As she began to sing another of their decades past hits, Ann Wilson looked at the half moon over the Hollywood Bowl. I wondered if she felt as wistful as I did, we of the same baby boomer generation. She, of course, was one half of a powerhouse 70s ad 80s group. Me, I had I suppose, a measure of quiet success, for a time, and Ann and her sister, Nancy, provided a psychic comfort as I have traveled my far more anonymous road.
Somehow, watching them storm the Bowl, their voices as strong as when they were young and hot on the charts I felt like they were standing for me, proving it ain't ever over till it's over. A woman over 60 (Ann is 65; Nancy is 61) remains a force even as the world tries to make her invisible. They may not look as they did back in their salad days--sometimes the lighting enhanced the facial imperfections that are less able to be well hidden past the age of 40, particularly in Ann. But they provided to me, a contemporary, the formidable fuel of optimism.
And confirmed what I have always known, but is frequently rejected in a disposable, change it up society--just because something is new, it isn't necessarily better.
The opening act was Liv Warfield. I had never heard of her and as has happened with many a younger artist, I hoped I would fall in love with her music and her style of performing. She was energetic; she had a voice to blow off the roof as Thomas Wilkins, the conductor of the Bowl for the performances promised. My friend Connie noticed the sweat pouring from her (on the big screen it was actually a little alarming) face and wondered why someone didn't hand her a towel. The problem I was having with the performance came into focus at that question. It seemed that she was overdoing it. Like the sweat pouring from her head was somehow to be a proof to the audience of true art. I found myself distracted rather than entertained. Plus, like me, she was a plus size woman who was wearing an outfit way too tight and as my companion on the other side said, "one size too small." She tugged often at both her leather pants and the too short top in an effort to hide a significant bulge caused by the tight clothes.
I found myself leaving just at the last song or so to go to the restroom, rather than to wait for the official intermission.
I really wasn't expecting much of Heart. I have seen several groups and bands past their heydays doing the rounds of comeback and or farewell concerts, and there have been several that were disappointing. No range. No presentation. I remember seeing the Moody Blues a few years ago, as much a favorite as Heart, and, while it might have been an off night, I felt a tiredness. The same with Hall and Oates. Oh, they were all right. But age had not created the vintage of days gone by.
But then I was amazed. And not one drop of sweat that I could see, despite the clear intensity. They were authentic and still relevant. I know. The audience ate it up, and they weren't all born the same year in antediluvian times as I was. In fact, in front of us there were a couple of guys who were probably born the same year that Heart began their record making, or perhaps well later, who were gyrating wildly at every song.
I remember thinking how wonderful it was that these two sisters have managed to maintain a relationship on and off stage. They clearly like and respect one another.
I reveal now a secret. I have had my hour or two listening to a group and singing along loudly, with the occasional air guitar riff. And I remember harboring a fantasy of being on stage with them, and getting to strut with the microphone hitting someplace close to the high notes on a tune like "Crazy for You", or "How do I Get You Alone". Actually, truth be told, I still harbor it. I may have to settle for karaoke at Connie and Leo's, and that could be mighty fine, but hey girls, tell me, would you consider it?
When I see these groups of yore there is even something more I feel. I don't think I can quite explain it in writing. Maybe you have felt it. Maybe not. I see them up there on a stage, having been weathered by life, just like me, but they seen by the whole world, somehow give me a strength and more than that, provide a sense of camaraderie. Time moves on for all of us. There have been triumphs and battles lost. There are scars. But there are also good memories. We all share in these things regardless of our roles in life.
And quite simply, in the case of Heart, they still got it! And to paraphrase an Elton John, we are all still standing! Life is still full of possibility.
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