I arrived comfortably an hour late. As I entered the Plantation Cove, in St. Ann, I could hear the hosts, Ewan Simpson and Elaine Wint, welcoming to the stage Jamaica’s first lady of jazz, Myrna Hague. My friends and I quickly found an open space, set up our chairs, and, after checking out the food offerings, reluctantly decided to wait for jerk chicken. It was a seated kind of vibe. I glanced around, taking in the mature audience—it was that kind of show, meant for people who appreciate classics. The crowd for Timeless was noticeably larger than at One Drop, the first concert in the Coveside series held just a month ago featuring Gramps Morgan, Barrington Levy and Luciano. I suppose many felt they had to see Dionne Warwick, who, at over 80 years old, was still performing.
We (my friends and I) were convinced she would lip-sync, but to our surprise, the night didn’t go anything like we expected.
Duane Stephenson got the crowd going. They sang along to his string of grooves which included selections from his new album, Weekend Dude released on Valentines Day. He was lively and appreciative of the full set he was able to perform, joking about how a 30-minute set in Jamaica can quickly dwindle to 10 minutes. He left the stage on a high and returned for a sweet encore, thrilling us with the crowd favorite Cool Runnings.
Then came the queen of reggae. Marcia Griffiths took the stage, energetic and poised to deliver an excellent set. The audience responded in kind, rising to their feet. She was a sight for sore eyes—clad in a black pantsuit with a white headpiece wrapped like a crown, she was regal. We sang along to every song as she took us back to her first audition. Her set was noticeably longer than Stephenson’s, but we didn’t mind. When her performance ended, I thought for sure she would return to do the Billboard charting hit Electric Boogie, but we were left to dance in our minds as host Ewan Simpson jokingly responded to a zealous fan’s request.
During the band change, we stuffed our faces with the very flavorful jerk chicken from one of the food tents in the back. Having not eaten before leaving Kingston, I was grateful they were there. The hosts attempted to keep the audience engaged, but the microphones, which had been unreliable all night, only worsened. I worried about how this would affect Dionne Warwick’s performance.
Sitting there, feeling the familiar Plantation Cove chill and thinking of my bed, I glanced up to check how far along they were with the band change. Suddenly, I saw a small woman in a sparkly top picking up a microphone by the piano. She had bleached hair and distinct facial features—wait, was it her? Yes, it was Dionne Warwick. She checked her watch and then started singing in a very low tone.
I turned to my friend. “That’s Dionne,” I blurted. She looked at me in disbelief.
The audience was so stunned that no one said a word. The first few notes sounded off-key and so low that we could barely recognize the tune. People kept glancing at each other for confirmation—was this really happening? Warwick had entered the stage without announcement and, without any warning, started to sing softly, almost hesitantly.
We stayed for most of it, out of respect for the Grammy Award winning legend she is, but agreed that it might be time for her to retire her sparkly jacket. The highlight of her performance was I Say a Little Prayer, which she sang with her eldest son. He graciously thanked the audience for their love and gave Dionne her flowers—both figuratively and literally.
We left while she was singing That’s What Friends Are For. As I walked away, I thought, At least I got to see her perform. Then, on the drive back to the city, I put on one of her records and let the music play.
