Paul Together Now: Sir Macca Brings His 'Out There!' tour to Birmingham

Few, if any, stand bigger in the pantheon of aren’t-you-dead-yet pop stars than Paul McCartney. Having sold more albums than there are stars in the sky, with a ready repertoire of the most enviable hysteria-inciting pop hymns known to man, delivered by a backing band with more chemistry than a Breaking Bad binge, few have aged as gracefully as Macca.

McCartney is currently carbon-dated at 72, yet all external evidence defies this – the hair, the between-song sassy banter, and the sheer energy put his heel-snapping protégés to shame: the marathon length of tonight’s 40-strong set clocks in at a buttock-numbing two-and-a-half hours.

He and band bring an infectious energy and gusto to the proceedings, leading a hip-shaking conga through Beatles and Wings tracks rarely, if ever, aired before. The brave decision to leave the first undeniable gem until the third song – Can’t Buy Me Love – allows the far-travelled disciples to find their seats without missing the unmissable, but also sets a slightly sedentary precedent: with so much time to fill, Macca & Co set about darting around furtively in his glistening back catalogue. 

Unfortunately, that leaves slight gaps between the iron-clad hits.

The result sucks some of the momentum from the show. It is the way of all musicians, a problem so great that someone even of McCartney’s venerable statesmanship cannot escape: a shorter set of greatest hits, or a longer one that finds room for forgotten songs?

Deep cuts please the obsessive fans, but they are outnumbered by those who’d rather hear the immortal paens and go home again: the polarity in mid-song audience response is irritating, but thankfully allayed by rapturous arena-wild cheering after each song is put to bed.

Such quibbles are washed away when the immensity of a state visit from someone as celebrated as Macca is taken into account, along with the rarity of his visits (1990 – 2003 – 2015), and the sheer spectacle of it all. His voice, one of popular music’s immortal crown jewels, is understandably slightly ragged in parts. Thankfully, and in defiance of the natural ageing process, McCartney still greets each song with due respect, to satiating results.

8.5/10

Review: Morrissey - Birmingham Barclaycard Arena 27.3.15

It can't be easy being Morrissey. It seems that every return to the spotlight for him is marred (Marr'd?) by some near-catastrophic event, turning a relatively simple new album n' tour into a triumph over inexplicable odds and developments.

For his latest venture, Death himself has tapped Moz on the shoulder in a series of health scares that has resulted in particularly emotional renditions of the Smiths gem Asleep, with the ominous statement: 'Remember my face, but forget my fate'.

Back in the present, however, all notions of nature catching up with him are swiftly nixed as he and band tear through The Queen is Dead, followed by Suedehead in a sure-footed one-two punch that instantly satiates his considerable disciples, who are out in force tonight at Birmingham's recently rechristened Barclaycard Arena (and not a kind word was heard about the name change from the punters).

In a typically bullish move, the audience are then lead through a large amount of numbers from last year's excellent World Peace is None of Your Business album. Here, an age-old debate flares in your correspondent's dazed mind: to promote the admirably strong new effort, or reward the gatherers with the cherished hits? Tonight finds a lot of the former, Morrissey bringing inspired vocal performances to the proceedings.

It can't go on forever, and Speedway is whipped out - a stone-cold classic from the Mancunian's sizeable back catalogue, with a verse from Irish Blood, English Heart stylishly inserted in the middle. It's a welcome break that undoubtedly leads more than a few assembled down memory lane, and a reminder of just how long he has stalked the stage.

Things take an awkward turn when The Smith's Meat is Murder is played, for it is accompanied by a puke-worthy video of various animals being 'prepared' for eventual consumption. While this is an admirable effort by Moz to spread the word of vegetarianism, it leaves a strange taste (no pun intended) in the context of a gig: I'm left thankful I had beans on toast instead of a chicken curry earlier - something I may never, ever eat again, which probably means Morrissey has succeeded.

After well-received renditions of Scandinavia and One of Our Own, more new cuts, the ghost of The Smiths reappears in the shape of Stop Me if You Think You've Heard This One Before and What She Said, drawing perhaps the night's biggest cheers. It's a testament to the enduring affection for the classic Smiths tracks that Morrissey and band could probably fart Golden Lights and still woo the crowd; and while there are innumerable songs that would almost incite hysteria (How Soon Is Now?, for instance), any Smiths songs are still absolute treats.

Eventually, the night (and the tour leg) is wrapped up with the clarion call of Everyday is Like Sunday, his undeniable anthem. Belying his advancing years and putting chart-bothering pop stars to shame, Morrissey admirably (still) belts out each syllable with absolute conviction and class, leaving many a ringing ear.

Heaven knows we're Mozerable now.

**** 8/10

Crappy self-shot footage can be found here, with more videos on the channel. Shot in glorious WobbleVision.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e_7gzGDOdG8&feature=youtu.be

Review: Steven Wilson, Wolverhampton Civic Hall 18.03.15

The cult of Steven Wilson is surely reaching critical mass. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to imagine a gem of a musician staying hidden from the mainstream public for much longer, especially when he manages to surpass an already widely-acclaimed album, 2013’s haunting The Raven that Refused to Sing. Tonight he returns to Wolverhampton’s Civic Hall in support of his latest, the end-to-end perfection of Hand.Cannot.Erase, a breathtaking guide to Wilson’s musical repertoire and a concept that out-concepts most concept albums.

The man has consistently translated well to the live setting, and tonight builds upon great memories of when he and his formidably skilled band (Guthrie Govan on guitar, Nick Beggs on bass and Chapman Stick, Adam Holzman on keyboards, Marco Minneman on drums) last graced the Civic in 2013, breathing life into the proggy ghost stories of The Raven that Refused to Sing with poise.

And in a moment reminiscent of that tour, an overly-long introductory video opens the proceedings, Wilson and band drawing loud cheers when they take to the stage.

Later, the ensemble reel off the Porcupine Tree classic Lazarus. it’s debatable whether this is as deep a cut as fans would hope for when Wilson spoke of airing rare tracks from his songwriting career, but it’s a flawless rendition. Announcing the song drew some of the biggest cheers of the night, when Wilson mentions that certain songs were chosen for airings due to having relevant themes. It’s a touching moment that demonstrates the enduring love for Wilson’s ‘other’ band, Porcupine Tree, from which he seems to finally be stepping out from under. Given how unlikely future Porcupine Tree activity may be, it’s safe to bet that more than a few fans were glad to hear it, along with Sleep Together which rears its head later in the set.

As every song from Hand.Cannot.Erase. is played tonight, and in sequence, save the gentle Transcience, it’s tempting to wonder why they don’t go for the jugular and perform the whole album. A few Steven Wilson standards, such as the woe-is-me pop of Postcard, are conspicuously absent - such is the fate of songs belonging to a steadily growing back catalogue.

Despite these gripes, what actually transpires is note-perfect and emotionally charged; every delicacy and every stomp is acutely brought to life. It’s (another) testament to the team that Wilson has assembled, who now have several tours under their collective belt and have gelled admirably (take note, Axl Rose).

While the band could play with just a post-it note for visual accompaniment and still put on an amazing show, the music is brilliantly paired with dynamic lighting and artistically matching visuals that shed light on the slightly mysterious story of Hand.Cannot.Erase. Eventually, the giant veil from tours past drops over the stage for The Watchmaker, a reminder of Raven’s progressive beauty and fragility. Nightmarish visuals projected onto the veil adds another dimension to the song, and is hugely effective.

All too soon, it’s time to say ta-ta as the band creep into The Raven that Refused to Sing’s title track, a wonderfully moving piece that may be the most beautiful and simply perfect thing Wilson has ever created. While it feels odd at first to have the same closer as the last tour, absorbing the magnificence on offer reminds you that very few things on Earth could follow such a song, and indeed such an act as polished, imaginative and skilled as Wilson and co.

***** 10/10