Post by sweezely on Oct 25, 2011 5:22:04 GMT -5
It is ironic that with recent gigs lacking in spontaneity and invention, James could return to form with a highly rehearsed and organised performance. There’s that word: performance. The only way to describe James’ latest endeavour is as a stage performance. A West-End musical tribute to themselves. They put on a show, and boy do they know how to put on a show.
Dream Thrum begins with an orchestral swell feinting a double life as simply warming up. The song has always been dark and moody but here it reaches another level. If one were hearing the song for the first time one might jump to the conclusion that it had always been that way, yet the irony is that Laid as a whole was a much stripped-down affair, lacking the bombast of strings and brass. In translation, it’s a revelation. This would become a recurring theme throughout the night, as songs would be reinvented in totally new ways. When songs that obviously translate into an orchestral setting are played, they seem tame and uninteresting by comparison. Lookaway is a prime example, as merely replacing Mark’s sampled strings for the Orchestra of the Swan’s real strings simply doesn’t carry the weight of expectation after the stunning opener. Fairground and Really Hard repeat the process, with the former an unbearably delightful summer’s day jig, and the latter relegated to a merely lovely song with a rude name. It is clear though that the performance is as much the part of the evening as the music, Tim goading the lead violin into a trek across the stage in search of his sheet music. In many regards he was a joy to watch, chiefly because unlike Saul he actually looked like he enjoyed playing his instrument.
With Say Something we catch a glimpse of what a typical hit will have become in this new setting. Say Something has been a tired and uninspired thing since the reformation, but finally it is allowed to soar as a beautiful and uplifting creature. The sheer distance in quality between previous versions is enough to make your mind actually boggle. Boggle I say! As with Dream Thrum, it is difficult to imagine it was ever performed any other way. To follow, Dust Motes segueing into Hello. Dust Motes loses none of its fragility translated for an orchestra, and indeed the build up is so powerful it is almost a shame when the drums kick in. What is not a shame is the seamless continuation into Hello. Hello is possibly the stunner of the night (and in a night of stunners that’s some achievement) – what was once fragile is now powerful, once understated now bold, once forgotten now liberated. The smallest of keyboard backing motifs now soar with a full orchestra, Kulas’ piano line played to perfection by Mark, it is as close to musical perfection I will ever hear until Steps reform.
It’s about time Millionaires was given some deserved love and the love continue with a song of love that I love about love, love. Fred Astaire is the lyrical antidote to two songs of heartbreak (or at least I assume that’s what’s Hello is about – no one knows for sure), and is a rather upbeat, happy but strangely small number. Another oddity of translation – the bombastic sweeping love rock epic becoming a decidedly mediaeval and jaunty number. It succeeds in every regard. Monsters is more straightforward, with strings and brass augmenting the, er, strings and brass. It’s a testament to Mark’s skills arranging sampled instruments that they can be so readily and successfully interpreted by an orchestra and sound as if they were there all along. The welcome return of Hey Ma’s most enduring epic.
We’re Going To Miss You is perhaps the evening’s strangest piece. With a synthetic orchestra already present on record one would imagine it would be a simple task to adapt it for the real thing, but the translation doesn’t really work. This may be in part that the orchestra didn’t actually play the synth orchestra part and instead just kind of played along. In doing so what once sounded like the Pet Shop Boys’ epic synthesised joint through a poorly-lit red light district sounds like an average rock song with uninspired backing. Even the presence of the choir really adds nothing. A bafflement.
Hey Ma closes part one, making a mockery of the previous misstep by having the orchestra perfectly replace the synth. Not a song one would have expected to figure (assuming one hadn’t been so cynical in the first place and only expected the hits, which one was) but it certainly worked.
English Beefcake opened part two and defied expectation by actually being vaguely coherent for a change. Of course, Larry still hasn’t learned how to play it properly but bless him, he tries. The choir here really shine, no doubt helped by the sound mixer finally giving them a volume boost so we can actually hear them instead of just ogling from afar and feeling slightly guilty. Bubbles doesn’t quite hit the same highs, with the orchestral synth-impression working well, but not as well as at other times in the evening. The same cannot be said of The Lake, which took James’ most criminally neglected song and unleashed it for all to hear. If only Lee Muddy Baker were still alive to witness it, he may have at long last learned what dynamic range actually is, and realised that sheer power doesn’t come from whacking the compressor on auto and going on a six month fag break. In case my point isn’t clear, The Lake would have been the awe-inspiring revelation of the evening, were it not for some stiff competition (aren’t you glad I didn’t make another “Really Hard” joke then?).
Twelve hours in and only the second bona-fide “hit” emerges. She’s a Star. The band leaves; only Tim, the orchestra and those increasingly attractive backing singers remain. The unexpected twist of the night, She’s A Star has become an entirely classic piece, pastoral and decidedly English. The perfect accompaniment to a prawn sandwich and a cup of milky tea on the bowling green. From the lawn to the woods, as Why So Close takes us around the campfire as only an acoustic guitar, a fiddle and several burly men gather round to lament on the Cold War. The only thing missing were the beards.
Top Of The World, as demoed in a now infamous Youtube video, surpasses even those highs. This is the best version I have ever heard and may even been the highlight of the evening. To put this in perspective, I don’t even like the song that much. Saul’s solo was left beautifully intact, showing that he really can play when he can be bothered to. He later ditches the fiddle for a cowbell as we finally learn the answer to that age old philosophical question “can we have more cowbell”? As it turns out, yes, you can always have more. The pizzicato and the duelling cowbells combined to make a version of Hymn From a Village so delightfully jaunty that it might as well have been wearing its hat at an amusing angle.
And then, predictably, we must come crashing back to Earth. I will at least give this credit – Tim has finally figured out that the best way to get a completely and 100% spontaneous singalong to Sometimes is to tell the audience before they get started. At least he’s learning, bless. The rest of the song plays as expected, no different to the other 400,000 times you’ve heard it, but now you might be able to make out a faint whiff of despair coming out the cellist’s sound hole, as the orchestra is relegated to the simple and uninspiring backing, and the choir relegated to third place vocalists, behind Tim and the audience. Yes, it got everyone on their feet, but so do wasps. One has visions of the parallel universe where the whole show was like this, and weeps.
The home stretch now, and Millionaire’s most turgid and overblown piece shocks the Midlands by actually being listenable! More than that, Someone’s Got It In For Me comes into its own. Powerful without being overwrought, and brooding without being hammy. The decidedly odd choice of Space closes the set, with a harp filling in for the synth hook. It sounds rather odd. It’s a lovely song to be sure and a welcome addition to any setlist, but the orchestra adds nothing a keyboard couldn’t. The choir, on the other hand, show us just how much we missed Kulas and his one man barbershop quartet.
The inevitable encore and (this time I mean it) the highlight of the whole show… Alaskan Pipeline. Never in my wildest dreams (and it gets pretty mad in there, let me tell you) did I expect to hear something so pure, so yearning or so heartbreaking. It is the perfect James song in every respect, made flesh, let free, and allowed to soar. I have heard nothing finer, nor shall I ever. Getting Away With It can never top it, but the arrangement is pure genius, and is practically the definition of orchestral rock.
And so to the end, and Medieval. The choir and assorted band members come to the front for a final singalong. If ever anything could define the whole show, this was it. English, mediaeval, unexpected and ever so slightly cheesy. The refrain of We Are Sound sung perfectly in the style of a big budget West End musical tribute to James. It would not have been surprising in the least had Jean Valjean himself burst through the back curtain to lament on the empty chairs and tables.
Non appearance of 24601 aside, when the more cynical complement of James fans were lamenting what might have been before it even was, this is what we were lamenting. But it wasn’t what might have been, it was what it was. And it was the most unique and memorable show they could have put on. I will not say it was perfect, because it was not. It defied expectations, took unexpected turns and wowed and delighted. For a show of organisation and meticulous rehearsal, it could not have been more James.
Apparently there’s still tickets left for the Royal Albert Hall….
Dream Thrum begins with an orchestral swell feinting a double life as simply warming up. The song has always been dark and moody but here it reaches another level. If one were hearing the song for the first time one might jump to the conclusion that it had always been that way, yet the irony is that Laid as a whole was a much stripped-down affair, lacking the bombast of strings and brass. In translation, it’s a revelation. This would become a recurring theme throughout the night, as songs would be reinvented in totally new ways. When songs that obviously translate into an orchestral setting are played, they seem tame and uninteresting by comparison. Lookaway is a prime example, as merely replacing Mark’s sampled strings for the Orchestra of the Swan’s real strings simply doesn’t carry the weight of expectation after the stunning opener. Fairground and Really Hard repeat the process, with the former an unbearably delightful summer’s day jig, and the latter relegated to a merely lovely song with a rude name. It is clear though that the performance is as much the part of the evening as the music, Tim goading the lead violin into a trek across the stage in search of his sheet music. In many regards he was a joy to watch, chiefly because unlike Saul he actually looked like he enjoyed playing his instrument.
With Say Something we catch a glimpse of what a typical hit will have become in this new setting. Say Something has been a tired and uninspired thing since the reformation, but finally it is allowed to soar as a beautiful and uplifting creature. The sheer distance in quality between previous versions is enough to make your mind actually boggle. Boggle I say! As with Dream Thrum, it is difficult to imagine it was ever performed any other way. To follow, Dust Motes segueing into Hello. Dust Motes loses none of its fragility translated for an orchestra, and indeed the build up is so powerful it is almost a shame when the drums kick in. What is not a shame is the seamless continuation into Hello. Hello is possibly the stunner of the night (and in a night of stunners that’s some achievement) – what was once fragile is now powerful, once understated now bold, once forgotten now liberated. The smallest of keyboard backing motifs now soar with a full orchestra, Kulas’ piano line played to perfection by Mark, it is as close to musical perfection I will ever hear until Steps reform.
It’s about time Millionaires was given some deserved love and the love continue with a song of love that I love about love, love. Fred Astaire is the lyrical antidote to two songs of heartbreak (or at least I assume that’s what’s Hello is about – no one knows for sure), and is a rather upbeat, happy but strangely small number. Another oddity of translation – the bombastic sweeping love rock epic becoming a decidedly mediaeval and jaunty number. It succeeds in every regard. Monsters is more straightforward, with strings and brass augmenting the, er, strings and brass. It’s a testament to Mark’s skills arranging sampled instruments that they can be so readily and successfully interpreted by an orchestra and sound as if they were there all along. The welcome return of Hey Ma’s most enduring epic.
We’re Going To Miss You is perhaps the evening’s strangest piece. With a synthetic orchestra already present on record one would imagine it would be a simple task to adapt it for the real thing, but the translation doesn’t really work. This may be in part that the orchestra didn’t actually play the synth orchestra part and instead just kind of played along. In doing so what once sounded like the Pet Shop Boys’ epic synthesised joint through a poorly-lit red light district sounds like an average rock song with uninspired backing. Even the presence of the choir really adds nothing. A bafflement.
Hey Ma closes part one, making a mockery of the previous misstep by having the orchestra perfectly replace the synth. Not a song one would have expected to figure (assuming one hadn’t been so cynical in the first place and only expected the hits, which one was) but it certainly worked.
English Beefcake opened part two and defied expectation by actually being vaguely coherent for a change. Of course, Larry still hasn’t learned how to play it properly but bless him, he tries. The choir here really shine, no doubt helped by the sound mixer finally giving them a volume boost so we can actually hear them instead of just ogling from afar and feeling slightly guilty. Bubbles doesn’t quite hit the same highs, with the orchestral synth-impression working well, but not as well as at other times in the evening. The same cannot be said of The Lake, which took James’ most criminally neglected song and unleashed it for all to hear. If only Lee Muddy Baker were still alive to witness it, he may have at long last learned what dynamic range actually is, and realised that sheer power doesn’t come from whacking the compressor on auto and going on a six month fag break. In case my point isn’t clear, The Lake would have been the awe-inspiring revelation of the evening, were it not for some stiff competition (aren’t you glad I didn’t make another “Really Hard” joke then?).
Twelve hours in and only the second bona-fide “hit” emerges. She’s a Star. The band leaves; only Tim, the orchestra and those increasingly attractive backing singers remain. The unexpected twist of the night, She’s A Star has become an entirely classic piece, pastoral and decidedly English. The perfect accompaniment to a prawn sandwich and a cup of milky tea on the bowling green. From the lawn to the woods, as Why So Close takes us around the campfire as only an acoustic guitar, a fiddle and several burly men gather round to lament on the Cold War. The only thing missing were the beards.
Top Of The World, as demoed in a now infamous Youtube video, surpasses even those highs. This is the best version I have ever heard and may even been the highlight of the evening. To put this in perspective, I don’t even like the song that much. Saul’s solo was left beautifully intact, showing that he really can play when he can be bothered to. He later ditches the fiddle for a cowbell as we finally learn the answer to that age old philosophical question “can we have more cowbell”? As it turns out, yes, you can always have more. The pizzicato and the duelling cowbells combined to make a version of Hymn From a Village so delightfully jaunty that it might as well have been wearing its hat at an amusing angle.
And then, predictably, we must come crashing back to Earth. I will at least give this credit – Tim has finally figured out that the best way to get a completely and 100% spontaneous singalong to Sometimes is to tell the audience before they get started. At least he’s learning, bless. The rest of the song plays as expected, no different to the other 400,000 times you’ve heard it, but now you might be able to make out a faint whiff of despair coming out the cellist’s sound hole, as the orchestra is relegated to the simple and uninspiring backing, and the choir relegated to third place vocalists, behind Tim and the audience. Yes, it got everyone on their feet, but so do wasps. One has visions of the parallel universe where the whole show was like this, and weeps.
The home stretch now, and Millionaire’s most turgid and overblown piece shocks the Midlands by actually being listenable! More than that, Someone’s Got It In For Me comes into its own. Powerful without being overwrought, and brooding without being hammy. The decidedly odd choice of Space closes the set, with a harp filling in for the synth hook. It sounds rather odd. It’s a lovely song to be sure and a welcome addition to any setlist, but the orchestra adds nothing a keyboard couldn’t. The choir, on the other hand, show us just how much we missed Kulas and his one man barbershop quartet.
The inevitable encore and (this time I mean it) the highlight of the whole show… Alaskan Pipeline. Never in my wildest dreams (and it gets pretty mad in there, let me tell you) did I expect to hear something so pure, so yearning or so heartbreaking. It is the perfect James song in every respect, made flesh, let free, and allowed to soar. I have heard nothing finer, nor shall I ever. Getting Away With It can never top it, but the arrangement is pure genius, and is practically the definition of orchestral rock.
And so to the end, and Medieval. The choir and assorted band members come to the front for a final singalong. If ever anything could define the whole show, this was it. English, mediaeval, unexpected and ever so slightly cheesy. The refrain of We Are Sound sung perfectly in the style of a big budget West End musical tribute to James. It would not have been surprising in the least had Jean Valjean himself burst through the back curtain to lament on the empty chairs and tables.
Non appearance of 24601 aside, when the more cynical complement of James fans were lamenting what might have been before it even was, this is what we were lamenting. But it wasn’t what might have been, it was what it was. And it was the most unique and memorable show they could have put on. I will not say it was perfect, because it was not. It defied expectations, took unexpected turns and wowed and delighted. For a show of organisation and meticulous rehearsal, it could not have been more James.
Apparently there’s still tickets left for the Royal Albert Hall….