The stage banked up, hit the apex, then dipped back down to the crowd, thousands of them standing calling his name, waiting with a nervous energy. For some this would be the first time, for others they had seen him many times before, but his level of fame was extra ordinary.
He walked from his dressing room up the stairs to where I stood, his daughter on my shoulders, as he approached his dressing gown was removed, the cup of tea taken from his hand and a guitar placed over his shoulder. He approached, smiled, kissed his daughter on her forehead and walked towards his fans.
They had been chanting his name for the last half an hour, but as his head appeared over the banked stage the energy switched, from a noise it became a physical force, a wind, a power. A power I had never experienced even from a physical object and it was generated purely by the screams of his adoring public. Their voices, chanting in unison, created a wind and it blew me away.
I staggered backwards, he raised his hand to the sky, clicking his finger, then stood motionless for a moment absorbing the energy, lowered his eyes from the crowd and strummed his guitar.
Life From the Dirt 