We went to a concert on Friday night. The main performer has a five decade carreer in music, played at Woodstock and as a member of one of my favourite sixties bands had caused me to buy three landmark albums.
But love can do strange things...
On Friday the performer was accompanied by his wife. She has been his band mate for fifteen years. But, the sad truth is that she is not a great performer. Her singing and multi-instrument playing are far below par. Her sense of rhythm and taste were sadly non-existant with the result that her partner compromised what should have been a stunning peformance by accomodating his true love's lack of musical skill.
Their audience were there to share an evening with a musical legend. And yes, with each intro there were touches of solo magic, only to be marred by the truly dreadful caterwauling and scraping of instruments that dominated every song.
The captive audience that came oh so willingly had dimished by large numbers after the welcome intermission. And during the second part they lost us all and the room turned cold. And everyone felt it. Everyone except his partner.
She had that supreme self-confiidence that is rare, but when present means that, however awful one might be, the show goes on regardless... He wasn't going to say anything, the audience could merely vote with their feet, but this was an object lesson in how to slowly kill what had been a stunning legacy.
The extraordinary simply became the mundane.
It has caused me to study my own performance. You might think - 'who is he to judge?'. Who indeed, but that night I was witness to a sad lack of judgement and the misguided result of a couple so obviously in love that only we could see the emperors tattered clothes they chose to wear.
It would be unfair to name the heroes of my little tale - they are blissfully in love and at least one of them will remain blissfully unaware. Beware the power of love...