Bella Donna

[Writers Plot]

Posted by Sheila Connolly

Okay, I'll admit it: I have become a rock groupie.

I mentioned in my last blog that I had recently bought a concert t-shirt. It came from a Stevie Nicks concert, held not far from where I live.

Despite the fact that I came of age during one of the great eras of rock-and-roll history, I never went to concerts. (Note: I want to call them "rock concerts". My twenty-something daughter curls her lip and says, "no, Mother–they're just concerts.") In my own feeble defense, I have to say that I went to a college that was too small to attract major performers, and getting to a concert venue would have involved several modes of public transportation and much planning–and the transit shut down long before the concert would have ended. Oh, heck, who am I kidding? It never occurred to me to go. I was far too busy on campus enjoying the Guarneri Quartet performing the entire Beethoven Cycle, or the New York Pro Musica presenting the medieval Play of Herod in our campus chapel. Rock? I was far above that.

Until about five years ago. Actually, it's all my daughter's fault. While still in high school, she announced she was going to a Bob Dylan concert, and I applauded. Then I thought–wait a minute, he's an icon from MY generation, and I've never seen him live. That's not right. So I took myself to a (different) Dylan concert, and the ice was broken.

And then Fleetwood Mac got back together. I first heard Rumours WHEN IT CAME OUT–namely because I was locked in a darkroom learning how to develop pictures (ah, those distant, pre-digital days), and a friend loaned me a tape player (gee, remember those?) and one and only one tape: Rumours. I never listened to or bought popular music back in those days, but I bought my own copy of Rumours, and played it for years. I still have it.

Then came the Say You Will tour, in 2003. And I said, I'm going. I dragged my daughter along, but she didn't protest too much. Nor the second time, nor the third (yes, people, we went to three different Fleetwood Mac concerts in a year). And last month, we went to see Stevie, touring solo.

Time was, I thought Stevie was an obnoxious, self-absorbed diva. Silly me (Stevie, if you ever read this, my humble apologies). Then I started listening to her songs, and somewhere in there I changed my mind. Oh, she has her diva moments, but sometimes she hits the nail on the head with her lyrics (and her current vocal range matches mine, so I can sing along). She's two years older than I am, and her birthday's the day after mine (told you I was becoming a groupie).

In case you are wondering, 'what does this have to do with writing?', I will explain. When the FM reunion came about, I asked myself: these people are all older than I am, and they can't need the money (all right, I know the big bucks are in concerts, not CDs, these days, and it never hurts to make a little more, but still), so why are they hauling themselves and a huge entourage of back-up people and techies and whatever around the country to do one-night gigs? It took me a while to realize–they thought they still had something to say, through their music. And that's when it hit me. If you're a creative person, be it in writing, or music, or art–it doesn't just stop. You have to get it–whatever you create–out there. It's not about the money, or the fame and glory, although those are nice; it's about being heard. And that I understood.

I'll admit, the concerts I've been going to feature performers of my own age: another Dylan concert (with Willie Nelson!), and (drumroll) the Rolling Stones. But! At all of these concerts, there have been younger people, who know the words, and who are as excited as I am to be there. The old fogies have still got it. Rock on!

P.S. All images included here come from...my t-shirts.