If I could have back the lost weekends in the grass, the Glastos, the Readings, the Knebworths, the Isle of Wights. I gave up festivals years ago. Primarily because they were never about the music, but about loitering within tents, messing about with your musicbiz mates and boozing. You have kids, you grow up. I can never fathom those folk who take babies to open-air gigs.
Yet there are times to go back. We'll do it for legends, the opportunities to see and hear them receding all the time. We don't get our skin out. We shield ourselves from head to foot, but still boil in the blistering sun. We resist the champagne tents and the awful food. We glue our faces with Factor 50, equip ourselves with agua and face sprays, tissues and baby wipes, and are a bit Girl Guide about it. We seek swift stiffeners at the Hilton across from the park, in the Windows on the World. That's some view from the twenty-eighth floor, by the way. I had forgotten it. We brace ourselves to jostle among the throng for a few final shreds of the soundtrack of our lives.
Bonnie Raitt hauled us back to her roots. The ten-time Grammy winner who makes a mockery of sixty-nine is as great a guitarist as she is a singer, still pulling magic out of the same Fender Strat that she's used in every gig she's played since the Sixties. 'Nick of Time' and INXS's 'One of My Kind' were the stand-outs - the song that started life, in 1987, as 'Need You Tonight', and was later renamed.
James Taylor is much older than his seventy years, in many ways. His nine lives, triumphs and nightmares are all in the songs. The hair's gone, the cap's on, but the smile is as youthful as it ever was. 'Carolina In My Mind', Carole King's 'You've Got a Friend' and 'Fire and Rain' mesmerised. Taylor penned the cowboy lullaby ‘Rockabye Sweet Baby James’ for his newborn nephew, who was named after his uncle. The baby's father, Alex, was James's brother. He died on James's birthday, in 1993. 'There is another America,' he told the vast crowd, in a thinly-veiled reference to the embarrassment felt by millions of Americans at what their country has become under The Donald. Fear not, was the message: 'We'll be back.'
The eldest of the trio headlined in what is billed as his 'Farewell Tour'. Will he do a Tina Turner on us, and play fifteen comebacks? Only time will tell. Paul Simon celebrated a seven-decade career in the time-honoured fashion of subjecting us to a trawl of as yet obscure tracks from the forthcoming new album, while leaving the hits until the encores. 'America', 'Me and Julio' and 'Mother and Child Reunion' thrilled before the big one: his reclamation of 'the best song I ever wrote'.
'I gave away my best one,' lamented seventy-six year-old Simon, of 'Bridge over Troubled Water', meaning that he surrendered it to the voice of Art. 'This is the first time I've sung it. I'm reclaiming it. I am taking back my long lost child.'
Life, drugs and booze do the withering. Angels save the brave. They go again, rejuvenated by their own resilience. Music rescues them. It rescues us all.