Fishbone and the English Beat played last night, and H.R. (from Bad Brains) got on stage and did a number, nervously, timidly, even, and the nostalgia got everyone jumping, but I kept thinking: What does time do to musicians? Why don't they innovate? Is it like any craft, where the need to make a living blunts the urge to take risks? A song steels itself from a spark, but why is it easier to be aflame when you are broke and desperate, rather than comfy and tricked out with 16g of RAM? It's great to see Robert Plant do something he could never have imagined 35 years ago, but can the Who write a new song anyone can remember within minutes of listening to it? Did Fishbone imagine, 20 years ago, they'd be in the same club, sleeping in a bigger bus, clearing $373 for the night? Would they have continued to do what they do if they did know? It's unsettling to see so much talent, floating rather than swimming . . .