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Some personal thoughts to remember Marc as the anniversary of his passing approaches, and his birthday (September 30th). I wonder if I'll ever be able to visit him as I wanted to this summer after the exams; hopefully another time, terrorism permitting. In the meantime, I comfort myself with The Slider, and I'm enchanted to watch him in the footage of the historic concert at the Empire Pool on March 18th, '72, as he swings his mane and drives the crowd wild - knowingly, and with his great satisfaction - in an ecstatic wave of sensuality, lightness, smiles, tears, sweat: Marc, the voice of an unrepeatable mystery, and Mickey with his bongos, the dazed and focused look, the hands of someone who personally wants to craft a happiness and a love too immense for just one evening to contain.
That never-experienced concert materializes before me, and with it the thrills, hopes, and dreams of those who were there that night. The music of Marc and Mickey is a beauty that exudes true love, it’s tangible, it's profound and concrete. And at the same time, volatile and dreamy. Those who love Marc love everything about him. And I'm not just talking about the beautiful Electric Warrior and The Slider, but also about what came before and what came after. A fallen and overweight Marc; but what passion, the notes of Teenage Dream...
This is my small tribute to someone who needed little time to understand the true beauty of things, capture it, and give it to us. A beauty that also includes the mystery of death, because those who "dance in their own grave" have been able to include even the darkest thought in the parenthesis of happiness and life. Until next summer...
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