The lack of star power and force was painfully apparent in the line up last night- as apparent as the amazing beauty of the music. How is it possible, I mused to myself, that these elderly gentlemen who look and dress like people walking into Tim Horton’s for their coffee and bagels can stand up there, barely 20 metres from me, and play such amazing songs? How come they were handed so generously the gift of crafting and playing lovely music, and then were denied “cool”? It’s not that they weren’t cool, it’s that they were actively lame.  “khaz“, as we say in my other tongue. Very, very “khaz“. I cringed with embarrassment for the elderly dude with the Hetfield beard and sunglasses pumping his fist as he screamed, in a rather muffled voice, “Cities on flame! Cities on flame!”. Please. Sit down. Have a glass of water. Don’t tire yourself.

I am no ageist. Deep Purple had  the same staggering lack of charisma combined with amazing musical artistry, but they had that certain sense of irony, the famous “British humor”, I suppose, which almost made up for it. “And now George Bush will play Tokyo Woman. It’s not about a woman, who’s not from Tokyo“. Or take  Mark Knopfler. Who needs star power when such absolute goodness and nobility of soul shines from him?

Oh no… there goes To-kee-yo… Godzilla!

Anyway… I guess Blue Oyster Cult is a great lesson for those youngsters- the Princess, or my brother who are now dazzled by the “cool” of music, who are pouring energy and their parents’ money into music with shining hopeful eyes, in the hope of having that “cool” rub off on them. Dear sweet children. Look at Blue Oyster Cult. You can sing and write and play the most beautiful songs in the world. And still not be cool. Are you ok with that?


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