I watched the Jubilee Concert last night. I wasn’t there, of course; I watched it on telly, but I figure if I can review movies after seeing them on screen, why not a music show?
I had better state my credentials so you can see how serious I am about this review: the last concert I attended was Right Said Fred in Johannesburg. In a club, not a stadium; and in the afternoon. It was so hot in there, Fred’s lead singer shared his bottle of water with the audience. Sweet. At least three people managed a drink before it ran out. By the way, he really was too sexy for his shirt; he had to take it off.
I bought a RSF shirt and wore it to death, it was so comfortable. It was only when a young couple passed me on the street and I overheard one of them say, ‘Right Said Fred? Are they still alive?’ that I decided to retire it.
It was on the way home from that concert that I realised cars have waists. We were in downtown Joburg traffic during rush hour, when a car overtook us from behind as another approached us head on. I swear our car sucked in its breath to avoid being hit. The Hub maintains it was his skillful driving but he’s just a Hub, so I don’t believe him.
Back to the concert. It was fun. I enjoyed it. I can’t share any of it because I still can’t upload videos for some reason that no one can fathom, so I will add links to the names of the acts I mention (where available), in case you are interested.
There were performances from artists from every decade of the Queen’s reign – literally, in the case of Rolf Harris, who arrived in the UK from Australia in 1952. I expected more Commonwealth artists. There weren’t many, though we sneaked in a couple from the States, or ‘the Colonies’, to give them their real name.
The comedians who hosted weren’t particularly funny, especially Rob Bryden, who made a couple of dated jokes about queens, which made him sound a little homophobic.
Cheryl Cole proved she really doesn’t sing very well. It was embarrassing. Ruby Turner proved she is a fabulous singer. It was fabulous. I couldn’t help wondering why Cheryl is such a massive star and Ruby Turner isn’t. I had never heard of her before last night; though her Wikipedia page is impressive. I think it’s because Cheryl looks like this:
English: Cheryl Cole wearing a Lurex dress whilst performing with Girls Aloud at Battle Abbey, Hastings. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
And Ruby doesn’t:
Ruby Turner with Jools Holland and his Rhythm and Blues Orchestra (Photo credit: Man Alive!)
Even Zemanta favoured Cheryl – look at the difference in the size of the photos. And I could find a You Tube link for Cheryl but, surprise, surprise, not for Ruby.
Skinny beats talent every time in this shallow, celebrity-obsessed world of ours. Mind you, a lot of last night’s talent, no matter how skinny, was, um, past its prime. Paul McCartney, Cliff Richard, even Rolf Harris, all sounded croaky. And was it me, or was Elton John lisping? He sounded bizarre.
Perhaps it was nerves: even pianist Lang Lang (I thought they were introducing one of our new pandas) hit a bum note; and Paul McCartney called Prince Charles’ wife the Duchess of Cornwell.
Madness weren’t bad, up on the palace roof. The projections onto the front of the palace were impressive. Kylie and Stevie Wonder were great.
My favourite act of the night, however, was Grace Jones. She wore an anemone hat, a plastic swimming costume and hula hooped while singing Slave to the Rhythm. Utterly bonkers and therefore quintessentially British, even though she isn’t:
If you didn’t watch the concert, at least click on Grace’s link; and take a look at the photos at Sky News, where you will see Annie Lennox in wings and Kylie as a pearly queen.
It makes you proud to be British.
The Laughing Housewife 
I have the funniest readers in the blogosphere (not necessarily ha ha…)