Herman's Hermits Invade Again!

Last night I time traveled to being a young teenager again. Who would want to relive that time? The insecurity? The angst? The pimples?

I thought the same thing when I ordered tickets to see Herman's Hermits at the Mississippi Moon Bar at the Diamond Jo Casino in Dubuque last night. I talked my husband, and myself, into going: "I know, there'll be all these aging old fools like us who are trying to recapture the past, and, well, we know that just doesn't work. It'll be corny and silly. But, what the heck. Let's go and have fun."

He said he'd go. And, we did have fun.

In fact, I'm hoarse today from singing "I'm Henry the Eighth I am--- 'enery the eighth I am--I am/I got married to the widow next door/'n she's been married seven times before/'n every one was an 'enery ('enery!)/she wouldn't have a Willie or a Sam (No Sam!)/I'm 'er eighth ol' man I'm 'enery/'enery the eight I am. Second verse---same as the first---and yelling out H -- E -- N - R - Y at the end.

Sorry. Once a person begins, it's hard to stop.

What made the show fun was Herman's self-effacing humor: "Yes, I'd always dreamed of this. I called my Mum this morning to wish her a happy 86th birthday, and she asked me where I was. I told her, 'You'll never believe it, Mum. You'll be so proud. I'm playing tonight at the Mississippi Moon Bar in Dubuque, Iowa.'"

He said he gets to be seventeen every night, and he and the lads still get underwear thrown at them. "They're just a little bigger than they used to be is all."

In case you don't know this important era of rock, Herman of the Hermits is Peter Noone, originally from Manchester, England, was part of the British Invasion of the early 60s rock bands, along with boy bands like The Monkees, The Young Rascals, The Kinks, The Dave Clark Five, The Rolling Stones and, of course, The Beatles, and a host of other rockers with long hair and rebelious notions, or so my father thought.

"What is it with those long-haired British hoods? Why is everyone so hell-bent on giving them our money?" he'd say, as if threatened by their popularity. They were on our side in both world wars, I thought. I don't get it. He forbade me to buy any of their albums with my allowance, but I snuck a few into the house anyway, and I drew a picture of Herman that I still have in a box somewhere. Over time, Dad mellowed about this subject, but I can imagine his remarks about the autographed, Hermans Hermits t-shirt I'm wearing at this moment.

Young people need to have their own brand of music because it offers a protest to getting old. We all love the music we grew up on, and be assured my tastes have changed over the years. I like good music of all genres. Country is a little iffy, but I even like some of that, too. Still, I can't imagine being married to someone so much older, or younger, that he couldn't recognize and sing along with these tunes. And, yes, my husband sang along, too. We had a blast! (Do they still say that?)

There's nothing like the nostalgia of watching Peter Noone (can he really be 62?) singing live: "I'm Into Something Good," "Listen," "Sillouhettes," and "There's a Kind of Hush." Admittedly, somewhat bubble-gummy, these are some of the anthems of my coming of age. My recaptured youth, if only for a night.

When I was thirteen, I would have given anything to do what I did last night. After watching him sing, I shook Peter Noone's hand. Oh, the unexpected journeys of life!