Forever young

Thanks to Wendy who supplied free tix, I went tonight with much hesitation to see Rod Stewart at the John Paul Jones arena.   I was reluctant for several reasons.   First, I was never much of a fan of his.  Other than 1971’s Maggie May, and his cover of Cat Stevens’ The First Cut is the Deepest, most of Rod’s hits had never really turned my head, and as the 80’s wore on, he and his newer work seemed irrelevant and repetitive.    Second, I suspected the show could be truly bad.  Although I had never seen him live, I imagined he’d devolved into a cheesy lounge act, losing any cred he’d once had as a singer or guitarist. 

I come away from the show finding that both of my concerns were accurate, and yet, somehow, I managed to enjoy bits of it.  I was grateful that the Diet Pepsi in my huge drink cup was mixed so well in the fountain that it tasted like some variant of Diet Coke.   I was pleasantly surprised that my girlfriend and I at 35+ were among the youngest in attendance and were quizzed at the t-shirt stand about what “you younger people” would prefer in a t-shirt that a mother was buying for her 21-year-old son  (one cringes to imagine his upcoming reaction at receiving this gift).   Because the show continued past the Geritol set’s bedtime, many of them cleared out 30 minutes before the end, leaving an easy exit for those of us who persisted to the end.

The main highlight of the show itself was the Rod-ettes.  These were notably strong singers, three beautiful, curvaceous, long-legged black women wearing skimpy outfits and belting it out, showing off on Joplin’s Piece of My Heart and on Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?  (Yes, lamentably, that disco-era megahit was part of the show.)    When not singing their hearts out they danced around the figure 8 part of the stage on either side of the main round stage and entertained the boys and those girls who can appreciate a proper shake of a fine ass, even if to a song as regrettable as Hot Legs.   Despite the low-rent disco feel of the show (one hopes it was a deliberate self-parody on the part of Mr. Stewart) these women added class to the act.  In contrast, the saxophonist, guitarist/mandolin player, and violin player tried to outdo each other with their playing but mostly with a deliberate and excessively self-aware cultivation of hotness.  Each costume change showing off a higher cut leg, lower cut cleavage, and bare back served to make them seem lukewarm at best. 

And Rod–is he forever young?  Well, he still has hot legs.  I was shocked how much he resembled Mick Jagger in body shape, still able to pull off skin tight black jeans.  Unlike Mick, he did not peel off his shirt, so I can’t comment on whether this look was achieved naturally or with the help of some manly girdle.  Unfortunately, he lacked that icon’s well-earned swagger and just seemed like a knock-off, albeit one who’s probably in great shape for 61.   His voice is acceptable–always gravelly, but now unable to hit or sustain the high notes, but not so deteriorated that he couldn’t pull off some crooners.    But I guess the problem is that he’s no longer a Scottish rocker and doesn’t pretend to be–he clearly embraces his evolution from folk to rock to disco sleaze and lowest common denominator ballads through the years.  Or at least he embraces the money those shifts in musical taste and quality brought him.  And that left me glad that my ticket and parking were free. 

A taste of South Africa

My expatriate friend is a Boer from South Africa and an enthusiast about the cultural offerings of her homeland.    She offered to share a facsimile of her country’s food tonight and took me to Shebeen in Charlottesville.   Because we were only a party of two, they wouldn’t give us a reservation, so when we arrived 20 minutes after calling to put our name on the list, the hostess informed us that they’d suddenly filled completely and she expected at least a 40 minute wait because everyone was just placing orders now.  We promptly retreated to the bar, and claimed a lovely table with a perfect view of the dining area and bar denizens.    Because I prefer French Burgundy or Willamette Valley Pinot Noir, the bartender recommended a Ken Forrester 2005 Pinotage that was lovely on its own and great later when paired with my lamb.   We started with warm rolls and soft butter, progressed with good but not notable salads, then enjoyed a variety on our plates for dinner. 

My friend enjoyed the Stellenbosch platter, a heaping plate of 4 SA specialties, including Peri Peri sauced chicken, little Samosas (Indian-style Natchitoches meat pies, to those of you from my homeland of Louisiana!), satay, and mushrooms stuffed with incognito but delicious items.  I tried the Sosatie, a kebab-type dish of lamb and pork marinated in tamarind and mango and perfectly seared.  Although the meat alone would have satisfied a large man’s appetite, it was accompanied by a heaping mound of perfect saffron rice, delicious spicy lentils, and 2 sauces–a sweet mango chutney with huge chunks of mango, and a cucumber-yogurt sauce similar to Tsatsiki but with an intriguing added taste and texture I couldn’t easily identify.  I had to get a to-go box for the ample leftovers.   My knowledgeable friend insisted we get a dessert to share called Koeksisters, and I was very glad.  This item is a braided dough similar to a Krispy Kreme doughnut on the outside, but warm and creamy on the inside, served with berries and cream and topped with ice cream.  I haven’t liked a sweet item this much since my last real beignet.  I loved her suggestion of coming there sometimes just for a coffee and Koeksisters!   Despite the crowd and the necessity to eat in the bar, the waitress found us and was prompt and attentive and we got out of there in time for a show.