Notes on a Weekend With FEMM

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I’m back from the hinterlands of Rosemont, Illinois, where I saw the Japanese mannequin music group, FEMM.  An epic odyssey: the day before my trip on Friday, I had undergone the third procedure for a kidney stone and an uncomfortable stent was inserted to aid the recovery.  I really should have been home, slouching around, coming back to life, but FEMM means a great deal to me.

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One day, in 2016, I was surfing the net, looking for new J-Pop groups and, bam, they hit me, baby: original, engaging videos, catchy hooks in their songs.  Superior to US pop music these days.  This was around the time the Chicago Cubs won the World Series: I recall sitting at a Starbucks, watching FEMM videos while waiting for a couple friends to check out the chalked tributes to the Cubs on the walls at Wrigley Field.  One of those friends, Father Satan, had been sardonic about FEMM, scoffing at them.  He died a year or so later.  All this has something to do with my very personal feelings over FEMM (wouldn't you know it, in bed after their Friday show, I had a dream featuring Father Satan).

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I never thought I would see FEMM live.  They don’t have a big fan base in the US and haven’t made many appearances here.  But in May, I heard they would be guest at an Anime Festival in July in Rosemont.  I was thrilled.  Unfortunately, one member, LuLa, was later denied a visa so they couldn’t perform: it broke my heart.  But RiRi did show up, so I was able to meet her.  She indicated with her hands, as only a mannequin can do, that FEMM would return in December.  She understood my sadness, and I appreciate that.

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I was not at close to 100 percent for the December show.  I let myself go in appearance somewhat because I am recovering from this goddamn ailment.  It was difficult getting to Rosemont: but, as scatterbrained as I was at this anime festival Friday, I still made the concerts.  FEMM was outstanding.  On both Friday and Saturday, they played my favorite songs.  I sang lyrics, I pointed at the beats, I waved and waved.  And, at their meet and greet, they showed they liked the poster I created at an art therapy class, when the teacher wanted us to depict happiness.  No brainer: FEMM is happiness.  

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Saturday was even better.  L.C.S. and Kill the DJ, epic drops.  FEMM wore different costumes: a space age couple, flexing their magic muscles.  Again, I lost myself in their singing and dancing.  Yeah, I was showing my grey beard, but who the fxxk cared?  I looked scraggly and disheveled and not at all as well-kept as I should have appeared, considering the company.  But, oh well, that happens during pilgrimages.  I'm sure Dante looked the same after hanging with Beatrice during the Divine Comedy.  Besides, I felt younger than the kids around me, who didn’t seem to get it as much as I did.  Their loss.  At that photo op, I wished FEMM well and hoped they’d come back to Chicago.  RiRi answered by throwing down some hand gestures I may never comprehend, as only a mannequin can do.  But I’m sure they were nice.

Oh, awesomely super FEMM, I gush, I fawn, I act like a holy fool.  But maybe because of this act of pop culture pilgrimage to the vast distances of Rosemont, I understand why now.  As in, POW!