ronnie spector: arches: glasgow

okay here’s the deal.

ronnie spector is not sixteen anymore. she’s not twenty one anymore.  she’s not even fifty fer chrissakes so why you moaning fucks expect her to sing like she still is i dunno.  so quit yr goddam blathering.  have you heard brian wilson or bob dylan or leonard cohen lately?  not exactly in their vocal primes are they.  but i s’pose it’s alright if yr a bloke.

she’s sixty five.  sometimes she can’t hit the goddam notes she should.  she’s got a bum leg.  i don’t care. it worked, it clicked for me.  the tremble, the ache, the sadness, the toughness it’s all still there.  all deliciously accentuated by wear and tear and the inexorable passing of time.  there was something inherently sad in the slow decripitude of age mingled, heroically juxtaposed, with songs of teenage love and betrayal.  it made me feel sad and happy simul-bloody-taneously.  when she sang you can’t put your arms around a memory i felt a toaty choke of emotion in my throat and a well of salty tears in my bloodshot eyes.

you bastards!

i’m human after all, see.

enjoy this moment of weakness, coz one day when you least expect it i’ll pay a tramp to fondle you in the street.

i wish i never saw the sunshine

oh and this old thing…

ronniespector.com