A night as the only cowboys in town

WITH the summer music festival season in full swing, I’ve been reflecting on when I used to attend live music shows. I recalled a time in the Eighties when my friend got tickets for a country-andwestern extravaganza in Stratford, East London. Cowboy boots were in fashion, so we strutted to the venue in our Cuban heels and checked shirts. My friend wore a genuine stetson (very rare in most wardrobes, even mine). When we got inside, we were the only cowboys there! It was like turning up to a party you thought was a fancy dress do but isn’t — and you end up looking very silly. Some time after that embarrassment, we went to see Geno Washington and his Ram Jam Band in Harlow. He was very big in my youth and was touring again. With no inappropriate costumes this time, we had a great evening. Several years later, my friend phoned me and said he had heard that Geno Washington was appearing for one night only at a venue close to me in Chelmsford. I went along to book tickets and had a bizarre conversation with a young woman on reception. I said: ‘What night is Geno Washington here?’ She replied: ‘What shift does he normally do? Is he on cleaning or security?’ Taken aback, I said: ‘Geno Washington, the famous singer from the Sixties.’ ‘Never heard of him,’ she said, barely concealing her lack of interest. at that point I left. I never did get to see Geno again and felt that the music scene had left me behind.