Winter of '23, the Color of Money,  and postponed dreams  

Last Christmas, I received an amazing gift from my husband: two tickets to Bryan Adam's concert in Prague. I had always wanted to go to his concert, actually, from the very moment my cousin A. introduced me to him in a small Khrushchevka in Baku when I was 9. And just like that, he became my first love... and ever since then, I had been longing to go to one of his concerts: in Canada, the US, or elsewhere... However, you know, eternal excuses: lack of time, financial constraints, different priorities, and bla, bla, bla. Interestingly enough, just the day before the concert, I had watched the movie "The Color of Money," where Scorsese raised — albeit, in a slightly tedious way — the problem of unfulfilled lives. Well, what prevented me from doing it myself before? What is that about, seriously? Why are we perpetually taking a rain check on ourselves?

I experienced a very sentimental reminiscence when he performed a couple of soundtracks from "Spirit" cartoon, which took me not to the American prairies or the shore of the Simmaron River (why on earth would they?), but to that very Bakuvian teeny-tiny apartment where my sister was watching "Spirit" and singing all day long with her childish, yet radiant voice. I found myself crying along with her once again, both back then and during the concert. You know, what astonished me? Adam's voice seems to have not changed at all; it was the very voice of the 90s-2000s: pure, intimate, and genuine. He is 64, for crying out loud! Being still that romantic, sincere, full of dreams exactly as in 90s, he did enjoy and adored his job on the scene, charging us with his seemingly endless energy.

Many songs were performed on the stage that night: old, very famous, less known, and relatively new ones, ballads, and rhythmic rock pieces. Nonetheless, no matter how many songs you know, sing, and dance along, you always look forward to hearing one special song you came for, the one you are craving for, the one that makes you feel loved and appreciated. Yes, “Everything I do, I do it for you”. Those magic words. That moment you understood from the very first chords, that your song was coming, you want to scream from happiness. A very precious moment. And the cherry on the cake — particularly, in the background of the last two years, was his last song “Christmas time”: he made a little introduction before, having told the story behind the song and reminded us that there were people who were less fortunate who still die in the war and sent a peaceful message to the whole world. As he performed, the audience seemed to have frozen in solemn silence as if they were commemorating all the Ukrainian people (and not only!) who unjustly (like death can ever be justified!) and in vainly died in the war. It was unforgettable, like he was performing in a café in the secluded company of his family or friends: a guitar and his intimate voice with a romantic undeliberate hoarseness.

Being referred to as the Canadian Bruce Springsteen by Robin Scherbatsky, I never comprehended why the characters in “How I Met Your Mother” considered this comment bizarre or mocked him and all Canadians. And while he may surprisingly not be celebrated as one of Rolling Stone's top 200 singers, his ballads will always hold personal significance for me, for they deeply touch every inch of my heart and soul. That evening, I danced my legs out and could hardly feel my back, but I was soooo deliriously happy that they hurt.