I receive updates from local theaters offering discounts, so imagine my surprise when an alert told me I could save on Shaun Cassidy tickets.
SHAUN CASSIDY?
The teen idol whose posters graced seventy-five percent of my bedroom walls in the late 70s? The actor who played Joe, one half of The Hardy Boys television show?
I had no idea he was still singing. Or touring. As far as I knew, writing and producing television and Broadway shows was his thing. What forced him back to doing what he did at 18? Nostalgia? Age?
I could relate, so I purchased a ticket. How could I not? While Cassidy wasn't my first concert (that was Kenny Rogers with opening act Crystal Gayle), he was the entertainer who led me, literally running and screaming, into my musical journey.
It didn't start that way. I was more interested in television actors. My crush then was an actor named Lance Kerwin from a show called James at 15. It's where my first pen name, the one I use for this blog, originated. But my friends were diehard Cassidy fans, and when his tour announced a local date, Kelly and her sister were at the front of the ticket line. They insisted I get a ticket and that I would "forget all about Lance Kerwin" once I spent an evening with Shaun.
They were right.
It didn't take long. The music to That's Rock n' Roll started. Lights shone on a white circle hoop, Shaun's red pantsuited silhouette danced behind it, and Kelly's sister sobbed hysterically. I had a brief moment of concerned wonder for her before Shaun tore through the paper to stand on stage in front of us, singing his hit.
Girls rushed to the stage. We were in the front row for one minute, and suddenly, a sea of females stood between us and the stage. Security tried, but as quickly as they cleared the area, more took their place. It was a neverending revolving door, and all of them screamed. When I caught something Shaun threw, I don't remember what it was, maybe a sweatband from his wrist, but someone behind me snatched it from my fingers. It was utter chaos, and by the end of it all, I was shrieking and sobbing along with the mob.
From then on, my allowance and babysitting money went toward his single records, albums, and Tiger Beat magazine, where Shaun's centerfolds got tacked immediately to my bedroom walls. I joined my friends in watching every show and movie he starred in and made scrapbooks dedicated to him.
Shaun Cassidy was touring at 65? Damn straight, I was going. I would've liked to have shared the experience with Kelly, but she didn't answer my text message, so I went alone.
Middle-aged men and women packed the theater. The men surprised me, and I couldn't decide if they were fans or forced to accompany their wives/girlfriends. I'd asked Tom if he wanted to go. It went like this.
Tom: "David Cassidy?"
Me: "No, he's dead. Shaun Cassidy."
Tom: "I don't know who that is."
Me: "He's a teen idol from the '70s and '80s."
Tom: "No, I do not want to go."
He would've enjoyed it, even not knowing Shaun. The show, titled The Magic of a Midnight Sky, a line from his hit song, Hey Deanie, was a holiday evening of music, stories, nostalgia, and fun. Cassidy's writing chops were displayed with the script, interweaving personal tales of his teen idol days with his famous family. His shock that we paid to see him was genuine, and I got the sense that while that time in his life wasn't all rainbows and unicorns, he needed this tour to close some unfinished business.
Before it started, two beefy security guards came down the aisles to stand on either side of the stage, and I burst out laughing, thinking of witnessing a repeat of my last Shaun Cassidy. What would a group of screaming fifty+-year-old women look like?
Cassidy had a piano/keyboardist and a guitarist, who, when I saw him, made me wonder if he had a clue what Cassidy had once been to the audience. It turns out might have. Cole is Cassidy's nephew.
Cassidy came on stage less dramatic than my first experience, although after hearing him tell stories of the hoop, incorporating that would be a great laugh if he continues touring. He walked on stage, playing a guitar and singing a Christmas carol before going straight into
That's Rock n' Roll, causing the woman next to me to lean over and say, "Wow, does that bring back memories."
He played the guitar and the piano. Told great stories and sang all sorts of music from Christmas carols to his hits to Broadway songs. He joked before singing a recent song that his wife said no one wanted to hear new songs, but he gave it to us anyway and then, just in case we hated it, delivered another oldie.
The show ended too soon. Much like Cassidy did in 1980. Radio was changing, and no one was buying his music. He thought he'd lay low for a while and then return, but instead, he walked away. An opportunity to do what he really wanted to do--write--arrived. He took it and never looked back. As for us, we entered high school, crushing on boys in our classes instead of on teen idols. I don't have a distinct memory of changing my walls, but they went from Cassidy to Tom Selleck, and my music tastes veered toward Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, and, later, country music.
But that's the thing with time. What was once out becomes in. Age creeps up and brings one full circle. Suddenly a distant memory rears its head and grabs your attention. The past means more. We search for answers to questions we never had back then.
Everything about this performance was different, yet familiar. Cassidy felt it, too. He teared up often, thought before he spoke, and added tidbits when they came to him. It was over too quickly and driving home, I was sorry I couldn't have asked him out for a cup of coffee. It would've been lovely to have had more time to catch up.
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