Dialogue: Geriatric glam sad to behold

By SANDY BURGHAM

I said goodbye to my favourite pair of tight pants last week. It was time to let them go and give them to someone skinnier than me who would look less like a glam rock drop-out wearing them.

Scanning my wardrobe I lean heavily on the "mutton dressed as lamb" sensory device in my brain which gives me the "no, not any more" vibe when it's time to move on - just in case I really believe I am as young as I feel. While we all come pre-programmed with this device, there are some whose external, self-promoting hype drowns out these warning signals, leading them to press on despite their incongruousness in a changing world which has younger people in it.

Thus this year we have had to endure a dazed and confused Elizabeth Taylor at the Academy Awards, frightening shots of Joan Collins in sexy garb and, to top if off, Mick Jagger gyrating his skinny little 58-year-old butt to promote his new album. Oh dear, will someone please stop this man?

We may admire prolific, creative songwriters and artists, but how I wish they'd change their routine to suit the new phase of life they are in.

If there is a thin line between genius and insanity, it's an even thinner one between being a living legend and a sad, ageing rock star. I never would have believed that the favourites of my early youth would still be kicking around in the new millennium.

Let's take Elton John, who I was into when I was 9. No one is disputing that he is a musical genius but I prefer to remember him in his heyday, rather than puffy with an orange rug on his head. Now we have to witness his star fading while in tight satin suits. Shades of Norma Desmond, I fear.

I am sure for many under 30 it is tiresome having to witness old people who just won't let go.

On one hand it's to be admired that they still indulge in their greatest passion, but sometimes it's better to remember them just as they were. If only they could have been cryogenically frozen at their peak and thawed on demand to perform their greatest hits. It's so boring when they want to remain contemporary and try out new stuff on an audience that just doesn't care,

A couple of weeks ago the Concert for New York City was televised showing baby boomer heroes of the fire and police services lapping up their favourite artists. It was an extremely moving event and I enjoyed it as much for the sentiment as the music.

But when I discussed the concert with my 24-year-old friend she complained, "God, I didn't know any of the artists on that thing."

I was incredulous - "What about the Who?"

"Who?" she asked.

"You know - whoooo are you who who who who ... " I chanted somewhat stupidly.

This spiralled into a very confusing tangent for both of us, so I tried her on Billy Joel.

"Was that the piano guy?"

Indeed this is what led me to the Robbie Williams concert. I am not particularly fond of him but I thought I would make an effort to see what was having mass market appeal to the young.

I was impressed - he held the crowd not with laser shows and major costume changes, but with a great voice ... oh, and a couple of brown eyes (always a Kiwi-crowd pleaser). He is a true rock star and his cross-generational gig saw his audience start at what seem to be 6 and 7-year-olds.

But the part I find most interesting about Williams is that despite a healthy young fan club, he has given way to an urge to metamorphose into a crooner - and he is only 27. You see, moving on, doesn't mean you have given up. It means progressing with dignity.

As a concert-goer raised in the sludge, smoke and discomfort of the old Western Springs, I have now moved into the corporate-box stage in life where, frankly, the living is easy.

My friend who had organised the corporate box for the Robbie concert, did so to avoid having to take her 10-year-old son into the crowds front of the stage. Did she miss out on the atmosphere? Well, she joined in the Mexican wave but by simply raising one arm vaguely while taking sips of her sauvignon blanc with the other and never once breaking conversation.

It was a wonderful sight and a perfect example: if you are going to keep your hand in, for God's sake do it in style.