Concert review

A standing room only crowd of mostly middle-aged women danced down memory lane as veteran teen idol Davy Jones performed a night of nostalgic hits at The Canyon club in Agoura Hills last Friday.

Jones' stint as the Artful Dodger in Broadway's "Oliver!" led to his role in the 1966-68 TV series, "The Monkees," which made Jones, then 20, the sweetheart of preteen girls. Now a gray-haired, 62-year-old grandfather, Jones celebrated his past in the 90-minute show.

Why do fans love him?

"Reliving my youth," said Maria Younghans of Orange County, and "doing all the things I couldn't do when I was 11, 12, 13."

Kris Rice of North Hollywood, who admitted that Jones was "cute," said that while growing up she "wanted to be Marcia Brady," the character who won a kiss from Jones during his guest appearance on "The Brady Bunch." During the Canyon concert, Jones performed "Girl," which he sang on that TV show, remarking that he didn't marry Marcia Brady.

Molly Brents of Monrovia grew up with three sisters, and as a child she looked up to the four Monkees (Jones, Micky Dolenz, Peter Tork, Michael Nesmith) as "my big brothers."

"I love the fact that he (Jones) has 40-plus years of energy and drive and oomph," Brents said. "I heard from reliable sources that he's still got it. I had to come here and see it for myself."

Are husbands jealous? Brents' husband, Steve, said of his wife's affection for Jones, "If it makes her happy, it's good for me." He always goes to shows with his wife, and he admires The Monkees too. The band inspired him to pursue music, which "gave my father and I something in common. We didn't do sports."

The guitarist of the five-piece backing band introduced Jones to the stage as "the King Kong of The Monkees, the Manchester cowboy," a nod to Jones' childhood in Manchester, England. Jones— dressed in a white shirt and black jacket, vest and pants—greeted the audience with "I'm Davy's dad. He'll be out in a minute."

He kicked off with three rockin' Monkees songs— "I'm a Believer," "Look Out, Here Comes Tomorrow" and "Valeri"—that got the crowd's feet moving and hearts pounding better than an aerobic workout. Jones removed his coat and unbuttoned his vest to cheers from the ladies. He ended the set with "They don't write songs like that anymore—thank God!"

Jones stepped back in time with a rousing "Consider Yourself" from "Oliver!" and "Is You Is," a song he discovered on his mother's 78-rpm vinyl—"Playing those old records made me cry."

He talked of his family—"I have four daughters, all girls," and in a surprisingly reflective, intimate mood lamented how the parenting years rush by too fast. He slowed the tempo with a touching ballad, "Let Them Be Little."

He spoke fondly of touring the world as a Monkee, and poked fun at his former bandmates. He made a dedication to "Larry, Moe and Curly, I mean, Micky, Peter and Mike." But he praised Nesmith as "One of my favorite songwriters" and performed two Nez tunes, "Papa Gene's Blues" and "The Girl I Knew Somewhere."

He spoke of his inability to escape his Monkee image—"It's like being in the Mafia. Once you're in, you're always in," but Jones seemed comfortable playing that iconic role.

Jones frequently mentioned his age, something that this reviewer had not seen in 10 years of attending Monkees shows. He said to someone taking a picture, "Not too many close-ups with that camera" and that he was "no longer a heartthrob, but a coronary." He joked that when performing on a weeklong cruise with other oldies acts, "I was scheduled for Friday night because I had the best chance of survival."

He tried to act naughty with risqué jokes for the adult audience, which seemed an ill fit with the wholesome pop songs.

Despite the old age remarks, Jones danced and sang nonstop with vigor and a smile. He closed with a dynamic four-song encore, including "Steppin' Stone" and his signature tune, "Daydream Believer." The crowd pressed against the stage and yelled for Jones to return after he left. He didn't come out for autographs, which disappointed some fans.

With the show focused on memories, is Jones more aware of the passing time, having crossed the 60-year milestone? Or does he see the irony of a sex symbol with wrinkles, a senior citizen singing bubblegum songs about teenagers in love?

But his fans screamed, clapped, gave gifts and sang along as if they were kids again. As boomers age, performers like Jones can show how to enjoy the mature years with grace, humor and a song in one's heart.