Mum and I went to see Joan Baez in concert last Monday
night. I had bought tickets for Mum’s birthday, which was very nice of me in
theory, but fairly amusing in reality when you think about the money that mum
has given me over the years and even very recently when I needed it. Stupid money I loathe and despise it. But I
need it. DAMN IT. I suppose it is the thought that counts.
Anyway I met Mum after work and we had dinner at a Turkish
restaurant in South Bank. In keeping with the moderately geriatric theme of the
evening, we had dinner at 5.30pm. The Russian waiter was a little incredulous
when we told him, oh no, we have plenty of time, the show doesn’t start til
8pm! My mother doesn’t like being late for things, and fair enough I say.
We ordered a huge carb and protein heavy platter for two
that consisted of practically a whole loaf of bread and dips, twenty thousand
lamp chops and kofta. We then proceeded to discover we were not equal to this
gargantuan meal. I was feeling uncomfortable and overfull which is not a good
thing when you have a late night at a rock concert* ahead of you. My eyes are
notoriously too big for my tummy, and my tummy is pretty big so that is saying
something.
As you can imagine, we ambled over to the performing arts
centre with plenty of time. In fact we had to wait around for quite a while in
the foyer, watching the other audience members arrive. It probably comes as no
surprise that I lowered the demographic considerably, the average age making
Mum look like a veritable spring chicken. There was a proliferation of
Comfortable Shoes, with a trend towards the Walking Sandal or Smart Sneaker,
and there were even numerous fans arriving in their wheelchairs. Mum remarked
that it wouldn’t be long before we saw someone turn up in a hospital gurney
attached to a drip.
I hasten to add that it didn’t bother me in the slightest -
I mean, the last time I had been to see a show at QPAC was when I attended amatinee of the opera Carmen with my aunt and members of her University of the
Third Age posse. Because I came straight from work I realised I had even worn
the same outfit as I did on that occasion. I am so glamorous. But seriously, I
am anything if ageist and frankly my tastes often run to the more mature
anyway. Just check out my husband! I KID I KID!
Being early to find our seats meant we had to stand up while
others in our row shuffled by, including one older lady who, as she squeezed
past, exclaimed, “Why, you’re very YOUNG!”. As she moved towards her place, she
spied another young-ish man and shouted “And YOU are very young TOO!!”
We looked apologetically at each other.
I mean what could we do? I’m not that young really. I can
like Joan Baez. So sue me.
Pretty funny to see that Woodstock brigade getting about as
senior citizens these days. Hahahaaa.
Anyway Joan was really fantastic. She looks amazing. She is
really beautiful and gets about with a close cropped grey hairdo that I hope to
emulate one day. I found the concert very soothing at a time in my life that I
am finding very stressful.
Also she is a reminder we need to get our activist on a bit more. She is a true believer.
My sister-in-law was at the concert too, but I didn’t get to
see her, because Joan, the trooper that she is, powered on for a whole 2 hours
or so without a break.
She sang all the old
favourites like “The night they drove old Dixie down”, and that sort of
bittersweet song she wrote about Bob Dylan, “Diamonds and Rust”.
Instead
of singing this angst ridden final line;
And if you're offering
me diamonds and rust
I've already paid
I've already paid
She offered up her own lighthearted, updated version, and sang;
And if you're offering
me diamonds and rust
I choose diamonds
I choose diamonds
And quite right too. So would I.
