Charlotte Latvala: Not so angry for an early night

I took my seat at the venue, looked around me, and thought: I wonder what 22-year-old me would make of this. Would she giggle in amusement or recoil in horror?

I was surrounded by a sea of gray hair and bifocals and talk of mutual funds. And no, I wasn’t at a financial advisors’ seminar, I was at a rock concert. Specifically, I was there to see Graham Parker, one of the original Angry Young Men from the late 1970s and early 1980s.

Back then, Angry Young Men (and Women) were my stock in trade. Elvis Costello, The Clash, The Jam, Chrissie Hynde. College radio existed in its own universe, and Graham Parker was in heavy rotation on my turntable. Many of his songs remain permanently etched in my psyche.

So, of course, I jumped at the chance to see him perform an acoustic set at a small venue not far from home. I’ve recently made the executive life decision that if I want to catch an artist, show or concert, there’s no time to waste.

No sooner had I sat down when my husband called from work. “Did you park in a safe place?” he said. “Make sure to text me when you leave. And if you get a drink, don’t leave it unattended.”

I looked around me and thought I would be more likely to get roofied at a Paw Patrol show. But I reassured him I was safe, and capable, and would keep my $14 glass of pinot grigio in view the whole evening.

“Do you know if there’s an opener?” I asked a couple at my table, and we had a laugh as we all sheepishly admitted we hoped there wasn’t – so we could get home at a reasonable hour. (Twenty-two-year-old me violently rolled her eyes.)

We were in luck. Graham Parker strolled onstage precisely at 7:30 p.m.

(This isn’t a concert review. But if it were, I’d sum it up in one word: Delightful. He did a few of my angry old favorites, but also sang newer songs I didn’t know, including a funny number about mosquitoes, complete with mosquito noises on a kazoo.)

There was no mosh pit. There was no slam dancing. There were no outbursts, unless you counted a guy at a nearby table complaining about the quality of his merlot.

The audience clapped politely, responded appropriately to Parker’s witty quips, and stood for the encore. (But promptly sat down again when they realized they might be blocking other people’s line of vision. If I haven’t made this clear yet, it was not an Angry Young Audience.)

The show was over at 9 p.m. and I felt pleasantly satisfied. I had a meaningful experience, felt a throb of nostalgia, and would still get a good night’s sleep.

On the way home, I cranked up “Squeezing out Sparks” as loudly as I could. Twenty-two-year-old me gave me a hug and said I didn’t turn out so bad after all.

Charlotte is a columnist for The Times. You can reach her at charlottelatvala@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on Beaver County Times: Latvala: Not so angry for an early night