"Tennants deadpan spoken word delivery is somewhat drowned out by the orchestral melo-drama that is played underneath; strings, horns, drums in the mixer, but it is an instant reminder of what made them so massive all those years ago" |
|
As you enter you spot that the set is minimalist, a simple violet neon square with prison bars projected onto it, whilst a repetitive house beat plays over the p.a. This is the support act and they are late! As the clock gets to 8:10, an engineer walks centre stage and checks the microphones. Ive waited 18 years so stop myself from getting too impatient. 5 minutes later though, there are murmurs of dissent around this is ridiculous, Ive been here since 7 oclock complains one. At 8.20, someone tries a slow handclap but the starting pace is way to fast and it peters out before it begins. I decide they wont be on until 8:30 and to head to the loo which is, of course, the cue for them to finally take the stage.
Except they dont. These two figures are the backing singers in Neil Tennant top hat and morning suit jacket and Chris Lowe fluorescent hoodie, sunglasses and cap. Then a pair of dancers come out dressed identically. Then, finally, the men themselves appear in the same garb, take centre stage and shake hands before heading to their positions Lowe stage left behind his keyboard from which he will barely move all evening and Tennant central, absolutely rigid, as he sings a verse and chorus from intro song We Are The Pet Shop Boys.
Then, dramatically, the familiar 5 note intro of Left To My Own Devices signals the start of the concert proper. Tennants deadpan spoken word delivery is somewhat drowned out by the orchestral melo-drama that is played underneath - strings, horns, drums in the mixer but it is an instant reminder of what made them so massive all those years ago, that contrast of the sometimes electronic theatre attacking one ear, whilst that calm, poised vocal soothes the other.
As you might expect from a band providing, in Tennants words, an evening of electronic entertainment, the songs dont allow any room for improvisation and are therefore pretty faithful to the recorded versions. It matters not one jot because, lets be honest, not many people listen to the band any more (certainly I cant recall the last time I deliberately put on one of their records) and so each introduction is greeted warmly, a reminder of another top tune wed forgotten about. Indeed, in the parts they have attempted to add a bit to, mainly through the wailing vocals of a female session singer, are to the songs detriment, distracting at the end of Suburbia and West End Girls rather than adding to them.
They seem to like to pair their songs together, as spelt out choruses M I N I M A L and S H O P P I N G are grouped together, as are the fiesta songs of Se a vida é (That's the way life is) and Domino Dancing and slow numbers Rent and Dreaming of the Queen. The latter references and shows pictures of the Princess of Wales funeral cortage, which is a bit of a surprise to me. I must confess that given their scathing political slant on the likes of Im With Stupid and Integral I thought they would be above slightly mawkish sentiment on her death.
Another pairing is cover versions; You Were Always On My Mind and Where the Streets Have No Name, during which gold lamé clad cowboy high kick chorus line style. Ever so slowly the camp-ometer is rising, but it only reaches red in the encore.
Firstly, Its A Sin, with Tennant at his most caustic, is the Pet Shop Boys theatrics at their very best, but we end with Go West. Every cast member is front of stage taking the audiences applause, leading the singing and directing the fist-to-chest-then-air choreography. It is the perfect end, cracking a smile onto the most serious of faces. I leave with my spirits raised, and that nagging annoyance from that ancient relationship finally laid to rest.
FUTURE GIGS
sorry, we currently have no gigs listed for this act.