just an aside: the little emotion indicators up there are pretty limited in scope. Where is the one for murderous rage, huh?

I’m watching the Live 8 concerts today. While Sting’s set was on, I was musing about the similarities and differences between Sting and Clay. I was thinking about writing a blog about this – how they are both beautiful men with beautiful voices but that I have my doubts that Clay will ever be the musician that Sting is. As I started writing I mentioned that I’ve been a fan of Sting’s for more than 20 years… and then it suddenly occurred to me that I’ve seen Sting in concert once in 20 years. I’ve seen Clay in concert 16 times in 2 years. WTF?

So I changed my mind and instead will write about this: what is it that makes Clay concerts so addictive and satisfying?

Part of it is, without question, the social aspects of concert attendance. Most of you online fans will understand what I mean; the pre-parties full of giddy chatter and anticipation, the post-parties where the alcohol and the clack flow freely; seeing old friends and new faces who you know only as words on the computer screen.

But the concerts themselves are almost always exciting and fun. Yes, I said “almost always” because I thought the JNT was dull as mud, and YWT made me want to plunge a rusty skewer through my eyeballs. And eardrums.

Overall though, Clay concerts give me surge of adrenaline and leave me high for days. What’s up with that? Is he piping gaseous crack into the air filtration system? (Note: the odor of gaseous crack is very similar to that of Jemock’s perfume. At least, I think that was her perfume…)

One of my favorite concert memories was my first IT show, in Winston-Salem, NC. Being someone differently heighted (inclusion-esque, BAF approved language) I vowed that I would not, I say not, attempt to stand on my chair to see Clay’s Kyrie entrance. I would retain my dignity and safety by keeping my feet on the floor. Uh.Huh. When the spotlight hit the back of the auditorium and the cacophony of screams indicated that HE had walked into the room, I was up on that chair faster than… faster than Jude can down a 40 oz’er. I am helpless to resist that electric charge that accompanies the combination of Clay, a microphone, and a stage.

I spend many days muttering under my breath about this thing or that thing Clay said or did. I am a cynic demmit. I will resist this fangirly nonsense! But after a concert… I’m reduced to a helpless lump of swooning and slobbering. I can’t help it. What is this power that he has? And will he use it for good or for evil? Hmmm.