It didn't, to be truthful, get off to the greatest of starts.
Was I the only person doing quick mental calculations about male life expectancy as we waited the wrong side of locked doors at the entrance to the Théâtre de Verdure in Le Lavandou?
Men live slightly longer in France than in the UK. But the hitch - caused by a long delayed flight to Nice - threatened to eat into what time realistically remains on earth for certain concert goers and the star man alike.
Eventually, just in time to stop the trickle of refund-seeking fans growing into a stream, the gates opened. It would be an exaggeration to say the place was full, but there was a good and, once things finally got going, enthusiastic crowd for John Mayall's Bluesbreakers.
Fit, lively and unreasonably youthful for a man of 74, Mayall prowled the stage in shorts and maroon, sleeveless top, contributing earthy vocals, refined keyboards and harmonica to a solid session of what I like to call White Old Git blues.
The best bits were those based on that early Bluesbreakers record - "the Beano album" as Mayall puts its, in honour of the sleeve showing Eric Clapton sitting against a wall, engrossed in his comic. One of the most memorable tracks from then, Have You Heard, was last night's show-stealer.
And Mayall proved yet again how good he is at choosing his musicians, in particular his lead guitarists.
Buddy Whittington is a Texan with the kind of shape that suggested he ought really be elsewhere, tucking into cow pie and thinking it a light snack. But stick an electric guuitar in his hands, and indeed a microphone in front of his mouth, and he is beyond question a worthy successor to Clapton, Green, Taylor and the rest.
And as one of my pictures shows, he's a willing autographer of albums, sharing the after-show stall duties with his boss.
I didn't notice John Mayall counting heads during the show, as Rockinred remembered him doing from early in his career, reflecting the trend for artists to be paid on the basis of fee + share of proceeds.
And no, Gigi, it wasn't free (unless you were somehow able to persuade someone you were still a journalist). But it was good value at 20 euros apiece - I did buy a pair of tickets, too - and a grand opportunity to see the Father of British Blues, sprightly, professional and still somewhere near the top of his game.
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