No kidding. This little grammy was sitting next to me tonight during the Tom Jones concert. I was worried what might happen to her when he started singing "Sexbomb." Tom doesn't just sing "What's New, Pussycat?" anymore.
The concert was really fun. Cleavage was enthusiastically displayed even if it was a little older than one would wish to see so fully presented. The smell of pot was overwhelmed by the scent of perfume, not what you would normally expect in a crowd this size in San Francisco. There were a few interesting spectacles nearby: what possessed the 50-ish woman dressed as an ersatz cheerleader, ecstatically waving giant pink pompoms while he sang "She's a Lady"? Hmmm.
I stopped counting the panties after about 12 pairs. Not all of them hit the stage. There were three bras that made it, one of them hot pink and gigantic--the size of a small parachute. I worry a little bit that Tom will trip over the underwear lying about on the stage, but he's been dodging flying panties since the 60s so he's probably an expert at it. However, one tossed pair did hit him in the crotch, which was slightly rude and appropriate.
But we had a ball. He sang some new songs, which the crowd happily tolerated, but everyone was waiting for the oldies, and the sexy songs. Tom did not disappoint. At the end of the show, someone tossed a flag onto the stage, the flag of Wales, and you could tell he was quite charmed and happy about that. San Francisco loves Tom Jones.
Also, the Warfield is a cool ass venue. Because I couldn't bring my camera, I could only use my iPhone to take these photos. But even so, you can tell that it's an architectural treasure.
Okay, time for sleep. I think when I'm that little grammy's age, I'll still be listening to Tom Jones, bless his heart. He can make any girl feel young again.
My pacemaker goes to 11, too.