“When the day is long and the night,
The night is yours alone,
When you’re sure you’ve had enough of this life, well hang on.
Don’t let yourself go, everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes…”
Michael Stipe’s voice echoed around Kevin’s head; striking a chord with the melancholy he was feeling. It was 1:30 am and he was lying on yet another unfamiliar bed, in a mundane hotel situated in some nondescript country midway through the World Tour. The silent flashing of the television in the corner shed the only light in the room, displaying images of an enthusiastic, slightly balding game show host in a yellow sequinned jacket. The incessant and irritatingly perky babbling of some unintelligible language on each of the only three channels had caused Kevin to mute the TV. He had switched on the radio instead; impatiently jiggling it until he had found a song he recognised. Now, as REM softly played, Kevin noted the irony. The song fit his mood too perfectly. If he hadn’t been so lethargic, he would have allowed himself a wry chuckle at the triteness of the situation.
“Sometimes everything is wrong.
Now it’s time to sing along.
When your day is night alone (hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go, (hold on)
When you think you’ve had too much of this life, well hang on…”
Kevin sighed: the lyrics were so fitting that he knew he would be forced to reassess his life for what felt like the millionth time before he got any sleep. He resigned himself to examining his career; his goals. He had achieved so much that he felt almost guilty to be harbouring any regrets. He was part of a world-famous group. Their current album had sold over 25 million copies world-wide. This world tour had sold out in record time. They were performing, as they had earlier that evening, to crowds of 25,000 plus. Kevin loved performing; he loved the adrenaline rush, the high.
“Everybody hurts.
Take comfort in your friends.
Everybody hurts.
Don’t throw your hand, oh no.
Don’t throw your hand.
If you feel like you’re alone,
No, no, no, you are not alone…”
But after the concerts, after the buzz had died away…that was when Kevin felt unfulfilled, empty. He disliked the cramped travel on board the ‘luxury’ tourbus, listening to Nick and Brian’s noisy banter. He felt nothing but antipathy for the brief overnighters at each hotel, forced to listen through the walls to the moans of some girl that one of his bandmates was conning into feeling special. He was dissatisfied by the way he was travelling the world without seeing the sights, tasting the food, immersing himself in the culture. He abhorred the repetitive interviews and shoots, where the questions were well rehearsed and the poses hackneyed. Remember the performing, he rationalised. That’s why you do this; remember that rush, you know you love it. Kevin sighed: then why did he remain so convinced that his life was going in the wrong direction?
“ If you’re on your own in this life,
The days and nights are long,
When you think you’ve had too much of this life to hang on…”
Who am I kidding, thought Kevin. Even Michael Stipe knows: I’m on my own in this life. Without a doubt, that’s what I hate the most: the loneliness. I need to be holding someone, laughing with someone, loving someone.
“Well, everybody hurts sometimes,
Everybody cries.
And everybody hurts sometimes.
And everybody hurts sometimes.
So, hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on…”
The song faded out, as the incomprehensible DJ faded in. Then, a maniacal laugh. Kevin raised his head, exasperated, searching for something, anything, solid.
“I may run and hide, when you’re screaming my name, alright,
But let me tell you know there are prices to fame, alri-”
A shoe hurtled through the air, knocking the radio to the ground. Kevin, incensed, collapsed his pounding head back onto the bed.
(Lyrics: ‘Everybody Hurts’ by REM; ‘Larger than Life’ by the Backstreet
Boys)
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