October 11, 2006
There she was — barefoot — sitting at a grand piano with a three-story backdrop of glass reflecting the lights of New York City. Her fingers moved over the keyboard, striking the familiar notes, and her angelic voice rang out, "Heaven bent to take my hand," and I knew I was in trouble.
Despite my lack of waterproof mascara and the concerned stare of the Japanese man sitting at my table, I started to cry. It was a private performance of Sarah McLachlan at the new Time Warner Building's Frederick P. Rose Hall to announce Citi/AAdvantage Card's new private concert series. Also, it was the first chance I have ever had to see the patron saint of all women going through break-ups in person. Pure magic.
Sarah has serenaded me through every major romantic heartbreak of my adult life, to the point where roommates of mine have ejected the CD from the stereo and smashed it on the ground because they couldn't stand to hear it one more time. Luckily, she released a new album often enough to accommodate my latest love life decline.
It was all I could do not to belt out the lyrics of "Fallen" and her other songs as I did so often alone in my room or car or closet. "I did see you lip synching," said my friend, Leanne who, younger and prettier, has had less use for the divine Ms. McL's heart soothing crooning. Yet she was still entirely moved. "It's like poetry beyond poetry," she mused.
As I looked around the small audience, I wondered if the men listening had ever bowed to Sarah's great altar of emotional release. I cornered two nicely dressed guys at the bar afterward and asked if there was such a thing, other than the unfortunate name coincidences such as "Allison," "Angie," "Rosanna," or, of course, "Sarah" as male break up music.
"Yes!" they responded in unison. One cited "The First Cut is the Deepest," and the other answered, "Anything by Air Supply . . . as I lie on my white shag rug . . . drinking rose . . . until, of course, I get angry."
"I thought that you guys went for that hard rock 'die, bitch, die' sort of thing," I said. "It's more of a 'die, my lovely one, die,'" the other corrected and went on to tell me about a famous poem by Browning in which the jilted man strangles his beloved with her own hair. I have to hang out with men in suits more often, I thought.
The EVP of Citi Cards who announced the lineup of private concerts for cardholders explained that having this credit card is, "The only relationship you need for those exclusive experiences." Tell me about it. With all the money I've spent on my Citi/AAdvantage MasterCard, I probably paid for the expensive suit he was wearing.
I had to laugh as I thought about my intimate relationship with my Citicard. As soon as I stopped using it, they increased my spending limit. I guess they were worried I was stepping out with American Express. So as a reward to their loyal card members they are offering exclusive private concert tickets to Dave Matthews in L.A, Mary J. Blige in Chicago, Tony Bennett in Dallas, and Aerosmith in New York.
Let me give you the inside scoop. Tickets are available at www.PrivatePass.Citi.com. Card members get a gift after each concert and some lucky ones will even get backstage passes. Woo me baby! I'm going to log on to get tix to Aerosmith doing an acoustic performance at the Beacon Theatre Dec. 3.
But gals, let me tell you, now is not the time to break up. Sarah's next album is actually a lovely holiday compilation called Wintersong. You may have to resort to Dido.
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