January 4th, 2045
Last night, I traveled forward in time to the year 2067, as I had learned the previous year that the band dubbed, “The Rolling Stones of the 2000s” would be commencing their farewell tour that would end with what they described as the “biggest freakin’ finale rack ever” exploding over the renovated outdoor stage of the Banff Center in Banff, Canada. It was there on December 25th, on a wintry Christmas Day’s night, I watched Nickelback play their last concert ever and, astoundingly, they were joined on stage by Angel Freddie Mercury who had descended from Zoroastrian heaven.
I will freely admit to being a hardline Nickelbacker and Freddie-Head since my youth. They, to me, are two sides of the same coin: so different stylistically yet so similar in their transformative impacts on modern music. I listened to the equally talented acts as a sort of coping mechanism to becoming a man in the 2020s when the United States of Deals was still grappling with the dreadful effects of the post-Trump presidency. It had pushed myself and many others over the edge of a revolution and into war. Nickelback and Freddie Mercury echoed in my mind through those days of hell, and their songs that featured themes of love, loss, and “Feelin’ Way Too Damned Good,” as well as the fantasy of coming home to some “Fat Bottomed Girls” resonated with me. Frankly, it was a time when anyone hardly felt damned good and almost no one was able to have sex with their nannies.
After the war ended, this love of two musical icons persuaded me to time-travel 22 years into the future to watch a concert that I would likely never live to see otherwise on account of the cancer I had picked up in the war. Also, I went because I learned that I couldn’t go back in time to see Freddie. Apparently time travel doesn’t work that way, which is stupid.
The concert was a smash and as we danced during the throes of the seventh encore of “Hero,” we were hit with a sudden burst of warmth and light that emanated from a massive meteor that had suddenly appeared overhead. We watched as it tore through the sky and rocketed towards the stage, where it exploded into a ball of pure energy to reveal of one of Ahura Mazda’s most glorious creations –Freddie Mercury — who had become an Angel, the eighth Amesha Spenta.
His skin, solid gold, his eyes Tanzanite, and his wings, diamond. He was the hero Nickelback had been speaking of all along. He was real, and that night, they all became Princes of the Universe.
Throughout the rest of the evening they rocked and they rolled and they soloed and dueted in easily the most wondrous, fantastical concert of all time. Freddie regularly shot harmless laser beams out of his gem-eyes, Chad Kroeger and Avril Lavigne got back together, and Freddie released a dusting of blessed cocaine on the audience to mimic snowfall. The icing on the cake came last when Freddie turned Nickelback’s fireworks into the Aurora Borealis, then raised the venue into the sky so the colors and shapes could dance around us. It was there, among the clouds that he asked the audience to join him in singing a mashup of “Somebody to Love” and “How You Remind Me” together. It was easily the best moment of my life.
Now that it’s over, it’s time for me to come back to reality, to try to understand how two of my favorite artists of all time from two drastically different time periods had the chance to perform together. I don’t want to think too hard about the implication that it occurred in any way because of me. I mean, they did exclusively shape me into the person I am today, I’d been dreaming about a moment like this my entire life, and then it actually happened, proving anything is possible. Regardless, it would be unfair of me to take credit for this astronomically high statistical improbability. Only the Wise Lord can, and Wise Lord knows that I will be forever thankful for experiencing that night.
That said, I do have one concern: I just hope the ole’ creator hasn’t outdone himself!