In late August, I dragged my husband to see Peter Frampton at the Hollywood Bowl. Seeing him perform was a bucket list thing for me. I bought “Frampton Comes Alive” in 1976 because it was one of the first albums that I could afford that wasn’t by the Beatles. I bought it at the University of Maryland (College Park) student store, located in those days, in a small basement of some building. Think I paid around seven dollars (it was a double record set). And I loved this record. I think. Looking back I’m not sure it was the music as much as the fact that I had a huge X-rated crush on Peter Frampton. I would imagine the love songs he sang were to me. I played the LPs on my stereo in my bedroom, often late at night. Over and over again. In those days, music was the center of my universe. I listened to the radio in my car, and at home. I remember listening to WHFS-FM, the alternative rock station that broadcast throughout the suburbs of Washington D.C. The weekend mid-night DJ was Weasel. I remember listening to songs by Leon Russell, Little Feat, Bonnie Raitt, Jackson Brown and the Allman Brothers. It felt like my own secret world and I found comfort in it.
I had seen a special segment on Peter Frampton on CBS Sunday Morning a couple of years ago. And if you remember anything about the 60’s and 70’s having long hair, for both men and women was everything. Back in 1976, Peter had long, curly, flowing blond hair. But on that CBS Sunday morning show he was bald. I couldn’t believe it. Talk about having your bubble burst. My 18 year old self was horrified, but my 50 something self was like, “What did you expect?” This is not to say that the Peter Frampton of 2014 is not a decent looking guy. What you need to understand is that I remember him as someone I desperately wanted to reproduce with. At 18 years old.
Now assuming that Peter has not changed ALL that much in the looks department, I gotta wonder about myself. Meaning, that my reproductive clock is telling me I am not up to the challenge. Actually, for me, that part was surgically terminated in 2005. And I don’t miss “my friend” every month. But none the less, I can’t go back, ever. That is strange feeling: to know that something you were able to do, you will never do again. This can leave a woman feeling melancholy (at one end of the continuum) or ecstatic (on the other end of the continuum), depending on any number of factors.
However, one thing is for certain: Frampton sounded great at the Hollywood Bowl and I am happy I went.