My friend Len Speaks arranges a yearly summer hegira to the Hollywood Bowl for me and a few friends. It usually results in a package of about four to five shows mostly in the baby boomer pop rock, good old time musicals genres and maybe a little jazz via a Diana Krall or Harry Connick Jr. We have seen some amazing shows, and some duds--I do not recommend cover band type stuff, e.g. Abba. And some of the performers have been well past prime. I shall not name them out of respect for their cultural historical significances. And as to this year, I can tell you a John Williams show without John Williams has become a little mechanical and whoever it is that is choosing the music (hope not you Mr. Williams, though I suspect so) is killing any momentum in the shows.
One of the selections this year is not someone I'd call a favorite, but I liked a few of her songs, and I was content to have this be the final show for us this season, Cyndi Lauper. Hey I am a sucker anyway for fellow New Yorkers! You don't get much more New York than Cyndi.
The opening act started fifteen minutes before the announced opening of the show. That's ok because we are always there way early so we can get something to eat (my current favorite is Suzanne's Fried Chicken), and just hang and watch the crowd wander in. In this case there were a lot of variously colored wigs and kooky make-up in homage to our singing hostess.
The opening act was a three named guy that frankly I couldn't enjoy, so I decided to absent myself for a while and visit the restroom and sit at one of the benches along the walk way, and just take in the lovely atmosphere that is the Bowl, a natural environment, in the heart of Los Angeles. But then I discovered I had lost my drivers license, which stupidly, I had put into too shallow a pants pocket. By the time I reported the loss and returned to my seat and my friends, Cyndi was popping onstage. She sang a lot of really slow songs, in between tales of growing up in Queens in the initial stages of her performance, and I have to admit, I was less than appreciative. She looked good though. And that made me feel great as we are about the same age. Look, we don't have to creak when we hit 70! And at some point, she really demonstrated her Pilates flexibility when she was wrestling the the three named guy from the opening act on the stage floor during a particular robust duet.
I was getting a little glassy eyed emotionally speaking (or perhaps it showed). Then something happened. They did announce on the marquee that there would be special guests. And then the proceedings glimmered with nostalgia, as Joni Mitchell, 80 plus years appeared on stage already seated, slowed but still full of emotional vigor. I have never seen Joni Mitchell live. And back when she was famous, I was a bit of a stick in the mud musically speaking--a late bloomer to my generation's taste in music. I've gotten to appreciate her style late in life. Now, I hear her sing, "They paved Paradise and put up a parking lot" and I am in a solidarity of objection. Things were looking up in this concert. And then.
.jpg)
Since it was apparently being filmed for some later streaming purpose, there must have been a glitch with Joni and Cyndi's duet. I think I felt it. They were a bit out of sync. Their styles are so different from the first. Nope. Gotta do it again. So they did it again. Everybody in the audience reacted as if it were the first time. Such is the orchestrated world in which we live. Still, I can't complain that I will have died having seen the real Joni Mitchell, icon of my teen and young adult years, once in my life.
And then later, there was John Legend. I like him well enough but I wouldn't call myself a fan. He came out when all the cell phone lights were poised in the venue, like we used to use real lighters, but we can't because nobody smokes, well, except pot, but that isn't considered smoking in the woke world. Tobacco. That's smoking. That's dangerous. Woe unto those who smoke and corrupt their minds with nicotine. Glory to those who light up a joint! I digress. John came out and joined Cyndi in a song, but alas, somebody was blocking the cue cards and well, his entrance had to be done a second time as if it were the first. And the crowd roared. Alas, I was still worried about my lost license, and truthfully, I just wanted the whole proceedings to end so I could get to the House Manager and make a report.
I heard there were to be fireworks and when it looked like we were getting closer to the conclusion of things and those fireworks, I went off to find the House Manager. I was told that entrance was blocked off by sort of fire wardens--actually the young staff of usual ushers wearing fireman type hats--and I should wait. I didn't wait. It's a rarity for me to disobey authority, even now, when authority is nuts, but since I saw lots of regular people wandering in the forbidden area, I decided I 'd look for the house manager's office, unless and until somebody intercepted me. In fact, the other young staffers were fine showing me the way. The guy who answered the door was disaffected by the interruption. No license here, but here's a card. Call tomorrow. I found a nice bench near where the Promenade One and the boxes are, and I went online to see if I could get a temporary license. In the meantime, encore, and therein I missed the third special guest, Cher. At this point, I was resigned that this wasn't the best concert I'd ever been to, and that was ok, nobody's fault.
I was glad Cyndi had her last ever Girls Just Want to Have Fun concert in the can.
As of today, nobody's turned in my license. The Hollywood Bowl season for me and my triangle crew is at an end.
