The
other night, I had the pleasure of attending a Donovan concert in Toronto.
His
voice isn’t what it used to be, but he’s
such a good storyteller, and his songs practically sing themselves anyway, so
it was all good.
What
was especially heartwarming is that not everyone in the audience had white
hair. I was amazed at how many people
under 30 were there – and they weren’t
casual listeners. They knew him. They were fans.
Donovan
himself described his music’s timeless appeal
as hopeful melancholy. He confronts that
madness of our species, and shares his sadness at our willful
self-destructiveness, but he celebrates the wonders of the world around us with
an enduring spirit of hopefulness.
He
is the hurdy gurdy man, singing songs of love.
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