Here is their front man proving that though a keyboard group, they or he, can play guitar too.
Saw them at the BIC in Bournemouth last week. I did want to take him home and give him a nice bowl of vegetable soup and toast - he just looks far too young and innocent to be out on stage being a rockstar. Probably not really the case . . .
They were good, very polished. Perhaps too polished. I could have been at home listening to one of their CDs except I was surrounded by people with their eyes closed singing along in rhapsody and not standing in their kitchens doing the washing up. Think I actually preferred the support act 'Wolf Gang': eager to please, energetic and with all the manic enthusiasm of a group verging on big things . . . hopefully for them.
The last time I saw anything live in Bournemouth - I mean on the stage, was Eddie Izzard when I laughed so much my jaw ached for about three days afterwards. Before that: Canon and Ball in the early 80s with my boyfriend at the time, in, what I hope, was some bizarre act of irony. And before that, AC/DC. I'm glad I saw/heard them; it must have been just after they had started out. Bon Scott in all his too-tight jeans glory, and Angus young really looking like a schoolboy. Fab evening despite the fact that I can probably date some of the ringing in the ears that I have nowadays to that very date. Loud? What?
Fab, despite that I was with an earlier boyfriend who was clapping in three as appose to everyone else in the room, in four. Not the most complex of music really, or perhaps he was really into African cross rhythms and couldn't cope with 1 2 3 4 . . . . dirty deeds, done dirt cheap: No I think not as he took me to see Luton (his team) Vs Bournemouth for my eighteenth birthdays present. Not a lot of imagination really.
Incidentally, I happened to see a current AC/DC concert being broadcast from some mega stadium somewhere when I was slumped in front of my cousin's TV before returning home. There must have been a million people in the audience, all jumping up and down in, more or less, perfect unison. The effect was extraordinary: like looking at some vast sea creature pulsating, its tentacles waving with the motion of the water. Angus was still strutting, pulling the same faces, Bon's replacement was shrieking effectively, and perhaps somewhere in that sweaty crowd, would have been someone steadfastly counting in three.