Last Night: Il Divo @ Comcast Arena
My girlfriend and I made the pilmigrage to Everett last night to see "popera" quartet Il Divo. And it became clear upon our arrival that we were out of our element. A sea of gray hair, grey hair dyed auburn, and pastel suits swarmed around us. Several buses marked with names of assisted living homes unloaded residents decked out in evening gowns.

We headed to the wine bar to drown the worries that we were out of place.

After a few generously poured glasses of Pinot Grigio and Chardonnay, we made our way to our seats, which turned out to be close enough to the stage that if we were quick enough to get past security, we could successfully grab the asses of each Il Divo member. This pleased us.

Il Divo is a band formed by American Idol judge and music manager Simon Cowell--a man who clearly knows his shit when it comes to making money and getting the public's attention. The cheapest tickets to last night's show were $60--and Everett's Comcast Arena sold each and every one of them.

We were initially skeptical as to whether the evening would bode well for us. The handsome foursome (well, threesome--the American's not so cute) launched into a song we'd never heard before, so we discussed how much their Armani suits cost. Then we debated what the bizarre visuals the band had going on behind them--burning wedding dresses and meandering Dobermans--symbolized.

The audience members near us frantically took photographs, sighed in pleasure, and murmured things like "This is beautiful" to one another. My girlfriend spilled wine on her dress. I was sweating like a pig in the poorly ventilated venue. We argued over which of the four Il Divo members was hottest. A woman turned around and shouted at us to shut up. Obviously, we weren't the target demographic.

But that changed after the first 15 minutes or so of the performance. That's when the attractive quartet belted out a Spanish version of Tony Braxton's "Unbreak My Heart." It was so gorgeous that we actually did shut up.

Then--I almost died of happiness--they performed a cover of the Righteous Brothers' "Unchained Melody." We sighed and murmured "This is beautiful." We frantically took photographs. And then, our love for Il Divo was cemented, because they walked directly in front of us.

The band is set up the way a lot of contemporary pop boy bands are. It contains four decent looking dudes that are different enough that they each will draw in his own set of fans. There's the crowd favorite, the all-American David Miller. Then there's the adorable French ex-pop star Sébastien Izambard. My girlfriend was obsessed with the brooding Urs Bühler who wore an expression on his face like he was attending a funeral service. And then, there was my favorite, a sleazy Spaniard named Carlos Marín, who looks like Sylvester Stallone. We got him to wink at us twice. It was thrilling. (Oh, and he separated from his wife earlier this year. Score!)

We ogled them all. My girlfriend kept insisting that she and Sébastien "had a moment" where he seemed to be singing directly to her. I pointed out the gleaming wedding ring on his finger.

As the night went on, the men performed several more songs, some traditional opera like "Isabel" and others, like ABBA's "Winner Takes All" less so.

The entire set lasted an impressive two and a half hours. And at its end, Il Divo sang Frank Sinatra's "My Way" and I touched Sébastien and Carlos... okay, well I only touched their hands. But still. After that my girlfriend and I got the hell out of there before we were trampled by the overzealous silver-haired females.

I've gotta say though, in case anyone thinks I'm mocking the demographic, I actually thought the crowd was pretty fucking awesome (aside from the wench who yelled at us). I really liked seeing women in their 60s and 70s shrieking over these guys. It's cool that the older crowd has a band they can get nuts over like tweens do over the Jonas Brothers.

I was particularly struck by a lovely lady in her 60s who was there by herself. She wore a pretty cashmere sweater and looked thrilled to be at the concert. I hope her night was as good as mine.

...although I will say, mine could've been better, had it ended with my leaving with Carlos.

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