Well then, this could be a contentious one. One being the operative word – me. Tonight, I suspect I am in a minority of slightly less than two. Barely contained chaos reigns in the Barrowlands from the second Depeche Mode take the stage until they reluctantly troop off. The atmosphere bouncing from front to back is quite spectacular, flying beer and all. I suspect for a good many lucky enough to be here, this will be the best gig they’ve ever been to. And yet… I think the band themselves are just all right. Good, perhaps even very good, but not the monumental performance the frothing crowd would have you believe.
Maybe this is the jaded eyes of a long weekend. It certainly isn’t not being a fan – I like ’em. There is just something that does not quite click. For sure, the atmosphere is actually better than Goldfrapp on Friday, say, but, that was a far better and more thrilling performance. Perhaps this just illustrates that the two things are quite separate. Christ, as a teenage goth I saw The Mission and it remains a seminal night – and yet they’re utterly crap, in all fairness.
Tonight is a fan’s night. Judging by the number of pan-European accents in the bogs, the touts will have made enough to retire on; not everyone got lucky. And, predictably, for an uber-fan to see Depeche Mode in a venue they haven’t played since 1984 is pretty special. On the way in, the stairs are blocked by people shouting, slapping each other on the back, barely able to get to grips with the fact they are here, now. That, at least, is beautiful to watch.
The thing is though, exciting though all this is, Depeche Mode are pretty conventional these days. Dave Gahan may still be a demonically camp, sinewy imp and someone you really wouldn’t introduce to your parents – a good thing – but the band as a whole… they’re pretty normal and stadium to be honest, despite the sweaty little shed we’re in. Little compared to their usual megadomes, obviously. Drums, guitars, bit of synth, rock god poses, away we go. It’s good but that deeply pervy otherness seems to have flown the nest. Gahan may be effectively taps aff at points but, given we’re in Glasgow on the sunniest day of the year, that seems par for the course rather than racy. The deviance that was so shocking and appealing has melted away into normality.
The band have a raucous time, however, and seem reluctant to leave come the end. As is understandable given the wall of appreciative noise being blasted back at them from the sweat-drenched throng. And ending on ‘Enjoy The Silence’ is brilliant. That bit ITM? does appreciate and even lightly steam at the ears.
Whatever one’s thoughts, it’s lovely seeing the Barrowlands in cracking form. Not even Mogwai made it move like this. Beautiful too, with multicoloured neon trees, jolly lasers and the diamond ceiling glowing in all shades. And, from front to back, the floor throbs like an enormous bass bin. I’m just unconvinced this is a band who sound particularly different to any number of other concerns. Perhaps it is that very stadium success that demands guitar type heroics and a drum kit the size of Wales.
Every other bugger has a great time anyway. ITM? has a good one.