Crosby, Stills & Nash at the Albert Hall

Yes, I am still an old hippy at heart and finding out Crosby, Stills & Nash were on at the Albert Hall and having a friend willing to treat me – well, how could I not?

The evening started off badly – the traffic was so heavy that we got a taxi from The Strand.  I bet we would still have been sitting on the Number 9 bus now if we hadn’t.  Don’t know what was wrong, but it was Gay Pride Day so perhaps some of the traffic was the revelers heading home.  Actually, it was a relief not to go on the bus – the temperature was still in the 80s and buses don’t have air conditioning.

Once at the Albert Hall there was the inevitable queue for the loo, but I made it.  It is always impressive the way English women politely queue for the loo – I have seen French women, bored with queuing, march into the Gents and go into a cubicle, presumably ignoring the line of male backs.  While admiring their chutzpa I am not sure I can emulate it.

Once in the Albert Hall, the trio mounted the stage, without zimmer frames or walking sticks – actually, they seemed much the same as in the 70’s, just fatter and greyer and none of them were bald unless of course they were wearing wigs.  I was very disappointed at the start of the concert – they played the (to me) beautiful, sweet, soulful numbers such as Marrakesh Express as if they were a rock band.  I barely recognized some of them.  I wondered if the person managing the sound had got it wrong, but the Albert Hall are used to all manner of music so I don’t think it could have been that.  I was uncomfortable to find my ears ringing and my bottle of water visibly vibrating when I took a sip. Maybe it is just me and they always were more rock and roll and it was just their studio records that were quiet and melodic.  My friend did say that he had heard them sing at Glastonbury (on the TV, I hasten to add) and that they were much quieter then.

I was mesmerized by Crosbie’s antics on stage – he was unable to keep still and shuffled about in a parody of a young rock star, but let’s be charitable; perhaps he suffers from ‘Restless Leg Syndrome’ – yes it is a medical condition and I should know, I spent enough time as a medical secretary.  He leapt into the air at one point (only a few inches off the ground) but given his great age, I anxiously wondered if he might have to be stretchered off with a broken knee-cap or hip.

After the interval the music was much quieter and more soulful – just the three of them without drums or keyboard.  They played a new number which was lovely and sang three or four of their melodic, beautiful hits from long ago.  Then Graham Nash played keyboard and sang, but again it was much too loud and I felt cheated.

They sang some cover versions of songs that they are hoping to put on their newest ‘record’ – Norwegian Wood was fine, but the Bob Dylan one was embarrassingly awful – they should have gone with one of his simpler songs.

Towards the end of the concert the loud rock sound began again and most of the music was unrecognizable, then it was the two encores – one I thought was ruined by the volume, but the second, though loud, was more palatable.

I saw Ray Davies at the O² and that sound was brilliant, so perhaps I need to concentrate on (mainly) single performers.  My ex-husband saw Neil Young at The Fridge several years ago and he said he was fantastic – single singer and smaller venue; perhaps I need to concentrate on them more.

I know it is more than likely due to my great age, but I find the whooping and ‘yip yip yip’ noises from audiences rather irritating – they sound as if they’re riding to hounds and, let’s face it, all but a few people these days admit to enjoying hunting, so why make a noise that sounds as if you do?

Noticed a few ’women of a certain age’ (as indeed I am) standing up dancing in what I would call an ‘embarrassing way’ (you hear children at family parties begging their parents not to dance sometimes).  I think those women wouldn’t have danced ‘like that’ had children been with them, but then … why not?  After all, if a geriatric Crosbie can prance around like a teenager (well, sort of) why not women?

Coming home the traffic was still unbelievably congested and I walked much of the way back.  Central London is a fairly benign place on a summer night and I only felt  a little alarmed when one of a trio of teenage girls threw a glass at the other two who were several yards in front of her, as was I, so it could have been aimed at me!  Deciding discretion the better part of valour (even being hit mistakenly didn’t seem much fun) I hurried off stage right and got home unscathed.