Did you see her Madjesty?

I saw a picture in the freebie Metro newspaper the other day of Madonna at her Hyde Park gig, which took place last week.

She was dressed in tight leather trousers, a biker jacket, sported garish makeup and was brandishing a silver revolver. Madge is 54; she looked ridiculous.

I suppose at least she was decently covered up, which is more than can be said about some of her costumes over the years, but there is something terribly sad about her desperation to prove that she is still ‘cool’ and ‘hip’ and her desire to shock.

I have been a Madonna fan in the past. Some of her music was edgy and different but in many cases it was good old fashioned pop. You could dance to it, remember the tune of quite a lot of it and it doesn’t have that awful thumping bass of so much music these days, which quite simply gives me a headache. But there is a time to call it a day, and for her I suspect it may be fast approaching.

Of course there are lots of aging pop stars and rockers still going strong, most of them male. The Rolling Stones, Rod Stewart, Paul McCartney and Elton John all spring to mind without even thinking too hard, and they are all growing old with varying degrees of success in trying to stay at the top of their game.

The dangers of going on too long were glaringly highlighted by the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee concert, which featured quite a lot of these ol’ timers. Whilst some of it worked well, much of it was plainly embarrassing. I have always been a big Elton fan, and I think he can still put on a good show and get his crowd rocking and Tom Jones can still pull it off, too. But I thought Stevie Wonder, Annie Lennox, Grace Jones and worst of all Paul McCartney were frankly past it and ought to give up while they are ahead. Their voices were cracked and strained, they looked tired and there was no sparkle.

The trouble with Madge is she refuses to grow old gracefully. She has always liked to shock, and her songs and stage sets over the years have offended almost every religious group on the planet. She dresses like her daughter, Lourdes, but unfortunately no amount of time spent in the gym, no odd macrobiotic diets, the steeliest determination  and not even the most wonderful stylist (as if she would listen to one) can disguise the fact that you simply aren’t eighteen any more. I’m sure she is still a wonderful performer (she has that special something called ‘presence’) and if she didn’t try to do new material she would probably go completely crazy, but really, is there any need to pretend so hard that you are young, on the edge and out there? The answer, most definitely, is no.  

Most of those that attended Hyde Park and reduced it to a sea of mud won’t much care about any of this because they will have been royally entertained by someone who loves the limelight and knows how to put on a show. They will have drunk expensive lager or nasty lukewarm white wine and got near food poisoning from the less than average quality scrotum-burgers on sale from the numerous catering vans trying to make the best of a bad summer. They will have disrupted the neighbours and crowded onto the late night trains in good humoured but boisterous moods to go home. And had a good time.

But that doesn’t take away the fact that most of these oldies now ought to look at hanging up their guitar and their microphone. When your talent won’t see you through, or you have to resort to shock tactics, nudity or something equally distasteful, or your voice or your body lets you down, it’s time to go. Before it’s too late.