How very lucky we are in the UK, London in particular, that all of the worlds major artists give us the privilege of their performances.
I have made it my business to support good quality live music. Most, if not all, of these artists are already in my collection, but over the years I’ve also become personally acquainted with many of them, because by now you all know that I am deeply interested in hearing, preserving, and sharing their untold stories. Inspirational stories. Human stories. Stories that might otherwise disappear into silence.
I champion this because our stories deserve to be told. They deserve to be heard by empathetic ears — which I do. They deserve to be shared with gratitude — which I do — in the hope that somewhere, somehow, somebody finally understands.
After all, the world endlessly celebrates the same names. We hear about Elton. They still talk about David. The Beatles remain immortalised. The list goes on and on. Meanwhile, so many extraordinary Black artists, soul artists, jazz artists, reggae artists, gospel artists — artists who shaped culture itself — remain unsung, underappreciated, and overlooked.
But I digress.
Lately, however, I’ve been hearing some unbelievably unintelligent and disrespectful comments about artists’ appearances and performances, and quite frankly, it needs to be addressed.
Now surely, simple intellect — and yes, intellect is the key word here — should tell you this before you even purchase a ticket: the expectation that artists you were listening to in 1976, who were then in their 20s, 30s, and sometimes 40s, should somehow walk onto a stage in 2026, now in their 70s and 80s, and perform exactly as they did fifty years ago, is not only unrealistic — it is downright CHOOOOOPID.
Come on now.
