On the death of David Crosby of Crosby, Stills, Nash and sometimes Young fame, I mentioned to Shane at Radio Central that all our heroes are dying, and it really does seem that way.

The answer, I suspect, may lie in finding new heroes; in the world of music at least.

A year or so ago, I bought Lorde's (then) new album, Solar Power, mostly based around a love for one song off it. I gradually came to really enjoy the whole album.

A few weeks ago, I was asked to travel to Wellington at short notice to do media for LGNZ's Adopt a Community campaign. I did a quick search on the way up and saw the above-mentioned Lorde was playing that night in town.

Normally going to a gig involves buying the ticket months in advance, usually driving to Queenstown or Dunedin, often staying the night, basically a whole lot of drama that I usually can't be bothered with. So why then was I - a bit of a fan, who was being put up less than a kilometre away, with no plans for the night and money in his pocket-money account - tossing up about whether to go or not.

The answer is easy. Because I am old. And Lorde fans generally aren't. 

After an intense internal discussion, I threw caution to the wind and got a ticket. I also got myself to the TSB Arena really early as this was an unseated concert and I like to be relatively near to the front.

I had a good look at the crowd and I reckon I'm right in saying I was the oldest person there.  And any others near my age were with their grandchildren. I suspect some people were wondering if I was lost and confused.

The first band started; not really my thing to be fair. Every time the young lady singing pointed up, heaps of other young ladies screamed. I initially thought maybe a big light was falling from above but no, apparently screaming is the thing to do when the singer points in the air. Which she did. A lot.

There was quite a wait for the second band. In this time, I tried to move away from Backpack Boy. Backpack Boy was a young man who bought a big backpack with him and was annoyingly much taller than me so constantly blocked my view. He also had a young lady with him and, well… even the other young ones were suggesting they get a room. And no matter how I tried to move a bit to the left or the right, Backpack Boy remained in front of me, bashing his backpack into me every time he turned to share the love with his girlfriend.

The second band eventually arrived; Fazerdaze was their name and I hope I don't eternally damage their credibility by saying they were really bloody good. Actually, turns out Fazerdaze was the lead singer's name, not the band name. Modern life can be a tad confusing. Anyway, she and they got the crowd moving, which was good, but also wasn't as the Arena was starting to get really hot and muggy; uncomfortably so.

I think the wait for the main act must have been about three quarters of an hour and in that time, it just got hotter and stickier. Young ones were actually fainting and getting helped out all around me. Mercifully before Lorde came on, Backpack Boy’s partner also fainted, either from the heat or from his sucking the life out of her. Either way, I now had a clear view of the stage.

The Lorde show was completely and utterly superb. Lorde has a well-earned reputation as a great performer and as the crowd went crazy around me, I enjoyed the music and the stage craft immensely. So much so that I tried to take a selfie with Lorde in the background. I couldn't get the phone to work unfortunately but luckily a lovely young woman, in the sweetest possible voice, asked if she wanted her to take my picture for me. How very kind, and depressing. I'm sure she went home and told her Mum how she helped a dear old man take a wee photo.

After a couple of hours of wobbling up and down the show was over and I was immensely pleased that I had gone. It was very different to shows I have been to of late with folk of my own generation. For one thing, I didn't see anyone drunk the whole night, which is very much at odds with recent events I've been to. And everyone was absolutely into it; not a bit into it, but really into it. I found that feeling contagious and came away feeling 30 or 40 years younger. Rest assured, my hips, knees and ankles disabused me of any such thoughts when I got out of bed the next morning.  

So, if like me the only gigs you've been to in recent years have been ‘Final, Final, We Really Mean It This Time, World Tours’ or have the lead singer's son taking their place because they've been dead 20 years, give some of the new stuff a crack. You might just love it like I did.