Rock and Roll Never Dies and The Music Doesn’t Fade Away

An older, and by older I mean over-60 Sacramento real estate agent gets far more respect from younger people nowadays than an aging rock-and-roll star. Thank goodness I am in the right profession. The motto far back as I can remember was you’re not getting older, you’re getting better. And wiser, hopefully. Nobody tells me that I am too old to sell real estate and lives. But there seems to be a backlash against entertainers who aren’t as spry as they used to be simply because they’re older. It’s enough to make an older person want to whack these little punks across the noggin with a cane.

Some reporter who probably used to have a hard-on for Bruce Springsteen complained that The Boss wasn’t performing like he did at the peak of his career which, according to that guy, was at age 26. LOL. When I read that editorial, I could only imagine the shrieking outrage from fans and even suspected that perhaps the reason for such drivel was to spark an uproar and bump up online hits for the Sacramento Bee. On the other hand, it’s a silly opinion of a person who probably secretly jacks off to Thunder Road. Everybody except that guy apparently is mad for a live Bruce Springsteen concert. Springsteen puts his all into every show. Pure adrenaline.

It’s a big thing now — for Baby Boomers especially, and we are targeted like no tomorrow — to attend concerts headlined by rockstars of our youth. It also provides retirement income to some whose managers ripped them off over the years. It’s not like reliving youth but some memories do return that were long ago buried, and that’s kind of sweet. The Happy Together Tour comes to mind. It’s also a yardstick to use so you can laugh at your goofy self as a teenager / college student and then understand how far you have come. (I don’t have yardsticks known as kids.)

What bothers me somewhat about these shows is how snooty I have become about concerts. It’s almost 50 years later. I still want front row seats. Only now, instead of camping out in front of the theater for hours beforehand or squeezing my way to the front by-hook-or-by-crook through throngs of stoned-out freaks, now I am willing to pay for that privilege. I am not standing in the hot sun (OMG, melanoma) or sleeping on the sidewalk (my aching back), no way, Jose. And, I expect a comfy chair. If I could enjoy concierge, valet and cocktail service, all the better. I wonder what my younger self would have said about this attitude?

Don’t answer that.