September 2019/Fairlady 25when he plays “Scatterlings”
there’s going to be tears.’ The
second half of the show is poignant.
Johnny tells stories about home
and links our history to his songs.
I feel convicted. He ends with the
classic, ‘The Crossing’. I know it
was dedicated to his bandmate who
was killed in taxi violence, but the
words haunt me: ‘Take me now,
don’t let go. Hold me close, I’m
coming home.’
y brother,
sister-in-
law and
I shuffle
forward in
the queue
outside
omeone
calls my name – it’s Tom, my old
London digs-mate. We reminisce
about that concert and I tell his
group the ‘tears during “Scatterlings”’story. They laugh. But I can’t relax
yet; I have lost my ticket. I rush to
the Computicket counter and show
the online confirmation of payment.
To my relief, the assistant issues
me another ticket.
The venue has seating, except
for a narrow stretch in front of
the stage. Everybody is aged
between 35 and 55. The Johnny
Clegg generation. Johnny appears
and the audience erupts. We’re on