There was a lingering hue of confusion in the air. The room was filled with people causally making faces, the kind of faces people make when they smell a really bad fart in a large public space.
Except no one had farted this time. This time it was her doing, and she knew it.
It wasn't that she wasn't talented. She was a great musician. Fantastic in fact. No one could deny that she might be one of the most talented musicians to have ever lived.
She even had that reputation. Her reputation was probably what set off the crowds confusion. It wasn't her talent. It was her lyrics.
Her lyrics were, in a nut shell; disturbing. Very disturbing.
Not in a way that punk or punk-rockers, or punkers, or medal-heads might enjoy. Not that kind of disturbing.
She had a disturbance that made it feel as if the song and the lyrics were going into your skin like tiny little worms. And then they wriggled about your whole body for the duration of the song. But when the song was over. You could still feel the worms in your skin. They didn't go away. They just stopped moving.
In fact, when you went home after her concert. You learned to love the feeling of the little worms inside your body, even though there were no worms. The feeling of them never left you, for as long as you lived. But if you played a recording of her music, they would dance again inside your body. They would dance, but not in the same way that they did that first time. That only happened if you saw her live more than once.
Eventually, people got sick of the tiny wriggles from recordings. And needed the full blown experience. It became so much of a frenzy to see her live. That she stopped playing live shows.
There was mass hysteria, and a hunt to kidnap her and force her to play live became the worlds priority. Eventually one of her own body guards killed her, accidentally while trying to force her to play the piano. The details were vague.
When she died. The worm feeling disappeared in everyone. And everyone in the world all felt really sad.