The Man on stage. Photo by Dan Fardell from paulweller.com
We share a vintage, Paul Weller and I, The Modfather and yours truly having both slipped past the half-century mark during the last year. Some of the best nights of my early 20s were spent pogoing to The Jam and the last UK gig I saw before leaving for Bermuda was their emotional farewell at the old Wembley Empire Pool in December 1982, so it was good to finally see in concert again a man whose music I’ve loved ever since I first heard the opening chords to In The City and who proved, with his latest CD, 22 Dreams, that he is as vital and creative as ever.
But as I watched The Great Man bobbing and weaving around the stage at the V Festival in Toronto the other night with an energy and enthusiasm that musicians half his age would envy, I realised I’m not as young as I like to think I am. As I contemplate a (hopefully) routine colonoscopy tomorrow, I wonder if Weller worries about such things. Or prostate exams, or any of the other joys of being over 50. At least my hair’s not grey, though.
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