Far more on his menu than American Pie
Pop Don Mclean London Palladium
Concerts by septuagenarians best known for decades-old hits tend to come unstuck in two ways. Firstly, they regularly lack any form of interesting production, meaning they’re dull to watch. Secondly, the singer’s voice is often past its peak. Far too often, the chance to put a “legend” on stage seems reason enough for promoters to overlook the fact that the singer can’t carry a tune in a bucket.
Don Mclean’s show at the London Palladium – part of a 32-date UK and Ireland tour – certainly lacked production. It was just him and his band on a bare stage. But this was more than made up for by the 72-yearold’s voice, which remained strong and punchy.
And over a two-hour set that mined country, folk and early rock ‘n’ roll, the American Pie singer’s easy wit and arch anecdotes provided enough colour and context to carry the evening.
You noticed the hair first. Mclean’s extraordinary barnet was pitched somewhere between Terry Wogan, Donald Trump and Growltiger from the musical Cats. When he remarked upon the ornateness of his surroundings, he could have been referring to his mane rather than the Palladium.
Thankfully his songs were equally well-structured. Crossroads, a piano ballad from 1971’s American Pie album, balanced melancholy with hope, while Castles in the Air had a lilting Glen Campbell-esque shuffle. In many ways, the evening was a delve into Mclean’s personal songbook – we had covers of Buddy Holly, Roy Orbison and Johnny Cash.
The evening was peppered with bons mots. “Time is like a roll of toilet paper: the closer you get to the end, the faster it spins,” he said at one point. He also had digs at current musicians such as Ed Sheeran and James Blake. “We have some good musicians out there. We just have to teach them how to write good songs,” he quipped, claws out.
Just as the mix of styles was threatening to become slightly too thick a soup – the array of flavours becoming indistinguishable from one another – we had an epic 13-minute rendition of American Pie.
A sprawling rumination on counterculture’s impact on the American dream, the song was joyous. One-byone, the largely baby boomer audience sprung up like popping corn, singing every word and confirming American Pie as their Hey Jude or Wonderwall. Vincent, Mclean’s subtle and evocative ballad about Van Gogh, was gorgeous, only marred by a bum note at the end.
Some people argue that Mclean only has a handful of classic songs, though there’s far more to him than that. His soup was hugely enjoyable, even though his Pie was even better.
Until June 14. Tickets: 0844 871 2118; tickets.telegraph.co.uk
‘We have some good musicians out there. We just need to teach them how to write good songs’