On the night of 12/12/12, everybody gathered up the road at Madison Square Garden to raise money for the victims of Sandy. By everybody, I mean just about everybody of significance to me for most of my youth: Bruce Springsteen, Roger Waters (Pink Floyd), Eric Clapton, The Who, The Rolling Stones (!), Paul McCartney, and Billy Joel. Other younger superstars joined these oldsters for the six hour concert along with introductions by big time comedians and movie legends. More than a few TV channels blasted it live.
Perhaps everybody was already in town, maybe even several of them living amongst us right here in our little Village, so it was an easy hop to the Garden. Could be one or two of the stars were flown into town on a private jet. Whatever it took, they all gathered together on, for them, short notice, and it was a bit of a thrill for this rock n’ roller. I was like a kid, couldn’t tear myself away, although eventually I did fall asleep to a crooning Paul. I gave a little money. Yet as I watched entranced, something about it began to portend – a sudden vision of the future cast a pall over my happy viewing. I saw the catastrophes piling up across time and the rock stars coming together to perform and raise money almost as if this were a part of their job. The new routine: mayhem followed by music. Floods, tsunamis, earthquakes all occasions for a united front of the privileged and untouched, willing for one night to buck up the rest of us and raise money, until we’re bled dry and we’ve become immune to the devastation and the attendant star turns – until we run out of empathy and just stay focused on our own survival. Meanwhile, the band plays on….
