Tom Jones, unaffected by the passage of time at 82 years old, inflames in the gardens of Pedralbes in Barcelona

On June 7, Sir Thomas Jones Woodward turned 82 years old.

An apparently inconsequential news accompanied by some photographs in which the Welshman wore his eternal Mephistophelian smile.

Seeing them it is easy to joke about pacts with the devil, serums of eternal youth, bacta tanks and all that kind of thing, but the truth is that sitting under a gentle night breeze in the gardens of Pedralbes, in Barcelona, and that precisely Sir Thomas appears on stage like a cyclone and begins to sing makes it impossible to think of anything else.

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And even more so when he really bursts in like a cyclone, like the cyclone he has always been, with one of his last songs appearing a few months ago on an album that climbed to number 1 in the UK charts (later Jones would joke that it was the number 1 of the oldest person in history and, probably, he was right).

It was shocking that Jones, red shirt with embroidery, a walk far removed from any rheumatism, almost agile movements and that suggestive smile framed in his white goatee, began his performance by explaining to us about a light jazz rhythm that was getting old, was getting slower in its walking and dozing off in his chair, but he was growing up, he was getting wiser.

It was not a song, but a profession of faith that marked an entire concert that can only be described as amazing.

In his new visit to a practically full Jardins de Pedralbes festival, about three thousand people, Sir Tom offered more than 90 almost perfect minutes and, to make it clear that all the meat was on the grill and on stage there was no trace of fear, already with the third song we travel to 1964:

followed by

almost sixty years like someone who doesn't want the thing,

and everyone began to sing and dance.

Well, more than dancing, to immortalize the anniversary with your mobile.

From the rear, the glow of hundreds of screens was reminiscent of the days when candles were lit at the height of the moment, although Jones probably didn't see the glow of the screens from the stage the way he used to see the flames of the candles.

Tom Jones, during his performance in the Pedralbes Gardens, in Barcelona. Carlota Figueras

Almost immediately

and

would follow , a display without fear of any possible comparison of that forcefulness of his life.

A solid quintet, without wind instruments and with the presence of an accordion on occasional songs, seconded him perfectly, while a large video screen behind him presented a magnificent production in which live performance was mixed with

images , many sixties touches. and all kinds of winks.

Between old and endearing themes, Jones was recovering songs from his latest album from Michel Legrand to Cat Stevens, Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan accompanied by a couple of songs by Malvina Reynolds and Terry Callier, names always to be vindicated.

An almost rapped

gave the staff goosebumps, while Prince's

sealed the official part of the concert in style, causing widespread euphoria.

Jones came back joking for three encores closing the evening with

, none other than Sister Rosetta Tharpe, another unequivocal declaration of intent to say goodbye:

.

Certainly, that night in Pedralbes what happened, more than strange, must be described as extraordinary.

Tom Jones talked about sharing many future concerts, when is the next one?