“Who are you writing for these days?” He asked suddenly, and I told him, trying to hear him convey the message through the muffled rasp.
“He says that’s fine, but it’ll have to be after our set.”
My heart soared at both the journalistic coup of bagging an interview with one of the hottest groups in the world, but mostly at the opportunity at being able to see someone I associated with a piece of my past. A past that felt more story than history.
Chapter 32
Sol8 didn’t go on for a couple hours, but I made my way over to the main stage anyway, deciding to really immerse myself in the music for the last day.
I was a live wire; a thrum of nervous anxiety vibrating through me, but despite that I let go and gave into the eclectic energy that came from a live audience.
The acts were on top form, and I dutifully took photos and made voice notes to write up later, but mostly I just let myself go with it.
The sun was starting to blur across the horizon when a hush descended across the assembled crowds. The stage techs that had been moving set pieces around like well organised worker bees suddenly fled the stage, and the ambient music from the speakers dimmed.
Smoke machines on either side began to stream white smoke in billows that engulfed the stage in no time.
All at once, and seemingly in unison, cheers, and screams began to erupt from the previously hushed crowds. Banners and flags began to shoot up, and suddenly, it was like the normal Glastonbury attendees had been replaced with K-Pop fans. The transformation was extraordinary, and I noted as much into my recorder.
Sol8 took to the stage amidst uproarious screams, and applause.
I hadn’t seen Sol8 perform since that day in the lower levels of ENT, where some of the talent had performed brief showcases for the employees. I’d never seen one of their actual stages.
Had they always been this good?
This wasn’t the first K-Pop act I’d seen in the past couple years, but it was the first group I knew personally, and in a way, it felt like watching old colleagues at work. Technically, I only knew Taeyang, but I’d helped out with Sol8’s music video sets. I knew they wouldn’t remember me, I knew the connection was tenuous at best, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a link between us. It was bizarre, and I couldn’t even really articulate it, even to myself.
It was gratifying to see how well-received they were. When I’d seen them last, they were barely out of their debut era. Now, they were popstars in their own right.
There were still people who loved to point out that Sol8 was not as successful as GVibes had been, and would have struggled more if GVibes were active, though from what I was seeing, they were solid contenders. But a one-to-one comparison wasn’t fair. They were very different groups, very different people.
And so what if the absence of such an overshadowing group allowed another one to grow in the sun? It didn’t take anything away from GVibes.
I felt oddly proud.
When their performance was over, it was full dark; nightfall having come and gone. The stage seemed to explode with bright red pyrotechnics and lasers shooting into the sky. The roar from the crowd was deafening, lasting several minutes, even after every member of Sol8 had long since left the stage.
I was just walking through the crowd in the loose direction of my campsite when my phone buzzed.
Tae
Walk round the the side of the stage - look for the red gate, I’ve put your name on the list.
[Sent 23:42]
A thrill rang through me, and I turned around to head back towards the Pyramid stage. I was a fish swimming upstream - the flow of people pushing around me in the direction of the late-night areas, looking to string out the night as much as they could.
Because I had to navigate around so many people, it took me longer than I would have thought to get close to the stage, which in itself was massive. Navigating around it took a while, but eventually I got to a wall of metal railings, obstructed by black sheet material that was obviously designed to keep people out, and from seeing what lay beyond. It seemed like a good place to start, so I walked along it until – bingo. Big, red gate.
Apprehensively, I approached the cordoned off area, manned by no fewer than five burly looking people wearing red lanyards.
“You can’t come through here,” said the one closest to me, looking bored.
I pulled my press pass out from under my thin t-shirt. I had to repress a mad urge to say, “multi-pass”.
What I said instead was, “my name should be on the list.” I tried not to fidget.
“Uh huh. Name?”
