I Wish They All Could Be California Boys
Ravinia is an open air festival ground just north of Chicago. It began in the 1960s, and the same people seem to have been coming for years to hear all kinds of music. The old hippies now sit and sew or read books while waiting for the show to start.
Americans don't travel light when they picnic. People struggled in under the weight of tables and chairs and trunkloads of food. If you're packing so much, a candelabra or two hardly makes a difference.
Americans don't travel light when they picnic. People struggled in under the weight of tables and chairs and trunkloads of food. If you're packing so much, a candelabra or two hardly makes a difference.
Mike Love and some of the Beach Ol' Boys...
..and how they used to look.
With the Labor Day weekend upon us signifying the last days of summer, what could be better than to celebrate with the Beach Boys, at a fabulous open air concert in Ravinia? (For British readers, think Ken Wood only bigger and more sophisticated).
Those of us of a certain age, even in England, grew up with the Beach Boys: those fresh faced all-American college kids who spent their summers Surfing USA or eyeing up California Girls.
We followed their careers over the years through splits and tragedies, and summer wasn't summer without their unique style of music.
Now I'm not stupid. Since the boys were a little older than me, I realised they would have aged a bit since the Sixties. As it turned out, the only original left seemed to be Mike Love. They still sound fabulous and are nearly as animated as their audiences, but nowadays look more like a tribute band. Quite frankly it is a little creepy to see an old man singing songs about being proud of your school and sitting alone in his room!
Anyhow, following our picnic on the lawn (ok, on the bench, we're getting on a bit ourselves now you know), we took our seats with a forum full of former teenagers looking for their lost youth.
Five minutes in, the old lady next to me nudged me.
"Do you have a Kleenex?" she asked.
"Er, yes. Hang on," I rummaged in my bag. "Here".
She promptly ripped it up and pushed the two halves into her ears.
"If you don't like the music, why are you here?" I shouted.
"It's too loud," she said.
She then settled back, fell asleep, woke up and left half way through.
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