Judging from the number of photos posted by my Illinois-based Facebook friends, I was apparently the only state resident who did not attend the recent Rolling Stones concert at Soldier Field.
To which I reply, “Don’t worry, I’ll catch them on their next tour.”
No doubt, many of my friends forked over several hundred dollars assuming it would be the last chance to see four members of a band whose combined age is 300. Yes, you read that right. Now, contrast that with some four-member bands I saw at Lollapalooza last year whose combined age appeared to be about 26.
I’m sure a few morbid concertgoers purchased tickets just to see if Mick Jagger, having recently undergone heart surgery, would succumb on stage. What an Instagram selfie that would make!
“At the Stones concert. Paramedics tending to Mick over my right shoulder. Why can’t Keith play one of his songs now? #DISAPPOINTED!”
Jagger, according to the Facebook reviews I read, and grainy videos I watched, is far from rigor mortis status. Running the length of a stage erected in a football stadium, the Stones’ singer hardly looked like a frontman who, according to reports, had his personal cardiologist standing in the wings, just in case. Two shows over four nights sent more than 100,000 Stones fans home happy, and amazed that this band was still pounding out hits, some of which were penned during the Lyndon Johnson administration.
Which is why I’m confident the Stones will be back for at least one more go-round. This is a band that God has waived rules for when it comes to entering the afterlife. Perhaps God is a huge Stones fan and enjoys looking down upon the band as it rips through “Jumping Jack Flash” for the millionth time.
I haven’t been that optimistic about other bands. I rushed to purchase U2 tickets on their 2018 jaunt through the states, convinced lead singer Bono was not long for this world. Perhaps it was the 2014 incident in which the Learjet he was traveling in lost its rear door, mid-air. Or the bicycle accident in New York City that same year that left his guitar-playing abilities in doubt. Or an unknown occurrence in 2016 that Bono only refers to in interviews as “a major health scare.” After that, Keith Richards probably texted Bono and said, “Mate, if you need some wellness tips, I’m happy to help.”
Two years ago, I told my wife we were going to see Paul McCartney. It was a command, not a request. “It might be the last chance to see a real live Beatle,” I said, not bothering to Google “Is Ringo Starr coming to Chicago?” My prognostication abilities proved incorrect as McCartney, now 77, is still filling stadiums this year. For that matter, so is Barbara Streisand, also 77 and headed to the Windy City in August.
But McCartney and Streisand look like they, at the very least, consult with personal trainers and chug at least one protein shake a week. Stones’ drummer Charlie Watts, on the other hand, has the skin tone of beach sand. And the drug and alcohol problems that plagued Richards and fellow bandmate Ronnie Wood have been well documented.
Amazingly, they press on.
I have no doubt the Stones will still be touring at least five years from now. Nightly shows on the “Let’s Spend Our 80s Together” tour will culminate with a giant birthday cake rising from beneath the stage. Jagger, in one breath, will blow out all 80 candles in between verses of “Sympathy for the Devil.” Richards will toast the occasion with a shot of whiskey.
And I’ll go home happy. Provided my aching knees cooperate.
