The Flower Power Cruise: Old Bands, Old People, Old Music

I’ve never been shushed at a concert in my life, that is, until a couple of days ago.

A lady in front of us turned around and said we were talking too loud and she couldn’t hear the blaring music. I had merely asked the guy next to me if he wanted my extra bottle of water. At an outdoor concert, no less. The couple to the left of us just shook their heads. 

My wife said, “What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s PMS - she was way past the “M.”

“Maybe it’s IBS.” 

But really, it was the law of averages. I suppose when there are When you have a boatload of old people, a few crabby ones are inevitable.

And when I say boatload, I’m not kidding - because we were on a cruise, aptly named the Flower Power Cruise.

If I had to describe it, I’d call it “Woodstock on the Water.” Only with better plumbing, significantly more food, and legal prescription medication.

This cruise is a floating jukebox. Over the course of a seven-day trip through the Caribbean, nearly 50 vintage rock-and-roll acts perform for several thousand seasoned, adoring fans.

Simply put: it’s old bands playing old music for old people.

And business is booming.

If you like groups like Tommy James and the Shondells, The Animals, Chicago, or Blood, Sweat & Tears, this is your Super Bowl. And it quickly became mine. 

Music is everywhere. From 10 a.m. until the wee hours of the morning, it’s rock, pop, and occasionally someone who sounds like a drunk singing karaoke in a Holiday Inn bar, but with better credentials.

For goodness’ sake, even the elevator music plays songs from the ’60s and ’70s, performed by the original artists. And there’s nothing like gorging yourself at a buffet while hearing Paul Revere and the Raiders sing “Hungry.” That’s what I call commitment to a theme.

This cruise has a different vibe because it’s not about the destination - it’s all about the music. I’m convinced we could’ve circled 12 miles off the coast of Miami all week, and as long as the bands kept playing, nobody would complain. 

I averaged over four concerts a day. And as I’ve learned, when you have about 3,000 people between the ages of 68 and 131, there are going to be a few problems.

Old people do not like to wait in line. They do not like to be inconvenienced. They do not want you wearing big hats that block their view of the stage - even though they were wearing one. And some of them absolutely do not like you talking at a concert.

Believe me, that peace-and-love stuff only goes so far.  I saw proof of that when some Baby Boomer cut in front of a little old hippie lady in a concert line. I thought Woodstock was about to turn into WrestleMania, complete with a flower child throwing elbows.

The talent was quite good, even if some of them were a bit long in the tooth. I saw a couple of lead singers with more wrinkles than an unironed cotton shirt. 

But here’s the thing, and this is why it works. It’s nostalgia on steroids. It’s 3,000 people who all know the same songs, the same lyrics, the same guitar riffs. For a few minutes, you’re not thinking about your cholesterol, your knees, or where you left your reading glasses.

You’re 17 again.

You’re in a car with the windows cranked down, AM radio cranked up, singing at the top of your lungs with friends who are still alive and sitting right next to you.

And when 3,000 people on a boat start singing “Crimson and Clover” together, it’s not just a song, it’s a time machine. A slightly out-of-breath, off-key time machine, but a time machine nonetheless.

That’s why it sells out.

That’s why there’s a three-year waiting list.

And that’s why people keep coming back - because for one week, the music still sounds the same…even if we don’t.

It’s fun to sing the songs that were the soundtrack of your life, and try to dance to them, which at our age means standing up, swaying, waving your hands, shouting “Woo!”… and then sitting back down before you strain something. 

It’s not often that I begin my week singing “Mony Mony” and end it with “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.” But that’s the magic of Flower Power.

Even if I did get shushed.

Peace and love, y’all.