The first time I truly understood the kinetic, roof-raising meaning of the phrase “rock’n’roll” was when I attended a Little Richard concert in the summer of 2012.
The bouffant-haired icon was 79 then. He performed at the piano from a wheelchair, frequently interrupting songs to complain of exhaustion and medical pains.
In the middle of the show, obsessive concertgoers formed a long line, snaking around the dinner tables, in the hopes that Little Richard would autograph their vinyl albums and mementos (he seemed to be flattered, and occasionally cut into his set list to oblige).
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