David Coverdale was heading Whitesnake when I was just three years old. Last night I saw him for the first time in concert, celebrating 30 years of crooning at the top of his game. I've always loved certain of Whitesnake's hits, though I must admit that as my tastes and emotional drives have changed I listened to them less and less in recent years. Nevertheless the band could still seduce a crowd of old and new fans. But do they, and particularly David Coverdale, still love it?
I ask this question because I have been both lucky and unlucky enough to see stardom and its effects on stars and their families from the inside. Most people only know and therefore love the icon on the stage. But these icons have family often burdened with the weight of propping up such flawed and often 'fallen angels'. Whilst the drink, drugs and womanising reputation of some stars earns them kudos with fans, the families and friends have to cope with the tortured and often egocentric souls behind the creativity and talent.
The family I knew, and eventually joined, is philosophical about the position they find themselves in. The resignation was that their sacrifice and support was for the greater good, a contribution to art and creativity and to the happiness of others. But for me this laissez-faire approach to the behaviour of 'the chosen one' tarnished the very greatness of their art. But then, I believe that greatness is to be great to the betterment of the lives of those around you, not at the cost of sacrifice of your nearest and dearest.
I make no insinuations of DC himself. I do not know his family life or back ground and there seemed to be a lot of love on the stage between the musicians and with the audience. There is no doubt that his charisma and talent are responsible for the longevity and success of his career. Ten years ago I would have been a little awed by such close proximity to so famous and talented a person. But standing there just a few feet from the stage, close enough to see the wrinkles on the old icon, I couldn't help wondering about his real thoughts as he waved and pointed to members of the crowd, who reacted as if they had had a one to one with a god, perhaps a slightly bored and tired one. DC worked the crowd like a pro but with a tinge of the hum drum, perhaps trying to be excited by yet another thrown thong, yet another city, yet another night at work after 30 years of performing to the expectations of strangers. I can only thank god and praise the whole band that they didn't seem to take themselves too seriously because, despite having a good time, I certainly couldn't!
Congratulations, DC, on 30 years of doing anything well. I bow to you as a self-made, great Brit and I hope your greatness is the greatest kind, one that leaves no trail of loving victims, for such a flawed greatness is no kind of greatness at all.
