My favourite pastime is listening to music; it’s always been a passion. Growing up in Liverpool, where music is woven into the very fabric of the city and, of course, The Beatles run through its DNA. But when does a passion become an obsession? You’re about to find out just how deep my obsession goes, and you might even catch yourself rolling your eyes in disbelief!
My musical obsession is Madonna, known as The Queen of Pop, Madge, Her Madgesty, and, as readers may already know, I’ve always preferred a Queen! The first time I saw Madonna perform, and countless times would follow, was at her Blond Ambition Tour in London on July 20, 1990.
My friend Sean and I set off from Liverpool to Wembley Stadium. As the gates opened, we rushed to the front of the stage, where we would stand for the next nine hours. Sean was as straight as can be. When he asked, “Why are all these gay men around us? It was practically Heaven nightclub. I needed him not to put two and two together. So, I replied, “You get a lot of that kind in London,” which he accepted; although Sean was a mechanic, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the toolbox.
As the concert began, the roar of the 75,000-strong audience rose in tandem with the industrial sounds of the opening act, an homage to the 1927 German expressionist film ‘Metropolis’. From that instant, it was clear that this was not just a show. The subsequent acts blended music, dance, fashion, and art. The event redefined modern concerts forever. As Rolling Stone magazine noted, “Madonna had reinvented the pop mega tour itself”.
Fast forward 30 years, and I was living in Portugal. Then, who should also decide to make the same move? Yes, Madonna! I often quip that it was Madonna who started the modern American influx to Portugal. However, considering the media coverage of her move and the timeline, there is likely some truth in this statement. Living in an 18th-century mansion in Sintra, she explored Lisboa. At night, Madge would visit the Bairro Alto and Chiado and listen to Fado. But it was the Alfama area that introduced her to the music of the former Portuguese colonies in Africa. As she said, “It was there that I was first inspired to make a new album.” Its theme would be Portugal.
Back to Monchique, the New Year had brought incessant rain. Living in the clouds, unable to leave, I felt trapped. As the night drew in, I heard Javali outside, so I peered out of the window and saw their eyes reflecting in the darkness. I opened a bottle of Alentejo wine and began to listen to Madonna’s new music. But I was despondent because, in two weeks, she would be performing in Lisboa, and for once, I would not be part of it. The tickets had sold out within hours.
After a while, I did something that my beloved sister Carole calls ‘Second Bottle Syndrome’ (SBS), as you always regret it the next day. So, I opened a second bottle of wine! Then, a thought came to mind, ‘Why not look for a ticket on the open market?’ I found a website that covers concerts worldwide. Following a few searches, I found a ticket from someone in Russia (you couldn’t make this up!), so the price was shown in roubles. I looked at the currency exchange rate and worked out the price to be around €200. I bought the ticket using my credit card. I went to bed elated!
The next morning, I went online to research the seating plan of the Coliseu Lisboa Theatre. But I couldn’t find the seat anywhere. Then, it suddenly became clear — the ticket wasn’t for an ordinary seat at all. I had purchased the equivalent of a Royal Box! Panic set in, and my heart started to race. Shaking, I logged into my bank account and discovered that my credit card had been debited not by €200, but by €2,000 — I’d missed a zero in my calculation. SBS had struck again!
I immediately logged back on to the ticket website and offered the Royal Box for resale! Then nothing happened; time goes by so slowly. Day after day, hour after hour, no interest. Then, just like a prayer, two days before the concert, someone bought the ticket. While online, I saw a much cheaper ticket, albeit with a restricted view, so I bought that ticket and prepared for Lisboa.
On January 12, 2020, I boarded a bus in Aljezur, and the adventure began. After making its way through the Alentejo, the bus crossed the iconic 25 de Abril suspension bridge. I checked into a hotel in the Bairro Alto district.
As I entered the Coliseu, I paused to take in the opulent beauty of the building. At that moment, I understood why Madonna had chosen Lisboa. From all the venues across the world tour to film the concert, this was the right place. This was Portugal.
I found my seat just as the music began. I assumed Madonna had taken the stage, but I couldn’t be sure as I was staring at a wall! Calling it ‘restricted view’ was generous; it was more like ‘no view’! Frustrated, I quickly devised a cunning plan. Remembering the Royal Box number, I discreetly made my way there, introduced myself as the previous ticket holder, explained my predicament, and politely asked if I could join their party. Miraculously, they agreed!
The concert was a mesmerising theatrical experience. When Madonna sang the song ‘Batuka’ with a collective of women drummers from Cape Verde, it felt like a different world. During the Fado segment, Madonna performed the song ‘Sodade’, made famous by Cesária Évora, and the whole audience joined in on every Portuguese word. It was a spellbinding moment.
The next day, I was back in Monchique when my oldest friend from Liverpool, Rob, called. While I may be somewhat obsessed with Madge, Rob takes it to a whole new level. His house is practically a shrine, overflowing with memorabilia that could easily fill a museum.
Rob was eager to hear every detail about the Lisboa concert. After I shared my experience, he declared, “That’s it, we’ve got to see her one last time together.” He says that for every tour, so I pointed out, “The next dates are at The London Palladium, and the prices are astronomical.” Rob didn’t hesitate: “I’ll get the theatre tickets if you book your flights.” And just like that, our ‘Faustian Bargain’ was struck.
There was just one hurdle: my brother, Tony, was scheduled to arrive for a holiday on the Monday after the concert weekend. Undeterred, I quickly devised a cunning plan. I would secretly fly from Faro to London on Saturday, attend the concert, stay overnight, and return on Sunday. I didn’t want to tell my family, since they knew I’d just seen the concert in Lisboa, and may have questioned my sanity!
A few weeks later, I was in London, and the adventure began. I checked into the hotel and made my way to Soho to join Rob and his friend Rosamunde, who would be joining us for the evening. As we entered The London Palladium, we paused to take in the history of the building where so many famous artists had performed, including Judy Garland, Frank Sinatra, and The Beatles. The concert was the same, yet different, as it was not in Portugal. But Madonna knew London audiences had demanding expectations and, yet again, she delivered to standing ovations.
On the way back to the hotel, I walked through the streets of London and noticed the weather was deteriorating. The wind was forcing itself across my face, and litter was being pushed into the air. The next day, I awoke and turned on BBC News. The headline left me in shock, a powerful cyclone had hit the UK, to be named Storm Ciara.
I then discovered my flight had been cancelled. I spent the afternoon trying to find a route back to Portugal, but to no avail. It was then my brother, Tony, called and said, “I have good news, I managed to leave the UK before the storm arrived, so I can make my way up to Monchique today.” I paused, then replied, “I have bad news, I’m not there.” Curious Tony asked, “Where are you?” I replied, “I’m in London, trapped by the storm!”
Having explained the circumstances, there was a silence. Tony then replied, “Oh well, I’ll have a few days in Albufeira!” That was typical of Tony, never wanting to get into an argument, which used to infuriate our mother. Whilst I was always happy to indulge her in that particular penchant.
The next day, I made my way to the airport to find a chaotic scene with people desperately trying to book flights to destinations across Europe. I fortunately secured the last seat on a flight from London to Lisboa and then an onward flight to Faro.
Finally back in the Algarve, I collected Tony and headed to Monchique. On arriving at the farmhouse, I did what I always do as my first action, and went to play some music. Tony, aware of this practice, said, “I don’t mind you playing music,” then paused and, in tandem with his infectious bellowing laugh, said, “But no bloody Madonna!” and, for once, I was happy to agree.
We made our way to our favourite restaurant and reminisced about family past times as well as Tony’s future holiday plans in Portugal, including a project to create a special place for himself on the farmhouse land and cycling around the mountain. Those plans would soon be cruelly taken away from him. Still, that evening together was a moment of happiness to cherish.
Also Read Derek Hughes article A Year in Monchique 3 – Letting go – December 2019
