Creative Writing Paper about Marillion

The house lights fade away, and the expected aroma of weed fills the room as the crowd’s excitement builds. My dad and I exchange a look, as if to say, “Let’s do this!” I’m so glad to be sharing yet another concert with him, though tonight, we bond over our mutual lack of familiarity with this band called Marillion. Regardless, we’re always happy to share new experiences together. Where would I be without him?

Four members of the band enter. I don’t recognize any of them except Steve Rothery, the guitarist. They smile sweetly at the audience and take their places on stage. They seem so humble! The barely sold out room becomes overwhelmed by a wonderful soundscape that follows the G minor scale, a key that normally would unsettle a person. Instead, I’m unexpectedly overjoyed by the music that enters my ears. It reminds me of the beginning of a movie, one that is destined to become a favorite of mine, as I am instantly captivated by its mysterious, somewhat melancholic nature. I know there’s a fifth member of this band, but I don’t see him yet. I search the stage and finally, he comes out of the shadows. I know this is Steve Hogarth, affectionately called “H” by the band and by fans. He beams at the crowd, showcasing an absolutely adorable grin. How cute! He possesses the demeanor of a beloved family member that hasn’t been seen in ages.

The audience completely sinks into the music, barely noticing his entrance, although we’re happy to see him, and he’s happy to see us. I’m a bit too far away to see him clearly, but I can tell that he’s wearing an acoustic guitar. He joins in with the rest of the band and begins singing, and I’m instantly captivated by the melodies that sound through his microphone. It’s an exceptionally powerful voice, as it ranges from stronger than a scream to fainter than a whisper. “Why is nothing ever true? /You poor sods have only yourselves to blame.” I’m speechless.  I want him to sing for the rest of eternity.  As I watch him glide across the stage like a court jester, I can’t help but liken him to Peter Gabriel dressed in drag singing about flowers and lawnmowers. “H” moves lusciously, unlike any other human being I’ve ever watched. I’m delighted by his moves, as his body flies with such elegance and grace. The audience remains in respectful silence as the band places tender loving care into each note played.

But, it’s not just “H’s” voice that causes my thoughts to wander. I’m also fascinated by the content of the lyrics. I can tell they’re of a political nature, but they’re amazingly relevant and universal. I hear “H” vocalize his most personal thoughts.  One particular line resonates with me and haunts me to this day. I can still hear “H” serenading my thoughts as if he were a siren calling to a ship: “Fuck everyone and run.” It’s sung in such a way that is not angry but, rather, sorrowful and helpless, a call to attention. I, along with the rest of the moved crowd, give this band a much-needed standing ovation.

“H” suddenly vanishes from the stage, only to return shortly in a long-sleeved white top, the cuffs undone, the buttons clearly uneven. He blushes like a schoolgirl, showing no shame in his improper dress code. The band breaks into song once more for an encore, playing with far more sincerity. “H” sings to the universe, falling to the floor as delicately as the first snowflakes of winter. He’s overwhelmed by the power of his own lyrics: “But when you’re gone/I never land/In Neverland.” At this point, the entire band is playing to all beings, both human and divine. The song has a soul of its own. Every note and melody allows it to breath. Before I know it, the music fades away, swallowed by the roar of the thrilled audience. The end of their set comes as alarmingly as a deer in headlights. Before I know it, I’m back on Earth. I look at my dad once more, but no words need to be said.  The band takes a final bow, and then they’re gone, out of my life, just before I can land in Neverland. I wonder to myself: Where have you been all my life?