And I answered. How could I not? Spandau Ballet and Tears For Fears.
I have vague memories of seeing Spandau Ballet the first (and last) time they toured. They probably played the Sports and Entertainment Centre and I probably managed to get tickets by phoning BASS repeatedly, back in the days of rotary dial phones and no redial buttons. Tickets for touring bands in the ’80s were probably as expensive, relative to the cost of living, as they are now, but working the checkouts at K-Mart kept me comfortably in Dachet jeans, Jakpaks, sandblasted leather jackets, blue mascara and special edition coloured vinyl LPs and EPs. I also have vague memories of writing about it in the late-80s equivalent of a blog: my year 11 English writing journal.
Back in nineteen eighty-whatever, it did not occur to me that I would be going to any gigs in 2010, let alone seeing Spandau Ballet again. Those times that established bands toured, drawing loyal crowds of 40- and even 50-somethings, it seemed kind of sordid, sad. Surely old people knew their place? Surely there was an age at which dignity demanded handing over enjoyment of public entertainment to a younger generation?
With that in mind, it was probably just as well the Ballet waited 25 years before touring again. Had they toured in the late 90s, I might not have gone, or may have bought tickets in an exercise of heavy irony. After 25 years, though, I had a sense of fond nostalgia. It was with without embarrassment that I showed off my tickets to my workmates1.
The actual gig was fine. Fun. Maturity may have taken some of the upper register from voices, and restricted abilities to dance and sing simultaneously, but it also gave a sense of … comfortableness. Contentment. A confidence that wasn’t based on knowing there’d be a queue of young girls lining up at the stage door and outside hotels2, but based on knowing that there was an audience who had fond enough memories of the music and performances to go out on a school night and sing along (and laugh with, not at).
I just… don’t think I’d do it for Paul Young. Sorry, Paul.
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1. Well, almost without embarrassment. One colleague did smirk, but a younger workmate leaped to my defence. “I love ballet! I wouldn’t be embarrassed to go! I used to DO ballet when I was a kid!”. Oh dear.
2. Actually, there were probably some pre-menopausal women wanting to recapture something of their teens, which the repeated references to wives and children seemed designed to thwart.
