Phoenix

A line of people walking uphill anticipating the reward that awaits them at the summit. I’m tempted to say it’s like a pilgrimage but the last pilgrimage I was on was in 1994 and it was a solemn affair comprising of elderly folk muttering the rosary. There weren’t any dreadlocks, or people necking cans, or whoops of excitement or stag parties. That’s the scene we have here hiking up Kobatamendi. It’s a Music Festival up a mountain. Namely, BBK Live.

The pace slows and the crowd is corralled into lanes. I try to stamp the impatience out through my feet. It’s always the way. The small steps towards a football stadium, the slow crawl of traffic towards the beach, the wait at the bar; first world torments. A roar rises from the other side, a guitar stutters and a voice greets the crowd through the PA. My heart pounds with anticipation.

Once finally inside we walk very quickly to the bar for a settler, that beer you sip on a grassy knoll where you take it all in and let out a satisfied sigh. All summer you’ve waited for this and now you are here. The price of the settler though, is a bit unsettling. That’s how they get ya. A weekend ticket is €120 – a lot cheaper than festivals in Ireland but the exorbitant cost of food and drink does diminish the vibe a little. Early doors, every time I open my wallet I wince a little. Gotta be savvy if I’m gonna get through three nights of this.

Having rid ourselves of the shoulder tension we move closer to the action and find a spot stage right. Fleet Foxes are plodding through a song.Guitars, hair, beards.

‘Crusties,’ Liam says. ‘I bet they eat nettle soup and do yoga.’

I know they’re back catalogue. It’s a beautiful summer evening and I’ve got a beer in my hand. I’m primed to be stirred by their soulful folk harmonies but their songs don’t grab me. It’s disappointing, like lowering yourself into a bath only to find the water tepid.They work through the set-list, but that’s the problem, it seems like a chore.

When Fleet Foxes finish we grab ourselves another beer en route to the BBK stage. The sky has darkened. The lights are on and we are ticking like a fat gold watch.Phoenix are a different animal. The French group have come to party. The heads and shoulders in front of us are all bopping before an elevated oasis of light upon which stand the celebrated people. The songs get into my chest. I’m compelled to dance but the wet grass robs my moves of any semblance of smoothness. It’s not doing Liam any favours either. He’s like an old fella with bad knees trying to keep his balance in an earthquake.

Phoenix finish to rapturous applause followed by a brief pause. Itineraries are consulted. Plans are made. Our plan involves more beer, this time from a lad with a keg on his back. We then stop at a stall to pick up some sunglasses. Mine have an American flag, Liam’s a tropical tree. Why be savvy when you can be zany? We follow the stream of chattering people towards the main stage, the main event; The Killers. Together we push our way through the crowd.

‘Oh I hate being small,’ Liam says. ‘You can’t see anything and you keep smelling people’s armpits.’

No such problem for The Killers who emerge through a mist of dry ice and lights. They take their positions. There’s an anticipatory hush. My night hasn’t taken off just yet. I want to be wowed. And then a familiar riff rings out. I lock eyes with Liam.

‘Mr Brightside!!’

It’s punch the air feel good. Euphoria abounds and before it has a chance of escaping they launch into Spaceman, Somebody told Me and Human.We hug, we sing, we dance, we make recordings that will fail to capture the magic of the moment, we spill beer. Just when you think The Killers have no arrows left in their quiver they release a volley of hits; Read My Mind, Runaways, All These Things that I’ve Done.

The show climaxes with When You Were Young.

The Killers leave the stage. It’s like the circus rolling out of town, the end of summer.The fancy lights cease, there’s a smell of damp grass and the shadows are long and spooky. In the distance we hear a sinister beat broken now and then by a piano loop. It’s a siren call to those with drugs and the people with one day tickets who don’t want to let go of the night just yet.

We make our way to the buses, the walk back down the hill affords us views of Bilbao at night – the city lights blazing like rebel diamonds cut out of the sun.