It must have been years. (checks notes). Yes, 45 to be precise. So an extra half hour won’t make much difference – though I’m guessing I’m not alone in a change of attitude towards live shows in that time. In 1979 Glasgow witnessed the first ever solo performance from Gary Numan, following a few pre-success pub gigs under the Tubeway Army moniker.
That show – at the city’s legendary Apollo – was, if memory serves, my third-ever live gig, and like everyone else of my age present, out on a school night, probably slightly merry from a couple of cans consumed in an alley somewhere en route from the station, as preparation for an evening kicked off breathless with anticipation.
Nowadays, a few thousand live acts later, the wait after the scheduled 8pm start is rather more of an irritation. Also, Mr Numan is even older than much of the crowd present, does he not have his bed to get to?
The audience – a mix of young-ish types who perhaps got into the synth pop pioneer via his later goth and industrial phase – are more excitable than myself perhaps, many of them having stuck with their idol through his career, unlike those of us who drifted away following a shift towards more New Romantic sounds and not reconvening when Marilyn Manson et al joined the party.
But tonight were here to celebrate those groundbreaking early releases – not the ‘Blue Album’ (first heard, then purchased thanks to a crackly Radio Luxembourg), but the follow-up ‘Replicas’ and the first ‘solo’ long-player, ‘The Pleasure Principle’. And it’s the latter that forms the basis of the stage design tonight – a distinctive pyramid shape in an illuminated box, looking like some sort of Pythagorean puzzle.
Finally, the band arrives. Things are, of course, different tonight. Just short of four-and-a-half decades ago, it was ‘Airlane’ (oddly, not played tonight) that kicked off Numan’s live career. This time it’s, perhaps aptly, ‘Replicas’, with its distinctive synthetic drum sound not having changed much in the intervening aeons. The band however is different – none more so than the shock-headed frontman himself, with his jet-black spiked hair and goth (I think it’s “goth”) stylings, and, to be fair, still pretty youthful appearance.
He’s flanked by what turn out to be guitarists but what I initially take to be two colossal bouncers, like the enforcers for The Cult of Numan. Shaven of head and clad in black robes they give off the air of monks, the high-ranking right (and left) hand men of their spiritual leader.
That’s tongue-in-cheek of course, Gary Numan has long been, despite his well-publicised Aspergers diagnosis, been pretty laid-back and approachable. It’s however notable that when in stage persona, he has no verbal communication whatsoever with the crowd. Was it always this way? (Well, no, not always…)
Also notable is the fact that the frontman now plays guitar live and covers the stage rather more than in ’79. That said, two songs in, for ‘M.E.’, he retreats to his keyboard, set towards the back of the stage. Numan will spend a fair part fo the night here, and those of us stage left find our view obscured by the Moog and vestments of Monk #1, giving the sense of a preacher behind a lectern. He – Steve Harris – also gives the appearance of having a running, finger-wagging disagreement with some audience member, though this may be just a normal part of the live show which only regulars are privy to.
And there are many regulars here tonight, though some may have brought offspring (and grand-offspring, possibly), Numan’s legacy meaning that those who grew up on these two seminal albums and Top of the Pops appearances rub shoulders with the new generation of fans schooled instead by a wide range of acolytes ranging from Afrika Bambaataa to Fear Factory, Nine Inch Nails and Ministry to Damon Albarn out of Blur.
And given this pedigree, it’s no surprise that the set consists of a series of what the youth of today might term “bangers” – ‘Me I Disconnect From You’ sees the rigs kick into life bathing the band in a criss-cross of orange bars and make up for the presumably over-expensive stage set from the late ’70s (sadly there were to be no hovering pyramids and Gary himself resisted the temptation to career around the stage in a wee car).
The pace ebbs and flows – ‘Do You Need The Service’ being among the most percussion-heavy of the night. The throb of ‘Praying To The Aliens’ contrasts nicely with the sedate ‘Tracks’, and as the set approaches its climax, a towering ‘Down In The Park’ is a portentous highlight.
Tonight’s setlist is of course confined to the two featured albums, but with the instrumental ‘I Nearly Married A Human’ one of couple of omissions, allowing for the inclusion of the unfamiliar-to-many ‘We Have A Technical’, and towards the end, ‘Only A Downstat’, similarly from the expanded reissue of ‘Replicas’, and which offers a chance for the crowd to have a wee blether before set closer ‘We Are So Fragile’, almost loud enough to drown out the remaining chatter.
There are two songs reserved for the encore of course, ‘Cars’ and ‘Are Friends Electric?’. It’s at this point I realise that Numan hasn’t spoken to the crowd once, apart from a break for, we assume, allowing aid to a distressed fan in the hot crush down the front, Numan crouching, guitar in hand, checking they’re ok before resuming to great cheers.
And that’s the strangest thing in what has been a triumphant set, seemingly enjoyed as much by the ‘homecoming’ hero as by his followers. Maybe Gary Numan, or maybe even Gary Webb, is watching from somewhere else tonight, living his life vicariously through The Machman. Certainly, on ‘Are ‘Friends’ Electric?’ – the crowd of Numanoids echoing back “are they?” – I’m sure he sings “This meant everything to me”.
Either way, the feeling’s mutual.
Photos by Catching Light Photography
Also chief newshound at Jockrock
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