live reviews
DREAM THEATER
Hammersmith Apollo, London October 2005
In a musical era all too frequently defined by advertising muscle, momentary fads and the type of cynically sanitised acts the X-Factor annually manufactures, the men in suits would argue there's no market for a band like Dream Theater. After all, here are a band who fail to release singles, are as likely to appear on MTV as Pavarotti and who resolutely refuse to take heed of any attempts to steer them in a commercial direction. Yet, by continuing to produce progressive metal albums that are crammed with astonishing levels of musical dexterity, they've fostered an immensely loyal fan base which ensured that this two night stand at the Apollo was completely sold out.
Astonishingly, the performances each night approached the three-hour mark, and yet with the sole exception of the lively gig opener The Root Of All Evil, they played two completely different sets. Considering your average touring band churn out the same ninety minutes of material each night - songs that perhaps possess half the complexity of an average Dream Theater track - the magnitude of that achievement is put into perspective.
With the tour billed as a celebration of their twentieth anniversary and a six-hour timeframe to fill, Dream Theater were able to deftly delve into their back-catalogue and add fresh impetus to songs such as Afterlife, The Mirror and Learning To Live. The courageous inclusion of the sparsely performed rarity, Raise The Knife, may have left quizzical looks on the faces of the band's more causal followers, yet succeeded in bringing the many hardcore DT-anoraks to the brink of hysteria. Indeed, it's hard to recall a time when the band have sounded quite this tight, with even the intermittently criticised vocals of James LaBrie being notably faultless and mercifully screech free. But the evening wasn't merely designed to pay tribute to their past accomplishments. The latest album, Octavarium, also possesses numerous nimble moments, and the likes of I Walk Beside You and These Walls illustrated their continued inventiveness and fit snugly into the set.
In addition to the outstanding range of material they delivered, the second night proved to be particularly exceptional with Dream Theater continuing their tradition of covering a classic album in its entirety whenever they perform a two-night stand in a city. Previously they've faithfully reproduced Metallica's Master Of Puppets and Maiden's Number Of The Beast, but they turned to their more progressive roots to play a sublime, note-perfect rendition of Pink Floyd's Dark Side Of The Moon.
An album as subtle as Dark Side . . . may not have been the obvious pick for a band regularly accused of embellishing songs with thousand-notes-a-minute histrionics, but guitarist John Petrucci delivered the solos in Time and Breathe with all the understated presence of the originals. The visual experience was aided by the projection of the original footage used by the Floyd, as well as the employment of the saxophonist used by Roger Waters, and vocalist Theresa Thomason to hit the high notes in The Great Gig In The Sky that even the operatic LaBrie would have failed to nail.
Ultimately you genuinely run out of superlatives to bestow on a band as overwhelming as Dream Theater on this kind of form, and they remain prog metal's standard bearers and standard setters. God only knows how they can surpass performances as stunning as these. Worryingly for their contemporaries, you just know that by the next time they're here, they will have found a way. . .
Rich Wilson
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Yes
M.E.N. Arena, Manchester 2004
The last time this classic 'Fragile' era incarnation of Yes appeared in Manchester was the infamous evening when a disgruntled Rick Wakeman showed his frustration with the band's Topographic direction by memorably devouring a chicken biryiani mid set. Three decades on and Wakeman again can't resist reading a newspaper during a Chris Squire monologue and earns a stern glance from guitarist Steve Howe for his efforts. Seemingly, some things never change.
Officially billed as the '35th Anniversary Tour', but nicknamed the 'Pension Fund Tour' by some cynics, the band unsurprisingly select their most celebrated songs which are greeted with an almost reverential glee. 'I've Seen All Good People' and 'Going For The One' remain biting and the wonderfully exaggerated 'Ritual' is equally pleasing. The inclusion of 1996's anodyne 'Mind Drive' does somewhat stifle the flow, but such inadequacies are few in an otherwise alluring three hour set.
To the Sex Pistols in 1977 they were "pompous old farts". They probably still are. But Yes continue to prove the maxim that gorgeous melodies and consummate musicianship will always outlast passing fads.
Rich Wilson
From The Vaults
Thunder
Monsters Of Rock, Donington Park
August 19, 1990
Exasperated with the plots regularly being formulated by their record label and the ongoing blatant attempt to transform Terraplane into a pop band, it didn't come as a complete surprise when Danny Bowes and Luke Morley called time on Terraplane's seven-year existence. But the startling and rapid speed of their re-emergence was far less predictable. Booking a rehearsal room for their new project before they had even sacked the other members of the band, the years of letting others control their destiny had caused a ruthless streak to appear in Bowes and Morley. Bassist Nick Linden and drummer Gary "Harry" James were ousted- although due to the session drummer not arriving for rehearsals, James' return was swift and he was only out of favour for a mere ten days. And with the addition of bassist Mark "Snake" Luckhurst and guitarist Ben Matthews, a swift deal with EMI and the quickly construed moniker of Thunder, they again found themselves tagged as "The Next Big Thing".
Touring almost constantly during the autumn of 1989 through to the spring of 1990, the band's newborn found niche as honest and earthy blues rockers had already given them a reputation as one of the more articulate live acts around. Amazingly, just over a year after they had played their first gig, their mushrooming popularity and impressive sales of their flawless debut 'Backstreet Symphony' had led to them being handed the coveted opening slot at Donington.
But there were still lingering doubts. Sure they could cut it in the poky, sweaty confines of universities and clubs, but could they take their show to Donington and be one of the few opening acts to handle the barracking and dodge the traditional missiles? Especially given the concerns after Bowes had lost his voice in the days leading up to the gig and hadn't even tried to speak, let alone sing, prior to marching on to the expansive stage.
Fortunately, after Morley had precisely dispensed the opening chords to 'She's So Fine', his voice held, and with raised, appreciative hands stretching back to the horizon, the sense of on-stage relief was tangible. Donington respected Thunder's refreshing lack of bullshit and narcotics, and the band's no-nonsense strain of rock that harked back to the halcyon days of Bad Company proved perfect for the over-refreshed masses.
By the end of the opening number, Thunder were indisputably unstoppable. Bowes, wearing a strategically ripped t-shirt and surgically torn jeans, was eliciting the kind of positive response from the crowd normally reserved for the headliners. During the crescendo to the weighty 'Higher Ground', he even dropped from the stage, worrying security guards as he ran the width of the crowd, hand-shaking and patting backs. Morley's solo on 'Until My Dying Day' was inspired and the soon-to-be-replaced skeletal figure of Luckhurst, who looked like he'd stepped out of a Lowry painting, was vigorously charging around the stage. Even the power-ballad, 'Don't Wait For Me', was foreboding and enchanted the crowd before Thunder launched into the rousing finale of 'Dirty Love'.
Testament to their ability and esteem in which they were held was the lack of projectiles. Understandably, Thunder has a fear of playing in the notorious opening slot as Bowes revealed to me later: "Of course we had heard all the stories and we honestly thought we might be bottled. We couldn't believe that the expectation had been so high."
For Thunder, Donington 1990 had been a career defining moment when they had blown away the rest of the Monsters Of Rock bill. It's reassuring to know that nothing has changed . . .
Rich Wilson
From The Vaults
Fish
The Ritz, Manchester
October 29, 1989
With both Fish and his former Marillion colleagues still engaged in launching ferocious verbal assaults on each other through the music press following their split a year earlier, the quest to seize the hearts, minds and adoration of their notoriously loyal fans began in the autumn of 1989. Forefront in the minds of those of us whod adored the combination of their bleeding heart, poignant lyrics with pure and lush Prog Rock melodies was the critical question of whether either could emulate that heady mix without the other?
Ludicrously, both acts remained signed to the same record label and although each had finished albums standing by for release, Marillions first Steve Hogarth era album, Seasons End, was allowed to push back Fishs solo debut by several months. Shrewdly, the Scotsman pencilled in a low-key UK tour to rouse the by now rabid followers whod been frantically craving new material and gigs from their now divided heroes. The Ritz, a gloomy converted ballroom which was more renowned for its sticky floors, shabby interior and Grab A Granny nights than for being a regular concert venue, perfectly suited his aim of cramming in the punters and filling their heads with songs from his upcoming Vigil In A Wilderness Of Mirrors album months before Hogarth and the boys had a chance to dig their hooks into them.
Opening the set with a blistering version of The Sensational Alex Harvey Bands Faith Healer, complete with Fish pressing flesh with the swarming front rows, the sense of relief from both stage and floor was overwhelming, and once a newly modified and rejuvenated Punch And Judy had pounded this unglamorous venue, the message was clear. Fish really could thrive on his own. Of course, his backing band were only session men, but it included the likes of the stupendously talented Big Country drummer Mark Brzezicki and a pair of guitarists who were more than capable of adding colour, sparkle and distinction to the essential Marillion songs such as Warm Wet Circles, Fugazi, and Slainte Mhath which remained central to the set.
Perhaps of greater significance to Fish was the reality that the material previewed from the forthcoming album was equally well received. The lengthy title track from Vigil . . . built steadily through a swathe of bewitching keyboards to an exhilarating finale that matched his Marillion highs, and even the bold, flashy and uncharacteristic pop of Big Wedge was met with a riotous ovation. Halfway through Script For A Jesters Tear, I swear the venues vintage sprung floor was bucking and rolling so much there was a realistic chance wed all be ending the night in the basement covered in rubble.
Contrasting the pensive, forlorn and solitary figure Fish cut the during the final throws Marillions Clutching At Straws tour with the unexpected and slightly disturbing sight of him pirouetting around the stage on that October night, it was obvious hed made the right decision to go solo in the game. As he revealed later: People were writing me off as if I wasnt important, wasnt a writer and didnt have much to do with Marillion apart from sing and get drunk. I had to go out on tour and prove myself, do it quickly and show I wasnt sat in some bar in Edinburgh!
Following encore renditions of the indispensable Kayleigh, Lavender and Heart Of Lothian, a reassured and overjoyed Fish left the stage in tears. If Marillion meant as much to you as they did to me back in the days of the jester, youll understand why I very nearly joined him . . .
From The Vaults
Faith No More
Bradford University
October 18, 1989
Faith No More had been lumbering around Californian clubs and studios for the best part of a decade before they appeared for only their seventh UK gig, a fact that made media descriptions of them as a new band both slothful and erroneous. During earlier incarnations they went through numerous wannabe and God-awful singers, (including in 1983, one Courtney Love) before ultimately settling on Chuck Mosley- a line-up that culminated with the release of 1987s under-achieving Introduce Yourself. But Mosleys problems with the band, or more accurately, the bands ever increasing impatience with him, finally led to his dismissal at that albums launch party, after he publicly lapsed unconscious in an alcohol induced stupor.
Yet despite their endeavours, Faith No More at the end of 1989 were, in the UK at least, painfully anonymous. Their previous albums had been poorly promoted and their lack of non-U.S touring meant that, to all but the most determined rock follower, their trademark thrash overloaded funk metal was a novel and intriguing proposition. The ever-lively Mike Patton had been drafted in on vocals, and his possession of an indomitable stage persona, coupled with a voice that surpassed Mosleys fragile and unpalatable nasal warbling, could only increase their acceptability. Yet all they actually owned at this time was potential, as the sparse crowd of around two hundred scattered bodies was a highly visible testament to. They may have existed since 1980, but in October 1989 they were back paying their dues.
Opening their set with the pummelling From Out Of Nowhere before swiftly running into Falling To Pieces, the band were tight in their delivery and, more importantly, were creating something genuinely original. Brimming with raw energy, in touch with their prospective audience and thrilling to watch, they had something that their virulent, bland stadium rock competitors, such as Heart or bloody Extreme, plainly didnt. Launching into tracks that would soon become wonderfully familiar, Patton, despite intermittent lyrical amnesia, was a revelation. Delivering Epic, his eyes rolled upwards and his face contorted as if in agony as he cavorted around the stage in stark contrast to the head-down, static approach favoured by guitarist Big Sick Ugly Jim Martin. A mass of tangled black hair replete with unkempt beard, the only evidence of Martin owning a face was the occasional glinting of his substantial bright-red glasses. Even the Mosley era material such as Crab Song and the anthem We Care A Lot were effortlessly dispatched, driven by the semi-naked blur of dreadlocks and flesh behind the drums that was Mike Puffy Bordin. Finishing with a swaggering cover of War Pigs their status as impending major players had been proven.
Of course it could never last. The band hated each other. They may have gone on to more financially rewarding things, but they could never match the intensity of this tour or the unsurpassable album, The Real Thing. Their decline was ironically highlighted with their greatest chart success- an unforgivable cover of Easy that belittled their achievements. Martin was later fired (apparently by fax) after the in-band squabbling failed to subside and although their unpalatable road tales later became a part of rock folklore (including how the band allegedly pissed en-masse on to a groupie in a shower) their decline and eventual split was both predictable and unavoidable.
Rich Wilson
