Seeing music icon Kenny Rogers hang up his boots a privilege

THE SINGER, who had knee replacement surgery, joked about other senior artists.          Photo courtesy of MONG Pintolo for Ovation Productions

THE SINGER, who had knee replacement surgery, joked about other senior artists. Photo courtesy of MONG Pintolo for Ovation Productions

“I May look fragile, but should I fall, don’t bother helping me,” the American singer-songwriter Kenny Rogers jested from a stool on which he spent much of his one-night concert in Manila last Thursday. “I have this thing called Life Alert—all I need to do is press a button.”

The pop-country crossover artist, who turns 78 this month, has had knee replacement surgery that rendered him practically immobile onstage.

He performed most of his songs sitting down, only standing up when he has seemingly mustered enough strength. And when he tried to move about, he did so with a limping shuffle.

“I think they replaced the wrong knee,” quipped Rogers, who poked fun at his predicament every once in a while, as if assuring the packed crowd at the Smart Araneta Coliseum that they need not worry about him.

The list of things he complained about his body were deemed “age-appropriate” by doctors, he said. So it was rather disheartening, he confessed, when he saw The Rolling Stones’ Mick Jagger—“who must have been 101 or 102”—dancing like he was 15 at the 2013 Glastonbury Festival.

Later on, he found out that Willie Nelson, who’s four years his senior, has gotten a black belt in a Korean martial art. “The only way I could make sense of everything is to accept the fact that I didn’t do enough drugs in the ’60s!” Rogers said, prompting a hearty round of chuckles from the fans.

However, it wasn’t only his mobility—or lack thereof—that proved to be a struggle. His voice, especially early in the show, was barely audible.

He was usually winded; the tone he produced, quite gravelly. And on the rare moments he attempted to sustain a note, his voice wavered, before completely giving out.

In some numbers, such as “It’s Only a Paper Moon,” “Daytime Lovers” and “Anyone Who Isn’t Me,” Rogers let his night’s special guest, the delightfully bubbly country singer Linda Davis, steer the ship.

Between songs, Rogers relied on his gift of gab; he kept the fans tuned in with funny anecdotes from his 60 years in the business.

Talking about The Scholars, a band he played guitar for during his teenage years, he said, “It’s funny because we were all straight-D students!”

But in spite of his diminished physicality and singing abilities, there was one thing that remained unweathered: the magic of his music.

Rogers’ ’80s hit ballad, “Through the Years,” had everyone hoisting their phones, cheering and singing along, which persisted through “You Decorated My Life” and “She Believes In Me.”

Other crowd-pleasers were “Lucille”—the song that “changed” Rogers’ life—and “We’ve Got Tonight,” a duet with Sheena Easton. At times, Rogers passed the singing duties to the fans, and they were more than happy to take over.

While a lot of the songs were truncated, the set was expansive, and contained tunes that easily evoked nostalgia—“Lady,” “We Are the World,” “Islands in the Stream.”

In “Heroes,” a song from a theater musical he penned, “The Toy Shoppe,” Rogers summoned every ounce of what’s left of his once-sturdy vocals to deliver his most stable, tender and heartfelt performance.

An equally poignant moment was Rogers’ delivery of “You Are So Beautiful,” which he dedicated to his twin sons with his fifth wife.

The show, mounted by Ovation Productions, was part of his preretirement world tour named after the song, “The Gambler,” whose lyrics go, “You’ve got to know when to hold ’em/ Know when to fold ’em/ Know when to walk away.”

And as far as farewells go, this concert was bittersweet: The Rogers the Filipino crowd saw—in his first and last outing here—was far from the strapping, swaying and guitar-toting black-bearded man shown on the screens.
Still, for many of his devoted fans, seeing the music icon in the flesh before he hangs up his boots was a privilege.

E-mail apolicarpio@inquirer.com.ph.

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