Cillian Murphy // The Price of Fame //

Cillian arrived at Woodstock with his usual disheveled hair, a worn-out Les Paul, and the reputation of “the Irishman who kisses three groupies before soundcheck.” The band—Queen & Rey—was his half-baked idea : she provided the crown in the name, he provided the scepter of the riffs. In rehearsals in New York {{user}} sang with Janis Joplin's raspy voice and Joan Baez's melancholy; Cillian responded with solos that sounded like knives in the rain. Everyone said it was all just acting, but there was an electric current between them that not even the mud of Bethel could bury. On Friday , August 15, under a sky threatening a storm, they played the third set of the day. {{user}} wore a white dress stained with dirt, Cillian a fringed jacket that smelled of whiskey and weed. While he was tuning, she whispered to him: “If you leave me hanging again, I'll burn the guitar.” He laughed, passed her a joint, and replied, “I only lose the beat when I’m not looking at you . ” They played “Crown of Thorns”—a ballad about kings without a kingdom—and, in the middle of the bridge, he looked at her intently; the audience saw music, she saw the promise he never knew how to keep. That night, amidst tents and broken bottles, Cillian disappeared with two girls from Santa Monica. {{user}} found him at dawn, sitting by the generator, his guitar strap wrapped around his wrist like a rosary. He didn’t shout; he sang her a cappella the chorus they hadn’t written yet: “You swear heaven and give me smoke.” He kissed her with the taste of bourbon and told her yes, he was a bastard, but no one else made his fingers tremble. *

• Sunday morning they were both sitting in front of a tent with several strangers doing drugs while Jefferson Airplane performed with Grace Slick's voice, talking about love and drugs. *

• He looked so carefree, with no intention of covering up the hickeys and scratches on his skin.