No one goes to a Cliff Richard show expecting to be confronted by hint of mortality. And yet there was no mistaking the subtext of the posters dotted around the 02 arena that announced the 68 year old singer’s reunion tour with The Shadows. “Reunited for the very last time!” they trumpeted.
Speaking in a current interview, Sir Cliff ventured that “all we have to do now is try and stay alive”. He was referring to the possibility of future reunions with his old backing band although at times during this three hour gig, you felt it would be no mean feat if they made it to the intermission.
But the audience gave more cause for concern. “Please sit down you’ll only get tired,” implored Sir Cliff, as the opening chords of We Say Yeah prompted several hundred fans to their feet.
Exciting? Well, this being a concert by Cliff Richard and not, say, Metallica, you adjusted your definitions of such words accordingly.
The “violent hip swinging exhibitionism” against which the New Musical Express once rail has been replaced by a gaudy fuschia jacket and, on Do You Want To Dance?, outbreaks of random leg-wobbling. For all of that, however, there were brief moments Dynamite, the nocturnal tomcat rattle of Move It – where the God-fearing, abstemious star momentarily took leave of himself and succumbed to the earthier impulses that, presumably, made him want to be a pop idol in the first place.
On High Class Baby he was almost believable rejecting the advances of the song’s posh protagonist in favour of rock’n’roll. Almost, but not quite.
However much he enjoyed the opporitunity to prove that he could cut it as a rock’n’roll singer, Sir Cliff’s soft vanilla tones seemed more suited to bucolic postwar pop postcards such as Summer Holiday and Living Doll.
Judging from the gusto with which the throng sang along, it was this Cliff Richard that most of his fans had come to see, blithely synching with Hank Marvin and Bruce Welch on their trademark triangular dance.
While singer and band were on stage together, the bonhomie was unmistakable. However, for the brief period which saw The Shadows fire off a mixture of their own hits and a brace of lesser-known album tracks, they sounded like a band with a point to prove.
FBI and Greatful Land, in particular, evinced a space-age modernity that defied the passing of the years. At a stroke, you understood why they inspired guitarists such as Jimmy Page and Brian May to learn their instruments in the first place.
For most of those present, scholarly admiration of The Shadows’ collective chops couldn’t have been further from the point. This was an altogether more celebratory occasion. Indeed, the ease with which these old chums occupied the same stage made you wonder why they had allowed 24 years to pass since their last tour together.
Without a hint of irony, an encore of The Young Ones saw Sir Cliff trilling, “the best time is to sing while we’re young”. Should they leave it this long again, he’ll be 92. This may indeed be the last time, then but in a month that has just seen 92 year old Dame Vera Lynn scale the charts, who would bet against us reconvening here in 2022?
Speaking in a current interview, Sir Cliff ventured that “all we have to do now is try and stay alive”. He was referring to the possibility of future reunions with his old backing band although at times during this three hour gig, you felt it would be no mean feat if they made it to the intermission.
But the audience gave more cause for concern. “Please sit down you’ll only get tired,” implored Sir Cliff, as the opening chords of We Say Yeah prompted several hundred fans to their feet.
Exciting? Well, this being a concert by Cliff Richard and not, say, Metallica, you adjusted your definitions of such words accordingly.
The “violent hip swinging exhibitionism” against which the New Musical Express once rail has been replaced by a gaudy fuschia jacket and, on Do You Want To Dance?, outbreaks of random leg-wobbling. For all of that, however, there were brief moments Dynamite, the nocturnal tomcat rattle of Move It – where the God-fearing, abstemious star momentarily took leave of himself and succumbed to the earthier impulses that, presumably, made him want to be a pop idol in the first place.
On High Class Baby he was almost believable rejecting the advances of the song’s posh protagonist in favour of rock’n’roll. Almost, but not quite.
However much he enjoyed the opporitunity to prove that he could cut it as a rock’n’roll singer, Sir Cliff’s soft vanilla tones seemed more suited to bucolic postwar pop postcards such as Summer Holiday and Living Doll.
Judging from the gusto with which the throng sang along, it was this Cliff Richard that most of his fans had come to see, blithely synching with Hank Marvin and Bruce Welch on their trademark triangular dance.
While singer and band were on stage together, the bonhomie was unmistakable. However, for the brief period which saw The Shadows fire off a mixture of their own hits and a brace of lesser-known album tracks, they sounded like a band with a point to prove.
FBI and Greatful Land, in particular, evinced a space-age modernity that defied the passing of the years. At a stroke, you understood why they inspired guitarists such as Jimmy Page and Brian May to learn their instruments in the first place.
For most of those present, scholarly admiration of The Shadows’ collective chops couldn’t have been further from the point. This was an altogether more celebratory occasion. Indeed, the ease with which these old chums occupied the same stage made you wonder why they had allowed 24 years to pass since their last tour together.
Without a hint of irony, an encore of The Young Ones saw Sir Cliff trilling, “the best time is to sing while we’re young”. Should they leave it this long again, he’ll be 92. This may indeed be the last time, then but in a month that has just seen 92 year old Dame Vera Lynn scale the charts, who would bet against us reconvening here in 2022?
No comments:
Post a Comment