“Your mouth falls open in delighted incredulity even as your throat is wrestling with a lump of golf-ball proportions… All in all, it’s the best night out of 2000.”I read that line from a review from The Independent describing the experience of the reviewer at a Young@Heart concert in London in 2000. Those words pretty much sum up my feelings about this concert better than any words I might have conjured up. Hubby and I attended a hastily arranged local benefit concert by Young@Heart last night here in Utah.
They were everything I’d hoped they would be: a little rowdy, a little raunchy singing songs with lyrics from rock groups I wouldn’t have wanted Mama to know I was listening to when I was young, and as full of life as I hope to be when I round the bend in the road that leads into my seventies and eighties–should I be lucky enough to live that long. They included a mix of music from Rolling Stone (You Don’t Always Get What You Want), Gloria Gaynor (I Will Survive), Led Zeppelin (Stairway to Heaven), and many I didn’t recognize to others like James Brown (I Feel Good!) that I did. Needless to say the lyrics sounded different coming from the mouths of these life-experienced oldsters.
One of the last songs they performed made an imprint on my mind. “Heaven” is from Talking Heads, a group from the 1970’s when I missed out on quite a bit of the contemporary music being played over the air because I was busy taking care of children and chauffeuring duties. While Hubby thought it was pretty, he didn’t understand what the lyrics were trying to say, but I must say it really appealed to me. I’m not sure what that means, but I figured the lyrics would be a good way to end this post. So here ’tis:
Everyone is trying to get to the bar.
The name of the bar, the bar is called Heaven.
The band in Heaven plays my favorite song.
They play it once again, they play it all night long.
There is a party, everyone is there.
Everyone will leave at exactly the same time.
Its hard to imagine that nothing at all could be so exciting, and so much fun.
When this kiss is over it will start again.
It will not be any different, it will be exactly the same.
It’s hard to imagine that nothing at all could be so exciting, could be so much fun.
Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens.
Sometimes, when I get way too busy, the idea of a place where nothing ever happens really appeals to me. Especially if it means no more gyms, which is where I have to get ready to go now. Gotta keep moving. Young@Heart brought me that message at last night’s concert.
Mom, you may not have had a chance to listen to the talking heads in the 70s, but you certainly would have heard them in the 80s because Monisha and I listened to them all the time.
You may remember the one that got the most radio airplay, “Burnin’ Down the House”?
I’m so glad you loved them. I would have loved to see more of them singing in the film, which would have made it a lot better.
Here’s what my 5 year old grandson had to say about heaven one Sunday after church.
Lincoln: “I never want to die and go to heaven.”
Daddy: “Why is that?”
LIncoln: “You can’t do anything. You can’t play Nintendo, you can’t go to the bathroom … all you do is see Heavenly Father.”
4 year old Anna: “But Lincoln you can fly!”
Anyway it made me laugh.
Vim, at least I remembered the name “talking heads.” When I asked Pop if they were a music group, he said “no, that’s what they call those political junkies that comment after political speeches!” And the 80’s was my “tuning out when the clashing metal sounds the kids call music” period.
Ruthe, the only thing I would have enjoyed better would have been being up there on the stage with them. They also appeared at the local movie theater where the documentary was being shown the day after the concert, but unfortunately we didn’t make it.
Edna, out of the mouths of babes indeed! Just depends on whether you’d rather play Nintendo and go to the bathroom or fly. I kinda like Anna’s idea myself. Kids do bring it down to the essentials, don’t they?
Thanks to everyone for all your comments.