At Glastonbury, I saw one of the acts that I always associated with glamour and cool when I was a teenager. I won’t mention names, but the experience was underwhelming. The music was performed with the skill of seasoned old professionals, but the image, or ambience projected from the stage did not match my expectations of what I would see.
Sadly, I started making my way back to my tent, long before the band finished its set. Moments of that sort are illustrative of the fact that performers have to commit to rigorous analysis of what they represent to audiences and to somehow keep that notion alive, to sustain interest.
It is a fact of life that people age. All sorts of things can happen to our bodies in that process. If we make any promises to others about delivering the energy of virility, sexiness, youthfulness or being easy on the eye, then that becomes part of our ongoing work as time passes by.
Being real is the only way to thrive, it seems. On one occasion, I saw BB King perform a concert. He reminded me of my own father. There was no artifice in his presentation. At the end of the show, the stage looked like a branch of Interflora, as fans threw bouquets of flowers to the artist. He left me inspired.
Honesty pays, as does authenticity, it seems.