God knows I can’t do now what I did effortlessly in 1976, and I’m not even in my 70s or 80s yet, thank you very much. So let me ask you this: look at your own parents, grandparents, aunties, uncles — can they physically do now what they did in 1976?
You already know the answer.
So WHY ON EARTH do you think an artist can do the impossible?
Do you imagine that because they are artists they somehow become age-defiant? Superhuman? Do you think your ticket money magically transforms them into Steve Austin from The Six Million Dollar Man? Yes chile, I was watching that in 1976 too.
These people are not robotic miracles. They are human beings. Hugely talented mortals. Flesh and blood, just like the rest of us.
Of course they may change the key of the song. Of course they may slow the tempo. Of course they may sing selectively around certain notes they once hit effortlessly. That is called ageing. That is called life.
But the point is this: they still love the music.
They still love performing.
They still love sharing that gift with the people who have loved them for decades.
At this stage — this twilight era of their careers — attending these concerts is about far more than vocal perfection. It is about memory. Reminiscence. Nostalgia. It is about the flood of emotion the music still evokes. It is about being in a room filled with like-minded souls who understand what these songs meant to our lives.
And most importantly, it is about showing gratitude.
Saying thank you.
Thank you for the joy. Thank you for the soundtrack to our lives. Thank you for carrying us through heartbreak, struggle, love, revolution, loneliness, and celebration for over fifty years.
No, they do not look like they did on the album covers anymore.
Neither do we.
No, they do not sound exactly like those records anymore.
Neither do we.
Chyle, I was FABULOUS in my 20s and 30s. Now I’m just a bruk dung jalopy held together by prayer, determination, and good lighting. But I’m still here. And so are they.
And that alone is worthy of respect.
So if spending the ticket money pains you that badly, stay home and play your vinyl. Nobody is forcing you to attend. But if you are going to buy a ticket, then at the very least come armed with some foresight, emotional intelligence, and realistic expectations — if you have any to spare.
Because your ticket does not entitle you to a superhuman performance.
Nor does it entitle you to disrespect people who endured some of the harshest periods in modern history simply to bring us their gift.
Many of these artists survived segregation, Jim Crow, sundown towns, racism on the road, exploitative record deals, stolen music, withheld royalties, humiliation, exclusion, and industry theft on a scale most people today cannot even begin to comprehend — and despite all of that, they still created beauty.
They still gave us timeless music.
They still showed up.
So before opening your mouth to make some moronic, insipid, disrespectful comment about an elderly artist doing their best to stand before you and sing one more time, perhaps stop and think first.
And as a final footnote: please learn the difference between an artist being helped onto a stage and being escorted onto a stage.
Those are two entirely different things.
One is assistance.
The other is disgraceful ignorance masquerading as commentary.
