"We idolized the Beatles, except for those of us who idolized the Rolling Stones, who in those days still had many of their original teeth."
American humourist Dave Barry
The cute Beatle, 70, was in our neck of the woods recently and a certain nameless groupie pushing 63 could feel her heart flutter exactly as it had 50 years ago. Just to have him near, and all that.
I didn't make it to Sir Paul's concert, alas. I didn't see him when he toured Canada with his blokes in the early '60s either. It ought not to have mattered back in the day. Tidal waves of screaming girls made those concerts impossible to hear. Still, in retrospect, it was a historic rock moment and I'm sorry I missed it. I'm sorry I missed him this time, too. Who knows if he'll be back. And we're all getting on.
As for the Stones, my big brother took me to see them in '66 in a small Montreal venue. The teens attending this event were equally rabid. In fact, the show lasted a scant 45 minutes. The problem: Hormonal young lovelies had pelted the proscenium with so many teddy bears - rumoured to be the stuffed animal of choice for Mick, Keith and the boys - that the band couldn't play for all the fake fur. The Brits high-tailed it backstage before the dam broke and a torrent of fresh, pubescent female flesh descended on them. Word was they were terrified.
If you grew up in that era, you may remember that your peers often forced you to choose a side. Friends could be as vigilant and rigid as today's fundamentalists.
You were either a Beatles fan or a Stones devotee. Cross the floor and expect to be excommunicated.
For many of us, the two groups represented different ends of the adolescent spectrum. If you were in the Beatles camp, you were probably a pretty good kid. On more than one occasion, you might have had your hair ruffled by adults charmed by the sweet Liverpudlians. Either that or you were intimidated by your own sexuality. These guys sang about holding hands with their dewy young girlfriends. They didn't mention taking them to bed.
Those drawn to the Stones were more likely to be swaggering truants with a certain digit perpetually raised to authority. When Mick sang about satisfaction, who the heck knew what he meant - but his insinuating tone could cause a kid's blood to carbonate. His tight pants revealed far too much. His sneers were pronounced and provocative. You just knew that if he got you alone with the lights out, fire engines would need to be on alert. Arousal was a risky business. You could be burned alive.
I admit I was confused. I loved both groups. But I was fairly rare.
So here's my thesis. All these years later we're still essentially either Mods or Rockers. If you're a Mod, you're the kind of person who has tried to change the system from within. You pay your taxes on time, compost faithfully and canvass for the candidate of your choice. If you're a Rocker, on the other hand, Revenue Canada knows where you live. That's because they have your house staked out via Google maps. You've been known to throw a tin can or two into the garbage. And your finger has atrophied into position in a gesture aimed at all politicians, who are suspect in principle.
Here's the thing, though. Time might no longer be on our side. Still, it is a mitigating factor. Our basic Mod or Rocker personalities will never change. We are who we are. But even the most chaste Beatle fan by now has been somewhat hardened and scarred. And onetime rebellious and impudent Stone heads have probably been softened by love.
Age doesn't change us, but life and experience do. We learn tolerance and acceptance - sometimes reluctantly - but we learn it.
You can look at current society as one populated by Mods and Rockers. And if you're an aging hippie as I am, you might hope for a greater kind of tolerance in the world at large.
rharrisadler@hotmail.com
