THE FIRST WEDDING
Let’s start at the urinal.
Two men are standing unnaturally close to one another, which would ordinarily be a significant breach of urinary etiquette, especially when the dividers are as ineffective as they are here. But in this instance, the breach is entirely pardonable, because these two men, Jun and Arthur, have just gotten married. Also, they are wearing a gigantic tuxedo that’s been tailored for two people to share. The white shirts underneath are sewn together with a big bowtie on the top. The pants are appropriate for both a formal occasion and a three-legged race. The fly has been inconveniently placed.
Behind them, the wedding singer waits his turn.
In all the time Jun and Arthur spent planning for this big day, it hadn’t occurred to either of them to think about peeing. In order to approach the fly at the proper angle, Arthur has found it necessary to fold himself into Jun, one arm bracing for stability, the other trying to guide the trajectory. The endeavor plays out the way most weddings do, as a messy process with unexpected challenges that test the bounds of teamwork. But in the end, there’s a certain sense of relief.
Jun and Arthur are both in their early forties, and as with most gay men of their generation, their gay identities formed first as amatter of revelation and survival, next as a matter of pleasure and defiance, and finally as a matter of community and pride. When they were sixteen years old, ten years away from meeting each other, getting legally married wasn’t something they could imagine. And if they had, it would have felt like a Technicolor dream sequence. Their love formed when marriage was still out of bounds, and when the bounds changed with astonishing speed, it took them a while to decide the step finally being offered was a step worth taking.
The only way they could do it was in their own fashion. Some couples have a favorite song. Jun and Arthur have a favorite state of being, and that is song. Neither of them sings particularly well or plays an instrument with any proficiency. Instead they believe in the ever-present soundtrack, the perpetual playlist. Sometimes they control the dials, manipulating their sonic surroundings to enhance or alter their moods. Other times, they leave it to chance—not just by shuffling toward randomness, but often by wandering around Gothenburg and waiting for a song to come to them, lilting from an open window or roaring out of a bar. The life they share and the songs they share are inseparable. So when they planned their wedding they knew they wanted:
1) A theme-songed wedding
2) A song-themed wedding
The second of these desires leads to the first explanation of their costume. Just as each of their guests has come dressed as a favorite song, Jun and Arthur are dressed as a tune that fits the occasion far better than a large tuxedo fits two men of different heights: the Spice Girls’ mathematically simplistic yet philosophically rich ballad “2 Become 1.”
As for the desire to have a theme-songed wedding...well, that is where J, the man waiting patiently behind them, comes in.
J is a somewhat successful Swedish singer-songwriter. If you live outside of Sweden, it’s unlikely you’ve heard any of his songs on the radio...unless you are one of the bookish, folkish sort who listen to bookish, folkish stations that play bookish, folkish ditties. Then you might know exactly who J is.
The reason he’s here tonight is not a longstanding friendship with Jun and Arthur. Until they emailed him out of the blue, J had never met them. This may seem like a strange thing to do, but for J, it is not that strange, because on his debut album there is a song called “If You Ever Need a Stranger (to Sing at Your Wedding).” It goes like this:
If you ever need a stranger
To sing at your wedding
A last-minute choice, then I am your man
I know every song, you name it
By Bacharach or David
Every stupid love song that’s ever touched your heart
Every power ballad that’s ever climbed the charts
You think it’s funny
My obsession with the holy matrimony
But I’m just so amazed to witness true love
And true love can be measured
Through these simple pleasures
They are waiting there for you to be discovered
I would cut off my right arm to be someone’s lover
Maybe I’ll meet her there tonight at the wedding buffet
I walk up to her when she’s caught the bouquet
Songs are not, by nature, self-fulfilling prophecies. It’s safe to say that Bing Crosby experienced many snowless Christmases, Michael Jackson notably did not heal the world, and Florence Welch had noidea what 2020 was going to be like when she proclaimed the dog days to be over in 2010.
