Story by Joe Hobby. Illustration by Dennis Auth.
I’ve never been shushed at a concert in my life, until a few days ago.
That’s when a lady seated in front of us turned around and said we were talking too loudly and she couldn’t hear the blaring music. At an outdoor concert, no less. And all I did, besides sing along with the band like everyone one else, was ask the guy next to me if he wanted my extra bottle of water. The couple to the left of us just shook their heads in disbelief.
My wife said, “What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know. But it’s not PMS. She’s way past the “M.”
“Well, somebody must have kicked her cat.”
I suppose when there is a boatload full of old people, a few crabby ones are inevitable.
And when I say boatload, I’m not kidding. We were on a ship, aptly named the Flower Power Cruise.
If I had to describe it, I’d call it “Woodstock on the Water.” Only with better plumbing, more food, and legal prescription medication. This cruise is a floating jukebox. It’s old bands playing old music for old people.
And business is booming.
If you like ‘60s and ‘70s music sung by groups like Tommy James and the Shondells, The Animals, Chicago, or Blood, Sweat & Tears, this is your Super Bowl. And it quickly became mine.
From 10 a.m. until the wee hours of the morning, there’s rock, pop, and occasionally someone who sounds like a bad karaoke singer.
Even the elevator music plays tunes from the same decades. And there’s nothing like gorging yourself with cake and ice cream at the buffet while the loudspeaker is playing
“Sugar Sugar.”
This cruise is not about the destination — it’s about the music. I’m convinced we could’ve circled off the coast of Miami, and as long as the bands kept playing, no one would complain.
I averaged over four concerts a day. And even though the majority of the people were great, I learned when you have about 3,000 people between the ages of 68 and 131, there are going to be a few complainers.
Some of them do not like to wait in line or be inconvenienced. Some of them do not want you wearing big hats that block their view of the stage, even though they were wearing one. And some of them do not like you talking at all during
a concert.
You’re 17 again
So, occasionally, all that peace-and-love stuff they preach from the stage is thrown overboard. Once when some Baby Boomer tried to cut in front of a little old hippie lady in a concert line, I thought Woodstock was about to turn into Wrestlemania.
The talent was surprisingly good, even if some of them were a bit long in the tooth. I think when the Beach Boys sang “Good Vibrations,” they meant their Miralax was working.
But it works because it’s nostalgia on steroids. It’s 3,000 people who all know the words to every song. And for a few minutes, you’re not thinking about your cholesterol, your knees, or where you left your reading glasses. Because you’re 17 again.
You’re in a car with the windows cranked down, AM radio cranked up, singing at the top of your lungs with old friends who are sitting right next to you.
And when 3,000 people start singing “Crimson and Clover” together, it’s not just a song, it’s a time machine. A slightly out-of-breath, off-key time machine, but a time machine, nonetheless.
And that’s why people keep coming back — because for one week, the music still sounds the same…even if we don’t.
It’s fun to sing the soundtrack of your life, and even dance, which at my age means standing up, swaying, waving your hands, shouting “Woo!”… and then sitting back down before you strain something.
It’s not often that I begin my week singing “Mony Mony” and end it with “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.” But that’s what happens on the Flower Power cruise. Even with the shush, it was a
great experience.
Peace and love, y’all.
Joe Hobby is a standup comedian, a syndicated columnist, and a long-time writer for Jay Leno. He’s a member of Cullman Electric Cooperative and is very happy now that he can use Sprout from his little place on Smith Lake. Contact him at [email protected].
