Only cynics and the hopelessly sentimental will claim that the big crowd that showed up for Wilko Johnson’t mid-afternoon set on the Green Stage wanted to see a dead man playing. Johnson was a last minute addition to the lineup owing to his health. Diagnosed with cancer last winter, he was given maybe six months, and embarked on a farewell tour that ended last spring. By doctor’s estimates he should be gone by now. Certainly he should be vigorous enough to play the kind of high-powered rock’n roll and R&B he’s famous for. But there he was on the Green Stage, acting up as he always does, playing those cast iron riffs that made him a legend with Dr. Feelgood and which sustained an enviable solo career for almost forty years. No regrets and all that.

Rock’n roll is the ultimate present-in-the-moment art form, but it’s ridiculous to claim that the people who boogied and cheered to Johnson’s music weren’t thinking of the future. So of course you look for subtexts in the songs. “Why do you want to leave.” “I’m getting tired.” No, those are just lyrics about the usual blues. The thing is we all face death in our own way, and whatever concessions Johnson has made, dwelling on his own future isn’t one of them, and his fan base in Japan was already large and dedicated when the diagnosis came in. He can’t be anything but the guitar slinger that made him beloved here, with his twitchy stage movements, his bug-eyed stare, his machine gun gestures. His great bass player Norman Watt-Roy stands there, legs apart, mouth open, fingers scampering over the fret board like nervous mice. What a tableau, and if the audience’s appreciation was intensified by the subtext, it didn’t take anything away from the performance or their enjoyment of it–and Johnson’t enjoyment in presenting it. He didn’t express anything except his usual appreciation, and when the effusiveness forced an encore, he played Chuck Berry’s “Bye Bye Johnny,” waving at the crowd on the chorus, the entire field of humanity waving back. Not goodbye, just recognition that we’re all alive here at this moment and that’s the miracle. Johnson thanked the crowd and also thanked “Mr. Sun” for “shining down on us.” Actually, he should have thanked the clouds for not releasing precipitation, but thanking the sun made more sense. It’s the mark of a true optimist.