Over the Christmas holidays I leafed through a pile of old Limelight magazines rereading some excellent articles I only had time to skim before. One letter in the November 2012 edition caught my eye – Gilbert Whyte of Bowral took exception to an article by the pianist Sally Whitwell singing the praises of the “late bloomer” . Gilbert thought that late bloomer was synonymous with lack of talent – “late bloomers are late for a reason, they are behind the game or lack something that others do not, distinguishing them from true geniuses who overachieve beyond their years.” Gilbert goes on to complain that “no-one wants to see an up-and-coming 30-40 something soloist on stage when someone ten years younger could be giving a superior performance.”

Ouch! Gilbert is obviously a raging ageist. To be fair, when it comes to the solo world, sitting up in front of an orchestra and jumping through technical hoops, Gilbert might be right. If you haven’t got the ability and temperament to manage that stressful situation in your 20s, it’s probably too late to start at 40. Being a soloist in a concerto is like being a sportsman, more suited to young nubile runners and swimmers, not old scrawny turkey athletes.

I think, though, that Gilbert got the wrong idea from Sally’s article. Sally has been round the musical traps for a while, as a fine musician, accompanying and rehearsing and recording. Then ABC Classics gave her an opportunity to record the solo piano music of Philip Glass and Mad Rush was born. She is playing music that she has a real affinity with and has played for years. It is highly unlikely that as a result of this “late blooming” she is going to turn up playing the opening chords of the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto with the Melbourne Symphony. Gilbert will be spared that awful sight. It reminds of that wonderful scene in Harold and Maude where the priest contemplates the coupling of 79-year-old Maude, and 20-year-old Harold: “The idea of your your firm, young body comingling with her withered flesh, sagging breasts and flabby buttocks makes me want to vomit.”

Gilbert also mentions political correctness in his letter, implying that the orchestras and arts bodies in Australia are somehow pushing older performers on stage in some weird senior citizens affirmative action. Let me be the first to assure Gilbert that this is not the case. Most older instrumentalists in this country have given up by the time they get to that age, through lack of respect and opportunity. Don’t get me wrong, I love hearing young performers. I saw a stunning performance recently of the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto, with 13-year-old soloist Grace Clifford and the Kuringai Philharmonic Orchestra (of which I am patron). Grace went at the piece without fear, accelerating to speeds that would have made older performers lose consciousness with the extreme G string force. But just as I loved that performance, the idea of hearing an older performer who brought experience and wisdom to the music would be equally good. Youth brings excitement, sure, but older performers bring nuance and gravitas.

This interest in young instrumentalists is fine, but what of singers? The idea of hearing a 13-year-old baritone cracking his way through Die Winterreise is preposterous. It’s only really in the 30s and 40s that the voice grows to its full powers. This holds for straight actors too: it’s wonderful to see 78-year-old Maggie Smith powering through the acerbic Lady Violet Crawley in Downton Abbey. Sure she was good at 30, but now she is even better.

Gilbert, I suspect you may be a youthist, but let’s face it, youth is overrated. Sure, young people have nice skin and firm buttocks, but don’t forget we older folk have nice bank accounts and firm superannuation.