And you finish with a nagging sense of shallow half-fulfilment, wishing the other person had actually been in the room. ” of live music – and possibly Skype sex, I’ve no idea – a lot of the thrill of a major gig is being in the presence of an idol.
Because, for all the grunting, hip-swivelling, egotistical posing and shouts of “whoop! You’ve listened to all the songs a billion times; what you’re paying for is time within a confined space with the superhuman cultural behemoth that created it, for them to do with you what they will, like some kind of new-song-fixated Christian Grey.
With great relief we read, “And such were some of you.” What changed to turn these sinners who would have no part in God’s kingdom into members of the early church?
Or a computerised Prince that leaps out of a laptop in Camden PC World at 10 minutes notice.
And to feel, with however much self-delusion it takes to get you off, that this is revealing and open-hearted quality time with your hero, rather than just the same rehearsed-to-the-point-of-tedium first-date seduction routine they lay on all the territories.
So when news emerged this week that Amy Winehouse’s hologram tour has been postponed while its creators work on “unique challenges and sensitivities” and “a concert spectacle which requires creative engineering”, it came with the same sort of relief of hearing that had run into funding issues.
We exchanged emails and talked via Skype every day and night for two months. I’ve never done such a thing, but he didn’t seem upset by it.
We were planning to meet, but before it happened, one day during our Skype conversation, he started to say things that stirred up our emotions. He said this was natural, but later because I could not go on, we prayed together and asked forgiveness from God and each other. By the way, he stopped contacting me after a while. Dear Reader, I’m shocked and saddened by your letter, but I’m not surprised. I’m grieved by your sin because it separates you from God.