IQ
If you’d just landed from Mars and were labouring under the delusion that prog – or neo-prog, which IQ have always denied being – was unremittingly earnest, po-faced stuff, tonight’s encore may have thrown you. First, most of the band return to the stage wearing Santa Claus hats, with singer Peter Nicholls keeping a straight face and sighing that this is the only costume change the budget allows nowadays. “But where’s Mike?” he continues. Then guitarist Mike Holmes wobbles and teeters on, a gigantic pair of white angel wings strapped to his back. Like a bespectacled Pygar from Barbarella, it’s a bold look. It takes
a few minutes and the help of two techs to get his guitar strap over his shoulders, but style is worth suffering for. We’re just absorbing that as the band drive into Out Of Nowhere. That then segues into a full-throated, highly festive rendition of Abba’s Mamma Mia, complete with re-enactments of the Swedish popsters’ video. My my, how can we resist this? It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Prior to this jollity, IQ have, over a two-hour show, reaffirmed themselves as one of the UK’s leading practitioners of classic prog. The band have chafed at pat categorisation in the past, but now appear maturely at ease with their niche. At root influenced by Genesis and Yes, they’ve carved their own twists and spins on the form, embracing a harder rock edge at times – there is more juice here for guitar fans than for keyboard cats - but always aware of the big picture and how a song arcs itself through a dramatic narrative. The curve of the set as a whole is also astutely judged, ebbing and flowing to maximise the impact of their interwoven spells of forcefulness and serenity.
The bulk of tonight serves as a 25th anniversary celebration of 1993’s Ever album, which saw Nicholls returning to the fold after a five-year sabbatical.
This stands up strongly now, its balance of bombast and ballast solidly showcasing IQ’s intelligence and strength. It was a key moment in their career, as the singer’s temporary departure had led to them attempting fumbling forays into more obviously commercial, radiofriendly material. And, frankly, they were no threat to Abba.
Reunited with him, they reverted to the snaking and digressive lanes of light and shadow they do best. It’s played in full (though not in order), punctuated by fan favourites such as The Road Of Bones, Frequency and Failsafe.
Nicholls is an appealing frontman, selfdeprecating between songs, his theatrics of yore now toned down. In fact he’s almost too humble, his lighthearted references to the band’s age only serving to remind the audience that they too are prisoners to time’s ravages. When performing, however, he succeeds in conveying melodrama through subtle movements and gestures rather than masks and props, and sings consummately. “Seasoned liars and false messiahs” are among his targets. Holmes interjects importantly with pretty Hackett-like solos and roaring, chunky riffs, most strikingly on Fading Senses, which is the night’s highlight. The Darkest Hour works well as an opener, teasing out all the unit’s abilities, and revealing echoes curiously prescient/ reminiscent of Trevor Horn’s production on Yes’ Fly From Here.
There’s the obligatory I-came-here-fornostalgia-not-novelty mass trip to the bar when they play a new song, sadly, but it’s good enough to lure people back swiftly, and there’s a loud take-up when Nicholls asks who’ll be coming to the new album’s launch show in September. You’d be wise to join them. Just don’t expect the angel wings and Santa hats next time.
“AT ROOT INFLUENCED BY GENESIS AND YES, THEY’VE CARVED THEIR OWN TWISTS AND SPINS ON THE FORM, EMBRACING A HARDER ROCK EDGE AT TIMES BUT ALWAYS AWARE OF THE BIG PICTURE.”