Glasgow's no Glastonbury - but Sparks flew at the Concert Hall
It was always something of a longshot, but, no, Cate Blanchett did not turn up in her mustard yellow suit to dance along to The Girl is Crying in Her Latte. It was always highly unlikely - Glasgow isn't Glastonbury after all - but I bring it up because that is as close as this evening got to a disappointment.
Because this was something special, a proper, full-on snog of a gig. Tongues and everything. Passionate, unpredictable, thrilling.
Now in their late seventies, and with 28 albums and more than 50 years of music-making as Sparks behind them, the Californian brothers Russell and Ron Mael (decked out respectively in a three-piece suit covered in birds and flowers and black Mao pyjamas) remain pop's most intriguing odd couple; Sensitive sports jock-cum-cheerleader Russell, the energetic, bouncing yin to Ron's deadpan minimalist, almost immobile, yang.
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Backed by an impressive four-piece band who brought a brawny, crunching ballast to the sound, Russell and Ron ranged across their extensive back catalogue, as far back as Whippings and Apologies, from their 1972 album A Woofer in Tweeter's Clothing, and right up to date with tracks from their latest album Mad! (a number one in Scotland, Russell was pleased to constantly remind us).
There was nothing tokenistic about the latter. New tracks like Drowned in a Sea of Tears and Do Things My Own Way sounded fresh and vibrant here. If anything, the latter was pleasingly even gnarlier than it is on record.
That extra musical junk in the trunk did mean that maybe some of the bittersweet smoothness of When Do I Get to Sing My Way was missing and The Number One Song in Heaven had more than a touch of devilment about it (though in the circumstances that was not a bad thing at all).
But it also meant that their breakthrough hit This Town Ain't Big Enough For the Both of Us was a fierce delight; a reminder of glam rock's original potency.
The set list did offer proof as to why the Maels were never quite able to parlay their chart success in the 1970s into proper stardom. They've always been too wayward, too eclectic. And so in amongst the recalibrations of Glam and disco there were hints of English music hall, Broadway musical, British New Wave and American AOR. Goofing Off, from 1977 album Introducing Sparks, sounded like it was being beamed in from some Weimar bierkeller.
Sparks (Image: Peter Freeth)
But that unpredictability is why the brothers remain such a delightful prospect five decades into their career. Russell may have lost some of the helium high notes of his falsetto, but not many, and certainly none of his energy (all that jumping up and down left me worrying about his knees).
Ron, meanwhile, has retained his singular glaring strangeness. That said, on a number of occasions he did break into a smile; after taking centre stage to perform Suburban Homeboy, or break into his customary dance in the middle of The Number One Song in Heaven.
The audience lapped all of this up. At times I did wonder if I was definitely in the Concert Hall. What can be - by Glasgow standards - a polite, even sedate venue - was raucous and unrestrained (it probably helped that they took seats out at the front of the stage).
At the end of the evening Ron and Russell lingered to take a selfie and take in the prolonged applause. They deserved it. Tonight they made being in your late seventies look like the best fun.
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The Herald Scotland
3 days ago
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Glasgow's no Glastonbury - but Sparks flew at the Concert Hall
It was always something of a longshot, but, no, Cate Blanchett did not turn up in her mustard yellow suit to dance along to The Girl is Crying in Her Latte. It was always highly unlikely - Glasgow isn't Glastonbury after all - but I bring it up because that is as close as this evening got to a disappointment. Because this was something special, a proper, full-on snog of a gig. Tongues and everything. Passionate, unpredictable, thrilling. Now in their late seventies, and with 28 albums and more than 50 years of music-making as Sparks behind them, the Californian brothers Russell and Ron Mael (decked out respectively in a three-piece suit covered in birds and flowers and black Mao pyjamas) remain pop's most intriguing odd couple; Sensitive sports jock-cum-cheerleader Russell, the energetic, bouncing yin to Ron's deadpan minimalist, almost immobile, yang. Read More: Backed by an impressive four-piece band who brought a brawny, crunching ballast to the sound, Russell and Ron ranged across their extensive back catalogue, as far back as Whippings and Apologies, from their 1972 album A Woofer in Tweeter's Clothing, and right up to date with tracks from their latest album Mad! (a number one in Scotland, Russell was pleased to constantly remind us). There was nothing tokenistic about the latter. New tracks like Drowned in a Sea of Tears and Do Things My Own Way sounded fresh and vibrant here. If anything, the latter was pleasingly even gnarlier than it is on record. That extra musical junk in the trunk did mean that maybe some of the bittersweet smoothness of When Do I Get to Sing My Way was missing and The Number One Song in Heaven had more than a touch of devilment about it (though in the circumstances that was not a bad thing at all). But it also meant that their breakthrough hit This Town Ain't Big Enough For the Both of Us was a fierce delight; a reminder of glam rock's original potency. The set list did offer proof as to why the Maels were never quite able to parlay their chart success in the 1970s into proper stardom. They've always been too wayward, too eclectic. And so in amongst the recalibrations of Glam and disco there were hints of English music hall, Broadway musical, British New Wave and American AOR. Goofing Off, from 1977 album Introducing Sparks, sounded like it was being beamed in from some Weimar bierkeller. Sparks (Image: Peter Freeth) But that unpredictability is why the brothers remain such a delightful prospect five decades into their career. Russell may have lost some of the helium high notes of his falsetto, but not many, and certainly none of his energy (all that jumping up and down left me worrying about his knees). Ron, meanwhile, has retained his singular glaring strangeness. That said, on a number of occasions he did break into a smile; after taking centre stage to perform Suburban Homeboy, or break into his customary dance in the middle of The Number One Song in Heaven. The audience lapped all of this up. At times I did wonder if I was definitely in the Concert Hall. What can be - by Glasgow standards - a polite, even sedate venue - was raucous and unrestrained (it probably helped that they took seats out at the front of the stage). At the end of the evening Ron and Russell lingered to take a selfie and take in the prolonged applause. They deserved it. Tonight they made being in your late seventies look like the best fun.
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