Untaxing but sparkling interview centred on several UK dates in the 1986 world tour, with the interviewer hitching a ride in the tourbus. While the subject matter is limited to a few general lines on virtually everything, the sense of atmosphere and snap-edited opinions from fans and other people on the tour mean the article feels like a written 101.
" Tonight’s game of sardines takes place in a massive sports complex. Depeche are similarly stunning. The response is excellent, the ambience and multi-harmonies punctuating the enormous sound perfectly. ‘Black Celebration’ is a physical dance celebration. Sweat city. "
Pop idols and young businessmen of the year, Depeche Mode teach Dave Henderson the art of touring. Ronnie Randall gets the holiday snaps.
It’s great to be here… wherever we are. I feel road weary and bleary eyed already, but the group are in full flow. The Bristol Hippodrome is a classic venue.
Royal boxes flow forth with gesticulating girls. Everyone dances. It’s hot. David Gahan twirls like a majestic Pat Nevin slotting in a last minute winner for Chelsea. Sweat-stained, he turns again, his leather clad rear end sending the crowd into fits of orgasmic delight. It’s hit after hit after…
What’s your favourite track?
A hyper sweaty teenster admits to “loving it all”.
Personally, my favourite must be ‘Everything Counts’. I think. Or is it… well there’s plenty more. With 14 hits and another one on the way, Depeche Mode really are a law unto themselves. And this tour… Now that’s an even more complicated story.
Bristol is nine dates into the British leg of the Dep’s world tour. Tomorrow it’s Bournemouth, then there’s two nights at Wembley, 24 dates in Europe, followed by the USA and Japan and other far Eastern delights. We’re talking big business here and the organization for such an event is understandably sprawling.
After three encores, an assortment of personnel flood the backstage area. It’s been a successful night, everyone’s happy and the daily ritual of autographs, photos with fans, chatting, etc, begins.
Andre, the mohican ‘minder’ come personal assistant, keeps things in check. A walkie-talkie links him to the road crew, the tour manager, and the tour co-ordinator, among other people. Sheffield support act Hula are surreptitiously devouring Depeche Mode’s stash of sandwiches, Pils lager is flowing like Pils lager and the temperature is beginning to rise again.
A Japanese girl whose name is unspellable and unpronounceable sidles in. She came here to learn English, fell in love with the group and has been taking in as many dates on the tour as possible. Do you like any other groups?
“No.”
Have you made it to all the dates?
“No. Not Oxford.”
Depeche Mode fans are very keen. And rightly so. The group treat their audience with a great deal of respect. And that audience spreads right across the spectrum simply because they feel comfortable.
At the Hippodrome, boys, girls and mums danced and clapped. Flash bulbs shone and scarves waved. But right here, you can forget that cynical teeny veneer that some have dolloped on Depeche Mode. By no means is that a reality. Depeche Mode are a multi-level experience. Live, in their floppy-disc-juggling-Emulator-stimulated style, they produce a spectacle of mammoth proportions. They are The Beatles (but younger).
“That’s nuthin’,” points out Ron from Hula, “You should have seen the audience in Birmingham, they just went berserk. It was 6,000 people hell bent on having a brilliant time. And they did.”
And there’s more. The response in Europe is reputed to be yet more ecstatic.
“Over there,” recalls Martin Gore, his handcuffs severely restricting him from standing up to adjust his body stocking, “they just go crazy.”
And that’s one of the reasons why security has to be so tight. On the continent, it seems, people think little of turning up to concerts with firearms and suchlike.
In England, however, it seems that the mass adulation, although still obviously there, has been tempered by the fact that the group’s staunch following have grown with them. And the word is still spreading.
As with all tactical manoeuvres, there’s confusion. Dave Gahan and Andy Fletcher have to prize themselves away from the gaggle of enthusiasts to return to London for a slot on TVam. The rest are left to drink the fridge dry. They fail miserably and return to the hotel for more autographs and maximum zedz.
The TVam appearance doesn’t quite live up to the expectations of the Deps. Fletch is less than pleased and shatters illusions about the nation’s second rate Princess Di…
“Anne Diamond was really false, but Nick Owen was good. We were outdone by Bamber Gascoigne who got loads of time and they just decided to slot us into five minutes showing about a minute and a half of the video.”
With Depeche Mode now switched to full touring setting, the organizational prowess of the team is being tested to the full. Depeche Mode have their business acumen in gear, but do they have American Express cards?
“No,” says press officer Chris Carr.
And are they members of the AA?
“What?”
The journey from Bristol to Bournemouth is harrowing; two and a half hours spent on winding roads. Andre is watching The Godfather – picking up tips? – while co-ordinators and managers work out the correct millimetre size of plastic glasses for their trip to America. And, hey, what do they call Clingfilm over there?
Alan Wilder and Martin Gore don’t like being interviewed.
“We don’t like being intereviewed,” they say.