s 3:30 as I get into my car for the 90 minute drive. My overly- active brain keeps me awake and I enjoy speeding along the empty, dry, night roads.

It’s only as I’m almost home that my adrenalin reserves empty and a yawn appears. Thoughts of my family and my own bed keep the car in the right lane to get me home safely. The 52 steps up to our flat are the hardest work I’ve had all day(s).

As I collapse into bed my mind is finally too tired to flit around and I quickly fall asleep, not even thinking about the coming days when I will be doing the same again for Bruce Springsteen and Harry Bloody Styles.