The Charlatans deliver a blistering concert, making it look easy - and fun
REVIEW: One of the biggest bands of 90s Britain slipped into New Zealand this week.
They delivered an utterly killer night out, but without the hype of the likes of Katy Perry who kept her fans up late, or Celine Dion, who was hassled by the Breaker Upperers.
Stalwarts of the UK Madchester scene, and indie entrepreneurs, The Charlatans were a formative band of my 'yoof'.
Back in the 1990s, their debut album, Some Friendly, was on constant rotation in my student room. With its mix of psychedelic slinkiness, harmonies, grooving Hammond organ-themed choruses and the lilting vocals of lead singer Tim Burgess, the band was an ever-constant presence in my life.
On Wednesday night, to a near full capacity Powerstation in Auckland packed with middle-agers like myself, the band returned after a decade away; and even singer Burgess remarked at one point "That was very enjoyable," in what could be seen as the understatement of the night.
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They may have peppered their way-too-brief 90 minute set with a smattering of newer songs, choosing to open with new song Totally Eclipsing, but it did nothing to dent the crowd's enthusiasm for the Charlatans' return.
After shambling onto the stage to the sounds of something I swear was from the Twin Peaks soundtrack (a subtle nod to the fact the cast of the show were on the other side of town on the same night perhaps), the peroxide blonde-mop-topped 50-year-old Burgess smiled, took a shot of the crowd for his own social media and launched into it, with veritable aplomb and support from his ferocious tight-knit band.
But it wasn't until third song in the form of One To Another that the crowd erupted, a wave of nostalgia satiated by some truly impressive keyboard work from Tony Rogers and Mark Collins on guitar. As the crescendoes built, the crowd found its voice, and the balconies shook with something truly euphoric.
It may be nearly three decades since they began, but as the newer songs showed, the Charlatans' ear for melody and looping guitars and rhythm has never been lost. Nowhere was this more pertinent than when the band dispatched Just When You're Thinking Things Over with ease, a mix of keyboard, and howling guitar - to say it was a transcendant mix of blues and bombast is to sell it short.
Standing on tiptoes to the microphone and beaming all night in between shaking front row hands and exalting us all to get into it, Burgess was nothing but non-stop infectious enthusiasm - even if in the latter part of the bluesy-tinged North Country Boy, he seemed to falter for some of the notes, seemingly distracted by the fun being had by the crowd.
With gyrating hips, shaking head, a perpetual motion machine of dancing, Burgess's general upbeat chilled demeanour oozed over the crowds, as much as it did the relaxed lyrics of newer, moodier songs like Different Days and Plastic Machinery. So Oh, with its sunny loops and falsetto chorus was bathed in a bountiful yellow light, like summer had come early to the tail-end winter of New Zealand.
The band's never lost their savviness for harmony, nor their groove for keeping the crowd going. In truth, based on their output of a baker's dozen of albums, it could have gone for hours, but ending with a truly searing Sproston Green, complete with green lights and strobes ensuring the crowd was moshing as they should, was nigh on perfection, with Burgess exiting the stage halfway through as the resplendent band extended the song long after the lyrics faded.
It was the older songs that got the crowd every time; from the Hammond organ of their first UK mega hit The Only One I Know to the tinge and crash of piano, guitar and melody in Just When You're Thinking Things Over, the crop from the past have lost none of their urgency through the years - and still stand up, regardless of whether you're a real fan of the band or not.
I saw them several times when I should have been studying in the 90s, swaying my curtains moptop in time with their dirty, groovy beats, shuffling my feet along the beer-strewn sticky floors of whatever venue they chose to play. I was there when the balconies shook at the Powerstation in New Zealand - and after this performance, I pray vehemently it won't be another decade before we see their tight mix of melody, mood and mellifluousness again.
They may be named The Charlatans, but in truth, they're anything but frauds - this mainstay of British music is still one of the best on the live scene and this sole New Zealand date before a clutch of Aussie ones was truly something special and unmissable.
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