About a month ago, I pondered the idea of a graceful age to exit the music biz. The egomaniacal stagehog in me sees and hears myself as perfect in every way for the rest of eternity. The self-conscious objector in me is scared to death of singing one foul note. And the moment that foul note is coupled with crow's feet, I will need to find a hole in which to bury myself. It's probably something I got from watching too much TV. No one can escape the youth-obsessed expectations of society, but for a performer, it's especially scary. With shows like American Idol, audiences have been given license to not only disapprove of, but abusively ridicule people who are less than perfect in the looks and sound department. And oldies aren't even allowed to enter, let alone audition. Fuck you, Simon Cowell. Marky and I rented a documentary last night that changed my mind about expiration dates. "Young At Heart" is about a chorus with an average age of 80. Not that unusual for a church choir or a community chorale. The difference here is the repertoire, including arrangements of Talking Heads, Coldplay, The Clash, and Sonic Youth. The music is basically the same, except that you can understand the lyrics better with the Young@Heart gang.
Bob, the strict yet loving choir director, brings in music he loves. He's 53, and stands on the stage during performances, conducting the choir in what I originally thought to be a controlling manner. After seeing several performances, though, I saw him simply as a more hands-on connected leader. Joe, the choir member known for his amazing memorization ability, refuses chemo treatment against his doctor's orders. Why? He had a gig. Elaine, 90, lives in a retirement village, and is the only resident with a key to the front door of the facility. Why? She has gigs. The staff is usually gone by the time she gets back. Fred retired from the choir after a heart attack. He came back for what he referred to as his "ugly duckling song," Coldplay's "Fix You," and delivers the most heart wrenching performance, punctuated by the whisps of his oxygen tank. Did he worry that he couldn't stand? That he had tubes in his nose? No. He had a gig.
The first gig we see in this movie is at the local prison. I would be scared. Scared of criminals doing criminal things. That's me. I thought the Young@Hearts should be scared of being made fun of. I mean, what was Bob thinking, putting them in front of cold hearted criminals? But those senior citizens confidently sang, danced, and won that crowd over. Many convicts hugged the choir members afterward, one of them saying it was the best performance he had ever seen. And I believe him.
I now think there is no expiration date, only graduations. I've already had several. Talent shows, coffeehouses, community theater, college theater, small town band, big town band. One day, I will graduate to the next thing. And it will have to be musical. I don't want to ever not be rehearsing for something. And I think I have to sing until my dying day. If that means I have to come home late until age 90, great. If at that time, I decide to prioritize my absolute love of music over a questionable medical procedure, so be it. And if it takes my whole life to feel completely confident on stage, then I need to be on stage when that happens.
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