In Brighton a good few years ago, my wife and I were walking passed The Dome Box office. In the window was a poster advertising a Dusty Springfield concert. Slashed across it was a Cancelled sticker. I’m a big Dusty fan. I couldn’t believe it had been cancelled. Was she ill or something? I went in.
“Only twelve people bought tickets, so we cancelled it.”
I was stunned. Brighton being the ‘gay‘ capitol and she being a ;gay‘ icon I’d have thought they would have flooded in to see her. But no. ‘Cancelled’.
A few years later Dusty was dead. In Brighton some months later, I’m passing the Theatre Royal. ‘The Dusty Springfield Show‘ the posters outside blaze the good news. There are crowds queuing to get in.
I could have cried. A few years ago, twelve tickets sold to see the real thing and now hundreds of people going to see a ‘look-a-like’ in a wig singing Dusty songs! It beggar's belief.
Poor Dusty, fame slipped through her fingers. She couldn’t take the rejection, the twelve tickets sold in Brighton, how many other places did she suffer this humiliation?
Fame is a ephemeral, like a cancer it can destroy you. And when it went away, she tried to ease the pain and eventually she died.