Once upon a time, the idea of a famous rock band playing in Niceland was about as far flung as Denise Richards’ wedding ring. Between, say, 1970 and 1990, you could basically count the number of famous acts that stopped here on the fingers of one hand. There was Led Zeppelin in 1972 and then there was Jethro Tull at one point, and Ella Fitzgerald, and that was about it.
Those were the days. Today you can’t seem to turn around without someone thrusting a concert in your face. Iceland, apparently, is the IT girl on the concert circuit. If it’s financially viable [a nation of 300,000 doesn’t exactly support stadium-sized spectacles] they’ll come and they’ll play.
Which obviously is a Very Good Thing. In the past we’d have to chase concerts to some country or another; now they come to us. Last week it was John Fogerty. Last Saturday it was Wayne Shorter. Last night it was Bob Dylan. In a couple of weeks it will be Paul Simon. And in a couple of months Eric Clapton. – I’ll say it again: we’re the size of a London suburb; we’re freaking Ealing. Can we support this kind of activity? ~ Apparently.
EPI went to see Dylan last night; admittedly at the last minute because he’s already spent a fair amount of dosh on concerts this summer and wasn’t sure he wanted to afford it. YT gave it a miss because I’m a not a huge Dylan fan [although I do know the lyrics of Like a Rolling Stone by heart, do not ask me how] but when EPI came home gushing about it I gave myself a couple swift kicks in the butt for not mustering up the pep to go. I have now decided to take my cue from EPI’s brother and sister-in-law, who are resolved to hit all the major concerts this summer – because when the circus comes to town, you should go.
Plus, just think of all the dosh I’ll save by not having to go to another country.
THE SUN STRUGGLED TODAY, REALLY STRUGGLED
… to get out from behind the clouds, but never really made it. Went out for a long walk at lunchtime with a friend and it kept threatening to shine the entire time. Meanwhile, it was pretty windy, but not cold, so bearable. Out by the golf course the arctic tern* is gearing up for nesting season [they fly halfway around the fricking globe to nest on a golf course, how misguided is that?] and it’s hard to know which is more life-threatening: getting walloped in the head by a golf ball or attacked by a tern. It’s currently 9°C [48F] and our sun came up at 3.35 am, went down at 11.16 pm.
* Factoid: In Icelandic the arctic tern is called kría, which is almost an exact replication of the sound they make when they’re attacking you. Kría is also an offhand term for a nap, don’t ask me why because I don’t know.