There may be additional streaks of mellow nicotined yellow tangled up therein - I don't know - but the big news in my little world is that Donovan seems to have officially Gone Grey, choosing an interview with fellow Glasgwegian Lorraine Kelly on her self-titled show last December for the great unveiling:
That said, I haven't followed every recent interview or public appearance, so perhaps I am coming late to this revelation and placing an undue importance on this particular programme, even though this must surely have been the first inkling of this change for many of its viewers.
And his appearance on the show feels like an important event nevertheless - the equivalent, say, of an actress formerly known for playing Juliet agreeing to take on the role of Nurse for the first time: an admission of aging in a public arena.
Had he been encouraged by the fact that Paul McCartney has recently let his hair be, appearing on the Tonight show a couple of months earlier with grey locks? As Donovan was so closely associated with the Beatles during their Indian period (indeed, he was on Lorraine to promote a new documentary about that subject) that feels like it could be - indeed, ought to be - true. Who knows, maybe he'll soon start claiming that it was the shining example of his whitened coiffeure which inspired McCartney to follow suit, ho ho.
Yet the spectacle of Donovan like this is - and I can't get round it - at least a little disturbing. You may remember that in Death of a Salesman Willy's son Biff suddenly notices that his mother has allowed herself to go grey. For all the warmth of his response ("Dye it again, will ya? I don't want my pal looking old") he seems to be taking it as a personal affront, the implication being she has neglected her duty not to disturb or complicate the image he has retained of her since childhood.
And I suppose I feel something like that, even though I have written in these pages earlier of the signs of aging becoming increasingly apparent - sometimes painfully so - in the limitations of Donovan's singing voice in recent years.
Nor am I unaware of the passing of time for myself - only last year I was presented with a token of mortality allowing me to travel to Sunny Goodge Street for free in perpetuity and shake such rusty chocolate machines as may remain - but I suppose I wanted to feel that Donovan, public and private selves alike, would somehow remain forever in a happy cloud of unknowing, oblivious both to the ticking of the clock and the gibes on the net about some of his claims for himself.
Which reminds me of some remarks made by Ralph McTell during a 2006 interview for the Donovan Fanzine. They were quoted in an earlier post but seem apposite here. Referring to the 1966 documentary below he says:
A Boy Called Donovan [is] still how I see Don really - the belief in the music and all those strange Celtic myths that still permeate his work - and that's where his time is I think, and he has to constantly try and force that belief through all the modern hurly-burly and the reality thing - and that's a hard road to hoe.
Selected Dono-posts - click on titles:
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