Veterans Power Through In Rock Mode
[The Times, 4th April 2006. Words: David Sinclair. Picture: Angela Lubrano.]
While the work drags on at Wembley Stadium, the refurbished – and separately owned – Wembley Arena has quietly reopened for business, bang on schedule.
The stage and the entrance have both been switched to opposite ends of the building, and if that was not enough to induce a feeling of mild disorientation among the 12,000 fans who filed in to see Depeche Mode, the effect was reinforced by other revolutionary innovations, including air-conditioning, padded seating, clean paintwork and – gasp! – cold beer.
The acoustics also seemed to have improved and the infamous “slapback” of the sound ricocheting off the back wall was greatly reduced. It wasn’t as if Depeche Mode were holding back, either. Despite their tinny, synth-pop origins, the veteran group from Basildon have long since morphed into one of the most powerful and consistently enthralling arena-rock attractions.
The stage was dressed like the set of a made-for-TV science fiction film, with the keyboards of Andrew Fletcher and Peter Gordeno encased in moulded spaceship consoles while a giant pod was suspended at one side like an orbiting satellite. [1] A throbbing electro pulse and a grating shard of industrial noise prefaced the opening number, A Pain That I’m Used To, the cue for singer Dave Gahan to wade into a typically gloomy lyrical theme.
An increasingly vampiric character, with the mincing dance steps of a toreador, Gahan, 43, has matured into a classic rock’n’roll frontman.
In a waistcoat but no shirt, he flaunted an unfeasibly sleek torso and wielded his microphone stand as if participating in a pole-vaulting event, while applying his deep, burnished voice to songs with an epic touch. There was, too, a faintly bluesy quality to Policy Of Truth, Walking In My Shoes and Suffer Well, the latter prompting a heroic performance from the drummer, Christian Eigner.
Martin Gore, 44, the guitarist and principal songwriter, looked like a Venusian in his weird, mohican head-dress and with black angel wings glued on to his shoulders, a subtle reference, presumably, to the group’s estimable current album, Playing The Angel.
The pace slackened off as he took centre stage to sing a couple of more reflective numbers, after which a rejuvenated Gahan returned to lead the final assault.
Colossal versions of I Feel You, Behind The Wheel and Personal Jesus were followed by a quaint reminder of the group’s more modest beginnings in the shape of their plinky-plonky 1981 hit Just Can’t Get Enough. Some bands – and venues – it seems, do get better with age.
[The Times, 4th April 2006. Words: David Sinclair. Picture: Angela Lubrano.]
While the work drags on at Wembley Stadium, the refurbished – and separately owned – Wembley Arena has quietly reopened for business, bang on schedule.
The stage and the entrance have both been switched to opposite ends of the building, and if that was not enough to induce a feeling of mild disorientation among the 12,000 fans who filed in to see Depeche Mode, the effect was reinforced by other revolutionary innovations, including air-conditioning, padded seating, clean paintwork and – gasp! – cold beer.
The acoustics also seemed to have improved and the infamous “slapback” of the sound ricocheting off the back wall was greatly reduced. It wasn’t as if Depeche Mode were holding back, either. Despite their tinny, synth-pop origins, the veteran group from Basildon have long since morphed into one of the most powerful and consistently enthralling arena-rock attractions.
The stage was dressed like the set of a made-for-TV science fiction film, with the keyboards of Andrew Fletcher and Peter Gordeno encased in moulded spaceship consoles while a giant pod was suspended at one side like an orbiting satellite. [1] A throbbing electro pulse and a grating shard of industrial noise prefaced the opening number, A Pain That I’m Used To, the cue for singer Dave Gahan to wade into a typically gloomy lyrical theme.
An increasingly vampiric character, with the mincing dance steps of a toreador, Gahan, 43, has matured into a classic rock’n’roll frontman.
In a waistcoat but no shirt, he flaunted an unfeasibly sleek torso and wielded his microphone stand as if participating in a pole-vaulting event, while applying his deep, burnished voice to songs with an epic touch. There was, too, a faintly bluesy quality to Policy Of Truth, Walking In My Shoes and Suffer Well, the latter prompting a heroic performance from the drummer, Christian Eigner.
Martin Gore, 44, the guitarist and principal songwriter, looked like a Venusian in his weird, mohican head-dress and with black angel wings glued on to his shoulders, a subtle reference, presumably, to the group’s estimable current album, Playing The Angel.
The pace slackened off as he took centre stage to sing a couple of more reflective numbers, after which a rejuvenated Gahan returned to lead the final assault.
Colossal versions of I Feel You, Behind The Wheel and Personal Jesus were followed by a quaint reminder of the group’s more modest beginnings in the shape of their plinky-plonky 1981 hit Just Can’t Get Enough. Some bands – and venues – it seems, do get better with age.