By Anya Tamir, still emotionally recovering from the Rogers Centre
You think you’ve seen high stakes courtroom drama in real life and on screen? Try imagining Chris Martin and The Weeknd as lawyers.
I’ve been to both their concerts. One felt like attending a mindfulness retreat run by your high school music teacher if of course such retreats existed. The audience was trated to incense, acoustic covers, garage band level musicians and vocals, and unsolicited life advice. The Weekend on the hand was a religious awakening set on fire and dipped in molasses.
If Chris Martin ever passed the bar, he’d try to work at a legal clinic. He’d show up to the interview in Echo sneakers that cost more than his rent, guitar case in hand (which he swears he won’t open during trial, but he totally will). He’d be sincere, glowing, optimistic. He’d quote Rumi in his factum and hand out glow bracelets before closing arguments.
But Chris wouldn’t make it. His emotional climate requires full-spectrum lighting, affirmations, and universal love. And that as some of us too painfully aware doesn’t hold up well in a week-long trial over a shareholder dispute.
And then his cost submissions would probably end with something like, “And if we can’t agree… maybe that’s okay too.”
Meanwhile, Abel Tesfaye ,The Weeknd, would be terrifyingly good at trial. That courtroom presence you can’t teach? He has it. I watched him perform in 32-degree heat, wrapped in a black coat over a black jacket, wearing black gloves, surrounded by erupting fire columns and fireworks. And he didn’t flinch! He opened in a mask and peeled it off like he was about to deliver a closing argument on the fragility of the human condition. And then he cried in front of the whole Rogers’ Stadium, reflecting how a kid from Scarborough got to perform that day in front of thousands of people.
That’s a man who could wear the exact outfit (even though it was adorned with hundreds of crystals) to the Superior Court of Justice and still look like he belonged. Abel wouldn’t serve motion records. He’d drop them, like fireworks in a pitch dark SkyDome (yep, Abel did cry out for a petition to rename back Rogers’ Stadium!).
There’d be lighting cues for his objections. His closings would have pyrotechnics, and also that unnerving silence that holds weight. He wouldn’t perform emotion. He’d bleed it. He wouldn’t act like he was hurting for his client, he would hurt. And he’d win.
Chris would try to make everyone feel okay. Abel would try to make everyone feel everything. So if you want a heartfelt pre-trial conference with acoustic sincerity and maybe a group meditation? Call Chris.
But if you’re walking into court and you want justice served with fire, precision, and falsetto? Call Abel. And bring water, it’s going to get hot.
Facing a legal issue or professional discipline process? Don’t wait until it escalates. Contact Tamir Litigation Law Firm today at 416-499-1676 or visit tamirlitigation.com to learn how you can protect your licence and your reputation. You can also message us on WhatsApp for a free initial chat.