Overrated | The Voice France / MIKA & OC

5.9 - Live 2. The Show

I didn't realise that this place is so high.
I stare in the darkness of the ceiling and it seems infinite at first. But soon I begin to tell apart all the boards and pillars there, and gosh, dozens, probably a hundred spotlight machines hanging there like gigantic mechanical bats, all numbered, connected and dead. I decide to always look at number 13, so I won't get distracted observing them all.
But then a camera slowly rolls in above me, and one of the spotlights come to life, immediately blinding me. I try to cover my eyes, but it's too late.
- Hey!
- ... I told you to close your eyes, - I recognize the same tech crew I had last time, in my earphone.
- You didn't, - I said.
I hear some static as a reply.
Oh, fuck me, really?!
- My earphone is glitching, - I alert him in my microphone. Nothing.
I sit up, looking for help. Notice the timer above the stage, and it tells 1:39. How the hell they're going to fix this?!
- Hey, what's wrong? - I hear Mika shout, and try to show him what's going on. He points at his belt, obviously, hinting to check the transmitter box. And when I do, to my relief, I see the cord wasn't fully plugged, and fix that quickly.
- Voice in my ear, - I call the staff again, - Say something.
- One, two, three.
And I sigh again.
- I'm good now. No problem, ok.
I assume the horizontal position again, trying to calm down the pounding heart. Of course my karma didn't let me stay relaxed and just enjoy the process, of course I need to freak out a bit.
And Mika once said that I should take control of my life, huh. With my luck so radical, it's simply impossible.

- Ten seconds, Alice, - I hear soon, - Good luck.
- Thanks.
I slowly exhale and look up again. Within this last seconds, I decide that spotlight 13 is too close to the one shining on me now, so I move my sight to the one a bit further, labeled 77. 7 is a lucky number, they say.
- And we're live.

***
Ghostly delicate piano, light synthesizer on top, heavy monotonic bass and mechanical beat runs the music that I hear in my headphones. I close my eyes, according to the script, and lay still, hoping that Castel's visuals will work as planned.
Don't know if it happens to everyone else, but I always see pictures and stories when I play or sing, even if I don't know the lyrics. Each time it's different, so there's no surprise that I couldn't pick one for the show. And the one I told Mika is not relevant anymore.
So I'll make up the story as the song goes.
"Keep the sound light", - I remember what Mika said on our last rehearsal, - "Imagine that your voice is a pearl in the air. If you make it too loud, you'll drop it." What a strange association, but I think it works!

Taking a deep breath, I begin, lightly, softly, on one long exhale:

Precious and fragile things
Need special handling
My God, what have we done to you...

I don't push the sound, I don't try to control it. It's as fragile as a bubble, hanging, I need just one little change in the tone to change its direction. The melody comes out easily: this time I rely completely on the instincts and training, and focus on my thoughts and my moves instead. The verse goes on:

We all was trying to share
The tenderest of care
Now look what we have watch it through...

While I sing these lines, I raise my hand with palm open, and the white blinking dot, projected on it from above, suddenly becomes a white flower. Love this part.
It blooms right in my hand, then cripples into petals and they go down the sleeve, swirling and swaying in a dance on my dress, as I move on to the chorus:

Things get damaged, thing get broken
I thought we'd manage, but what's left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was a little left to give.

I can't see it, but I know that my dress has become purple, and there's a myriad of little white lights traveling through it, like electric impulses. I bet it looks amazing.