Last night I had the thrill of my 73-year-old life lately — I went to see an 81-year-old rocker who filled the stadium with his music and inspiration.
Eric Clapton. A musician who has had his share of bad luck along with music infamy. He was smooth and calm and jamming for two hours. His backup group was marvelous, making the whole evening surreal.
As I said, he is 81 years old.
A month or so ago I went to see the Marshall Tucker Band, another band who got their start in the 70s. There was only one member from the original band, Doug Gray, the lead singer and organizer from the early days, and he was supported by an exceptionally talented band.
Doug Gray is 78.
His concert wasn’t as grand as Eric Clapton’s, but it was southern rock led by a classic southern rocker.
Not long ago my husband also went to a live rock concert — AC/DC. Two of the original members still rocked the house: Brian Johnson, who is 78, and Angus Young, who is 71. Hubby said their rocked the house for an hour and a half, playing more than singing, still powerfully rocking the world.
This last year I’ve also gone to see the Irish band The High Kings, whose average age is 43-45, and the Hu, a Mongolian rock band with the average age of 35-40.
The purpose of my blog today is not to boast of my live concert venues (I’ve gone to more concerts the past few years than I have in the past 30), but to boast about the oldies but goodies still jamming on stage. Jamming for themselves, jamming for the audience.
Their voices might not be as perfect as they were in the 70s or 80s or even the 90s. A number of them have overcome — or learned to live with — physical ailments that make playing and/or singing hard.
But, by golly, they held onto to their musical roots from the beginning to the end. For a couple of hours their connection with their music, their history, and their future, all connected and resonated between those who gave and those who received.
It just goes to show you that there will always be something us oldies can contribute to the world. Mine might only be suncatchers or blogs or books never published, but I swear not to give up until my body gives up. I hope my mind never does.
Don’t you give up, either.
You can rock and roll with the best of them.
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The Midwest is buried beneath inches of snow, singing the freezing songs of their ancestors, while most of us shovel and grumble and fall down in snowbanks.
I have been under the weather lately, having fought a flu-like bug or something similar. It’s the time of the year when most of us are vulnerable …. warm spring weather one day, below freezing the next. There is a phrase for those living in Wisconsin — Don’t like the weather? Wait a day.
How many times have you said “I wish I knew then what I know now”?
At 6 AM everyday, I see an old man sitting alone in the park, sipping hot coffee from his Peet’s mug. He keeps his mask under his chin, and watches the birds flying above. I try to keep the social distance, tip-toe, and balance my steps with my foggy glasses and cotton masks. Yet I wonder why he is there, for months, at that time of the day, alone.
Humoring the Goddess 