Frenzied
[Q, April 1989. Words: Robert Sandall. Picture: Uncredited.]
It is really not Depeche Mode’s fault, and certainly no reflection on the quality of a note-perfect performance, that by far the most striking contribution to this live double album is not made by the group at all. As side one’s synthy gothic fanfare is bleeping and pulsing towards its atmospheric conclusion you begin to hear a random selection of high and low frequencies. These are not, as first seems likely, another of DM’s machines warming up, but the more unshapely racket of 72,000 young Americans going absolutely apeshit. And they don’t get any quieter.
They make a frankly bizarre accompaniment to synth-pop so spare, clean-cut and, in a Northern European sort of way, restrained. But in Pasadena, California, the neatly groomed boys from Basildon are evidently regarded as stadium rock giants and for the next 75 minutes we are seldom allowed to forget it. “Good evening Pasadeenaaah,” Dave Gahan gamely roars to a crowd which has just tried (unsuccessfully) to clap along to the metronomic beat of Behind The Wheel. “Thangyoooo,” he yells above the hysteria which regularly greets the end of everything. “I can’t see yooooo,” he bellows during an acapella section of Just Can’t Get Enough. And so it goes on until the very last item of the album, Everything Counts, where he has this frenzied horde happily singing along on their own.
As a general reflection on how oddly things travel – and what odd things American audiences can be – this is all very interesting. But as a recording 101 hardly amounts to an audio gourmet’s delight. Depeche Mode make music to tap your toes to rather than stamp your feet, and the wry ironies of their lyrics are not really designed to be roared at. The suspicion dawns that the joke behind the title of their one American hit People Are People – that people are rather “difficult” – has not been let into the party. And indeed, when Gahan tries to go reflective on the ballad Somebody, Pasadena just caries on noisily making whoopee during all the quiet bits. [1]
There are a few points when the music and its riotous reception meaningly converge: the Chuck Berryish styling of Pleasure Little Treasure, and a big, thumpingly extended rendition of last year’s hit Never Let Me Down Again. But on the whole this is a live album that sends you back to DM’s studio work wondering if you and those 72,000 Californians have been listening to the same records. «««
[Q, April 1989. Words: Robert Sandall. Picture: Uncredited.]
It is really not Depeche Mode’s fault, and certainly no reflection on the quality of a note-perfect performance, that by far the most striking contribution to this live double album is not made by the group at all. As side one’s synthy gothic fanfare is bleeping and pulsing towards its atmospheric conclusion you begin to hear a random selection of high and low frequencies. These are not, as first seems likely, another of DM’s machines warming up, but the more unshapely racket of 72,000 young Americans going absolutely apeshit. And they don’t get any quieter.
They make a frankly bizarre accompaniment to synth-pop so spare, clean-cut and, in a Northern European sort of way, restrained. But in Pasadena, California, the neatly groomed boys from Basildon are evidently regarded as stadium rock giants and for the next 75 minutes we are seldom allowed to forget it. “Good evening Pasadeenaaah,” Dave Gahan gamely roars to a crowd which has just tried (unsuccessfully) to clap along to the metronomic beat of Behind The Wheel. “Thangyoooo,” he yells above the hysteria which regularly greets the end of everything. “I can’t see yooooo,” he bellows during an acapella section of Just Can’t Get Enough. And so it goes on until the very last item of the album, Everything Counts, where he has this frenzied horde happily singing along on their own.
As a general reflection on how oddly things travel – and what odd things American audiences can be – this is all very interesting. But as a recording 101 hardly amounts to an audio gourmet’s delight. Depeche Mode make music to tap your toes to rather than stamp your feet, and the wry ironies of their lyrics are not really designed to be roared at. The suspicion dawns that the joke behind the title of their one American hit People Are People – that people are rather “difficult” – has not been let into the party. And indeed, when Gahan tries to go reflective on the ballad Somebody, Pasadena just caries on noisily making whoopee during all the quiet bits. [1]
There are a few points when the music and its riotous reception meaningly converge: the Chuck Berryish styling of Pleasure Little Treasure, and a big, thumpingly extended rendition of last year’s hit Never Let Me Down Again. But on the whole this is a live album that sends you back to DM’s studio work wondering if you and those 72,000 Californians have been listening to the same records. «««
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