I met Chuck Berry in a Hyatt hotel — before they attached Grand to their brand — on the French Riviera.
I went to Little Richard’s concert in the Olympia, Paris.
And most famously (for those too ill-educated to know Chuck Berry and Little Richard) I abandoned Bob Dylan in the National Stadium in favour of Palm Beach’s chilli crab.
That, in a South Seas pearl shell, defines the cliché “been there, done that” and then some.
Before I started school, my father, from a family of music lovers (folk who can’t study but can sing) took me to Happy World, one of three amusement parks Singapore boasted for entertainment, to see Xavier Cugat the famed Spanish bandleader of the 1950s.
From the split second his orchestra rattled its maracas in tune to the fluff of the musicians’ ruffled sleeves, I knew I just wanted to listen to music forever.
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From McCartney to Madonna
On most SilverStreakers’ concert wish list would surely have been Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, Ella Fitzgerald, and the and Beatles.
The closest I got was Paul McCartney. I had a European friend who knew every showbiz name that mattered. She put me in touch with Paul McCartney’s manager, who led me and three friends via backstage into his concert in Ghent, Belgium.
It was the time of our lives. And I got to chat with his then-wife Linda, who gave me a copy of her vegetarian cookbook.
Of course, autographed.
From baby boomer to millennial, audience reactions of course do and must vary.
The likes of Paul Anka and Pat Boone, and Cliff Richard and The Beach Boys put smiles on every face. Every senior citizen that is.
David Bowie, The Beach Boys, Phil Collins, Eric Clapton, Ray Charles, The Rolling Stones, Janet Jackson, Whitney Huston, Mariah Carey, Rod Stewart, Cliff Richard, Michael Jackson, Madonna, Diana Ross, Liberace, Julio Iglesias, Engelbert Humperdinck, Jose Carreras (you think I dunno classics ah), Grand Funk Railroad, Frankie Valli, Bette Midler. To name but a few. In Singapore and abroad.
Divas, drama and magic moments
Of note the redoubtable Anita Sarawak opened for The Fifth Dimension in Shangri-La hotel, Whitney Huston or was it Mariah Carey asked that all aircons in our stadium be switched off (poor diva had a cold or some such), Tom Jones belted a singular note in Sentosa, apologised, I’m sorry we have to do this another time, and left the stage.
We got our money back but commiserated with those who’d come from outside Singapore expressly for his concert. A happy few got to meet and greet David Bowie – no photographs – and had our CDs autographed. Madonna (this was in Berlin) always keeps her audience waiting at least two hours. I wanted to spit. We were that thirsty.
Phil Collins put on the best show, musically, and production-wise.
The Rolling Stones were so good we wanted to go again the second night… sold out.
We left the national stadium with a spring in our step — knee guards and all — humming and smiling.
What a throwback to musical memories we grew up on.
Sammy Davis Jr (at the now gone Neptune Theatre) was an exceptional performer, even if he did exude arrogance, a tad.
He’d earned it the hard way, his success. (Read his story.)
Tony Bennett was a particular favourite, because in a full house theatre, his magic was to give you the sense he was singing the song just for you alone.
The word “merch” had yet to materialise, so we simply attended the live concerts, rocked and swayed — show-offs would sing along — applauded and then supper and home. (COVID put the kibosh on suppers.)
No light sticks, no phone cameras, no screeching and shrieking the length of the show.
Another reason I have hung up my walking stick on shows for Swifties?
Then 13 May 2023 happened. When I dropped the ball of that once-thrilling pursuit which could make my hair bristle on end (ear hairs dear) at Stevie Wonder and all those other wonders on stage.
Blackpink is the turning point
That day, I jumped through hoops and leapfrogged hurdles and obstacles to purchase two tickets (the allowed pair) to watch four unsexy skinny girls who can’t really sing, in the National Stadium.
Our 11-year-old goddaughter knew anything and everything about Blackpink and had absolutely and utterly had to go to the Korean quartet’s concert here.
Long story short, register, wait for witching hour to click, can only buy two, share a kimchi recipe (I jest), ad infinitum, and voila, score!
Only under $500 for the tweenie and self.
She bought her light stick ($30 on plastic, yes, pink) and I brought my walking stick.
I saw and heard nothing that made me perk up. In the stadium packed to the nose-bleeds with parents and guardians of their teenyboppers and the future of Singapore, youngsters. Bulked up with young fans from neighbouring countries.
I turned to look at the goddaughter. She waved her light stick, tried to video as much on her phone, and sang along to every Blackpink song.
It was worth it, just to see her face so blooming happy.
En route home, I said, I don’t care if BTS comes next, we are not doing this again. For the complicated booking, the jam and the queues and the lining up.
And by the way, musically, BTS is better.
Yes yes Coldplay’s come and gone, Ed Sheeran, etc al, and Lady Gaga’s about to put in an appearance. Include me out.
Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga (one for the older gen, seriously) I have had to pass. Because we have become The Strolling Bones ourselves (you mean must climb all those steps, and then have to walk some more, never mind, better I Spotify).
To explain about chilli crab over Bob Dylan, it dawned in my seat that I actually do not like Bob Dylan — except for Blowin’ In The Wind — and since “he didn’t sing what we came to hear,” we left and sauntered next door to eat seafood.
The answer my friend, is, this is how spoilt Singaporeans have become.
P. S. When you are at the Lady Gaga concert, should she sing Bad Romance, you’ll realise it has inspired Blackpink’s Rose’s APT.
