YES, I WOULD DO THIS: I took Jen to see Meat Loaf in concert at the Tower Theater last night because she asked me to, and because her birthday's coming up soon. But, oy, and she would agree, it was like seeing Pete Rose in his age-45 season for the Cincinnati Reds: just because you can still pencil yourself in the lineup every night doesn't mean you can still bang out the hits like you once could. The man's voice isn't there anymore -- he sounded ten times better even in this recent Kimmel performance or last year on Idol than he did last night, and now substitutes shaking his microphone for being able to sing. It was so depressing that Jen asked if we could leave at the intermission.
At least, I figured out the secret of Mr. Loaf's appeal: it's not about him as much as it as about about the female fans who imagine themselves as the woman standing up to him in the songs. That much was clear from the packed audience.
It's just a little weird to be reminiscing about when you were barely seventeen and barely dressed when you're now almost fifty-six and wearing a Philip Rivers jersey. [Okay, and the video screen which flashed "And It Was Paridise [sic] By The Dashboard Light" didn't help.] Which is not to say that he should be singing about his prostate or the benefits of high-fiber foods, but Bruce Springsteen and Neil Young certainly found ways to evolve and thrive decade after decade.
And don't get me started on the wolf with the red roses.
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