A couple days ago I had to Google, “What do middle aged women wear to indie rock concerts?” I came up with lots of pics of denim and leather and high-heeled boots. Not much different than what I expected young women to wear, except fewer backless shirts.
What to wear to a rock concert?
When I picked up my also-middle-aged friend (ok, not really, we're still young! Middle age means, like 79, right?) she was wearing the requisite jeans, tank top, jacket. I'd opted for skirt, embroidered shirt, Celtic knit sweater, striped socks and Harley boots. So pretty much what I wear on any given day. Though I did do my hair. In two hip-length ponytails.
But once I got to The Intersection, all my feelings of conspicuousness evaporated. I wasn't the oldest gal there, and I for sure wasn't the most un-stylish. And, when the gold standard is red wine in a plastic cup, well, gold isn't so hard to reach.
Who was more entertaining: Ani DiFranco or the Boing Boing lady?
I loved the concert. Ani DiFranco is an incredible artist and performer and wow, my one regret is that I didn't discover her years and years ago! That aside, what I really enjoyed was watching the people. It must be the writer in me…
There was the girl dressed for a 1980s tennis match (? Or something!) in the tucked-in button down, shoulder length hair, sweater tied around her waist. Wow, did she ever like to jump. Straight up and down. Boing boing boing!
Then the lady with her posse. A loud-enough-to-be-heard-over-a-rock concert woman wearing a backpack who wove through the crowd back and forth back and forth, going from her group of besties to the bar, knocking people over with the backpack over and over and over. The brief moments when she wasn't gyrating into my left arm or fwacking me with her bag were lovely. Though watching her sing the lyrics (usually to the wrong song) was its own form of entertainment.
And then there was the leaner. You know when actors pretend to be “on” something? They're all loose and flowing, moving like they're walking underwater? Well, I had one of those directly in front of me. Every few minutes she'd sway back, back, back, her head nearly resting on my chest. My friend and I would nudge her upright and all would be well until her center of gravity shifted again.
And more: the couple grinding (several, though it wasn't really grinding music, but what do I know? I'm old), the girls with sick dance moves, the human chain–groups of young ladies who'd hold hands and surge through the crowd in an attempt to get as close to the stage as possible.
Am I too old for a Rock Concert?
I reached several conclusions during the evening: For one, I may lack the gene necessary to be one of the ones jumping boing boing like a kangaroo. And while I am not claustrophobic, I do maintain a need for personal space. It was like three hours on a Tokyo subway car during rush hour, except unlike my Tokyo adventure, I never ended up in the lap of a little Japanese man. And I know with certainty now, I will never be too old for a rock concert. Good music transcends generations, as does wine in a plastic cup.
So what do you think? Can anyone be too old for Rock and Roll?