Last night my husband and I went to the first rock concert either of us had been to in over twenty years.
Predictably, some things were very different. It has been twenty-odd years, after all. Tickets are scanned now and returned to you untorn; concession stand food is a lot more expensive. Two beers and two giant pretzels set us back $30. The seats in the arena were noticeably narrower, rather like the seats on airlines now. Paul and I are both somewhat small-ish, as adult Americans go these days, so it wasn't an issue for us. But I did see a few of our fellow concert goers struggling a little to sit down. It seems kinda perverse that seats keep shrinking at a time when the average American is somewhat larger. I put it down to corporate profits.
The fans were a mostly older crowd; this makes sense. Three Dog Night made their official debut in 1968 (the year my husband was born) and the majority of their fans are people of my parents generation. In their 70s and 80s. We saw a number of canes, wheelchairs, walkers, and a few power scooters. But we also saw what appeared to be families, including grandparents, parents, and children. I can understand that; this band has always had a range of styles that can appeal to kids as well as adults. The music of Three Dog Night was a major part of the soundtrack of my childhood. By the time I was nine or ten I was a fan.
So, it took a little more time for everyone to get seated. There was space among the floor seats for wheelchairs, scooters, and people using walkers. Everyone else, including us, had to navigate the somewhat steep concrete steps to the upper levels. Several times the lines of people going up the stairs slowed and even stopped while a person with a cane made their way to their seat. What was really cool was how nobody seemed to get impatient. Everyone was there to have a good time, and it showed. We saw a number of people wearing tie-dye, and T shirts of bands they liked. (We also wore band shirts) Others looked like they had dressed up for church; it was a Sunday evening, so maybe they were in fact wearing what they'd worn to worship services earlier.
The opening act was okay. I can't tell you much about it because I wasn't really paying attention. I was enjoying watching everything and everyone else around me. Paul got up to buy snacks for us, and I started chatting with the man sitting on my other side. He was cupping a little glass and metal pendant in his hand. It contained a bit of the ashes of the woman he loved. He wanted her to be there with him, to share the experience of seeing one of their favorite bands performing live.
I had to turn my head for a moment. I was about to cry.
Anyway. These days there's just one founding member in the group, Danny Hutton. (His son Tim is the bassist) This wasn't as disappointing as you might expect; long before the original members started aging and eventually passing away, Three Dog Night had had about a dozen other members come and go. They actually broke up at least once that I know of. So fans were pretty much used to seeing a different lineup at times.
Mr Hutton's voice has of course changed with the years; he can't hit the high notes as he once did. (On some songs, like Brickyard Blues, it was scarcely noticeable) It comes to us all if we live long enough. Nobody was really leaping about and dancing around as in years past, neither the band nor the audience. Which does not mean it was quiet; there was plenty of applause and roaring cheering. Even if our voices, like Mr Hutton's, had grown a little hoarse.
It didn't really matter. Everyone was having such a good time. Clapping and singing along. I especially enjoyed that, because in a crowd of some two thousand people my voice didn't stand out. Nobody would plead with me to stop. (I've been told that my speaking voice is quite pleasant. And also that my singing could scare away a horde of rampaging javalinas.) Sometimes even an introvert like me enjoys a shared experience. And the communal joy of live music, being performed by people who clearly enjoyed doing it, is a wonderful thing. By the time the final song was played- "Joy To The World", a favorite of mine- there were even little groups standing up and doing a little dance in the aisles.
We were old, or at least, older, people enjoying something that we'd loved in our younger days. For three hours anyway, we were almost young once more.
•••
That same venue is hosting a Trump rally later in the week. It's very likely that some, maybe a lot, of the people who'd enjoyed the concert along with me will also be going to that rally. Where their cheering will have a different sound. And a very different meaning. One I can't understand and could never join in. But for just one night, it didn't matter quite so much. For just one night, we were all just humans together. Sharing joy.
🎶...Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me...🎶
Thank you for reading. This is an open thread, all topics are welcome.