On June 7th Sir Thomas Jones Woodward turned 82 years old. A seemingly inconsequential message accompanied by some photos of the Welshman sporting his perpetual Mephistophelic smile. When you see them, it’s easy to joke about pacts with the devil, perpetual youth serums, bacta tanks and all that stuff, but the truth is, sitting in the Pedralbes Gardens in Barcelona under a gentle night breeze, and the very act of Sir Thomas appearing on stage like a cyclone and beginning to sing makes it impossible to think of anything else.
And even more so if he really does come down like a cyclone, like the cyclone he always was, with one of his last songs appearing a few months ago on an album that went to #1 in the UK chart (Jones would later comment on it to kid). which is the #1 oldest person in history and he was probably right). It was shocking that Jones, red shirt with embroidery, a gait far removed from any rheumatism, almost agile movements and that lewd smile framed by his white goatee, you began his performance by telling us about a light jazz rhythm that goes into the Years came, slowed down and dozed off in his chair, but he grew up, he grew wiser. It wasn’t a song but a creed that shaped an entire concert that can only be described as great. Jones is likely to slow in his gait and might fall asleep in a chair, but on stage his presence and intact booming voice have us lulled into all topics: where do you have to sign to hit 82 with half that energy and a little over ? that voice?
Revisiting a practically packed Jardins de Pedralbes festival, some three thousand people, Sir Tom offered more than 90 near-perfect minutes and, to make it clear that all the meat was on the grill and on the stage, there was no fear Spur , already with the third song we travel to the year 1964: It’s not uncommon followed by What’s new? pussycat? Almost sixty years like someone who doesn’t want that thing and everyone started singing and dancing. Well, more than dancing to immortalize the anniversary with your phone. From behind, the glow of hundreds of screens was reminiscent of the days when candles were lit at the height of the moment, although Jones probably didn’t see the glow of the screens from the stage in the way he used to see the flames of the candles.
Almost immediately they would follow Bombshell, Delilah Y Green, green grass of home, a portrayal without fear of a possible comparison of this poignancy of his life. A solid quintet, with no wind instruments and with the presence of an accordion on certain songs, supported him perfectly while a large video screen behind him presented a great production mixing the live show with images vintagelots of sixties touches and all sorts of winks.
Between old and loveable songs, Jones restored songs from his latest album from Michel Legrand to Cat Stevens, Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan, accompanied by a couple of songs by Malvina Reynolds and Terry Callier, names that always stand out. A Talking reality TV blues Almost rapped, the staff got goosebumps while that kiss de Prince sealed the official part of the concert in proper style and caused general euphoria. Jones jokingly returned for three encores that closed the evening stranger thingsno more and no less than Sister Rosetta Tharpe, another unequivocal statement of parting: strange things happen every day. Certainly what happened that night in Pedralbes is more than strange, it must be called extraordinary. Tom Jones spoke about sharing many future concerts, when is next?
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