It is late June in Berkeley, and the evening stretches out like taffy at the Hearst Greek Theatre. Concertgoers, initially seeming to have little in common, unite for Earth, Wind & Fire’s sold out show as they lay out their blankets on the lawn. Bags unfurl with Caesar salad wraps and ciders. Once settled, attendees chatter excitedly with hands clamped to foreheads, shielding their faces from the bright rays of sun streaming over the amphitheater.
Every possible age group, style choice and Type-A-or-B personality has assembled for the band. Everyone is courteous to the extra family trying to squeeze between them for a seat, and friendships are formed across disparate groups. A 60-year-old in a sequined dress feigns a transatlantic accent as she converses with a man clad in Allbirds sneakers and Patagonia quarter-zip. His daughter wears pink star-shaped sunglasses and grips his index finger in her fist.
By the time a 10-minute countdown appears on stage, the high tides of nostalgia have begun to splash over the older crowd, the audience’s most prevalent group. The show itself begins with a montage of Earth, Wind & Fire’s many eras, of course beginning with fresh-faced band members in their ’70s-chic bell-bottoms. With the first guitar riff of “Shining Star,” a silver-haired man stops playing Candy Crush and pockets his phone. Simultaneously, he begins to toy at his wife’s bra clasp, a forgotten flush of lust suddenly reignited…