A Ginger Bloke With His Guitar

  I sat in the upper tier of the Allianz Parque last night, observing a fellow Brit bring the house down. There he was, with messy ginger hair and a baggy t-shirt, strumming a guitar as 50,000 Brazilians hung onto his every word. To be fair, he actually looked like a generic speck to me, considering the position of my seat, but I assume he's still ginger and still plays a guitar. I never really expected to write a 'review' of a music concert, and this isn't really that, but the experience was pretty thought-provoking and warranted a bit of blog space.

  In terms of me, I was not really in any fit state to go to a gig. Saturday night involved a heavy electronic night that resulted in me walking through the door at 9am on Sunday morning. I gave a very meek 'bom dia' to my housemate as he was cooking his breakfast and retreated into my cave. I slept until about 3pm and woke up feeling more fragile than Victor Moses' reputation after the cup final*. I only had a bit of time before I needed to leave, and the thought of listening to a bunch of songs about love for two hours nearly pushed the nausea over the edge.

  It was the first concert I'd ever been to on my own. I always considered that a bit of a sad thing to do, but an article on Buzzfeed said it's in their '12 Things Everyone Should Do Alone At Least Once' list. That was all the evidence I needed that it probably was sad, but I wasn't missing out on Ed Sheeran because of this so screw my social precautions. Saying that, the dark bags under my eyes and slightly paler skin tone I was wearing made it all look more tragic than it already was. I would say it put me out of the general audience demographic, but the possession of male genitalia and being northwards of 20 years old already did that job.

  The bonus of being on my own was being able to take advantage of the individual spot that someone left at the end of an aisle, thinking they'd get a bit of extra space. An aisle seat, three rows back and front on from the stage; not bad for someone who arrived 45 minutes before the gig started. A Geordie support act, Antonio Lulic was beaming his way through his set. He was an old mate of Sheeran's from the days of pub gigs, and was loving the change in scenery. He filled the time inbetween songs with some heavily-accented English chat; everyone cheered but I doubted they understood a word.

  I was more interested in the moon which was looking quite badass. While everyone was screaming and shouting for 'Edgee' Sheeran to arrive, I was doing my best Brian Cox impression trying to get a half-decent picture on my phone. A lone, hungover gringo who was staring at the sky; I was rocking this solo concert-goer thing well.

  In terms of the music, I was sceptical. Ed Sheeran's recent success has been incredible with almost as many top 10 singles in the last few months as tour dates. I'm a big fan of his music and was thoroughly impressed when I went to see him play Wembley Stadium two years ago. However, I wondered whether the success would saturate the nature of his live act. His music is so frequently played that even that becomes a bit bland after a while, and I hadn't listened to his album in a couple of months for this reason. I felt like one of those overly strict music critics from The Guardian.

  This lasted for about three notes of the opening song, Castle on the Hill, and from that point on I was straight back on the puppet strings. The satisfaction from watching someone as big as Sheeran perform live is that he could play 50 songs and the every word would effortlessly come to your mouth. Every song is somebody's favourite, and there's no lull in atmosphere that often comes when an artist plays a new song or an album filler. Every song is a banger. Saying that, how the bloke gets away with writing so many songs about love and still being considered as cool is beyond me. His mates must give him some stick surely...

  It was verging on surreal seeing the natives go so crazy for an English guy. Every word was sung back to him, albeit in a slightly butchering Brazilian accent, and it showed the true scale of Sheeran's rise. A strong sense of patriotism came over me that I hadn't experienced before. It felt like he was representing the UK and it felt 10x more relatable than watching a gig back at home. It was clear that he was taken aback at the reaction he gets on the other side of the world. He kept mentioning how far away from home it was, providing a timely reminder, 10 days before it all ends, of just how nuts the last year of my own life has been.

  Being on my tot was a good opportunity to do a bit of people watching as the gig went on. There were teenage girls, families and couples of all ages. Everyone was smiling and at different times, for different songs, they all seemed to have a more personal moment in the middle of the 50,000 strong crowd. Such is the magnitude and popularity of Sheeran's discography that certain songs seem to make it into important moments of people's lives. I guess that's what happens when you only write about bloody love, one of them is bound to stick to a wedding or a romantic moment at some point.

  The most poignant of moments I saw was a Dad and his teenage son. Like me, they didn't necessarily fit the general profile of an Ed Sheeran concert-goer. Yet during one of the slower numbers, the son started crying into his Dad's shoulder and they shared a strong embrace. Whatever story was behind that, and I assumed there was something, it was quite a moving show of family solidarity. It was more rewarding later to see them both dancing around, beaming, to the more upbeat tunes in Sheeran's locker.

  My mind turned to the tragedy that had happened in Manchester earlier in the week. Seeing so many people happy, enjoying the music that they love just made it all the more heart-breaking. Six days previously, this had been the very scene at the MEN arena before the explosion that took the lives of 22 people. They were having the best night of their lives, as people were here, watching Ariana Grande before the horrifying turn of events that will change their lives forever. Much has been made about the power of music, and I can only back that.

  I actually heard a lot of locals mentioning Manchester in the pre-amble of the gig, and it was good to know that the city is in the thoughts of so many people, no matter how many thousands of miles away that we may be. Those that were lost will never be forgotten and, whatever horror comes our way, we know that we will unite and continue stronger than ever.

  The concert ended with Ed Sheeran emerging with a Brazilian football shirt and a flag to perform his last two songs. It's guaranteed with the locals, having seen Paolo Nutini do the same thing a month ago, but reinforced my opinion that the Brazilian colours are the best in the world. I really need to get myself a shirt before I leave. He was guitarring, singing, rapping, running and jumping; he really is the modern definition of a one man show. All my prior concerns had been wiped long ago and he was even better than the last time I saw him. He flew the British flag like a boss and what was he?

Just a ginger bloke with his guitar.

*I watched the FA Cup final in an Irish pub in the middle of São Paulo, surrounded by Brazilian Gooners. I found three other Chelsea fans to form an allegiance with, but after going 1-0 down early on the outnumbering could be felt more than ever. When Diego Costa equalised, I lost it and was jumping around in front of the Arsenal fans, shamelessly bragging and mocking them. So when Aaron Ramsey scored the winner less than a minute afterwards I was f****d. Anyway, that's all I have to say about that s**tshow.