From 18 to 80, fans unite for a Take That swayalong
There are tours, and then there are Take That tours. While other acts book into British arenas for about 15 nights, this middle-aged boy band can still manage 30, followed by 11 more in stadiums. They can charge £80-£250 for the tickets and sell 700,000 of them.
The fans know exactly what they are getting for their money. Arms will be waved, hearts will be warmed, ribs will be tickled and gobs will be smacked.
When Robbie Williams turned his back for good in 2011, half of Take That’s stage presence went with him. But it was barely missed because the others had already found
Take That
The O2, London
Touring until June 22 )))))
Radical Optimism Out now )))))
something to replace it: state-of-the-art stage design.
On all their tours, the true star of the show is the creative director, Kim Gavin.
His creativity can be a little perplexing. This gig opens like King Lear, with Gary, Howard and Mark, black-clad and weatherbeaten, making their way through a snowstorm. Soon it begins to feel more like a Broadway musical, all bright colours and moving staircases. Then it pivots again and becomes a pastiche of a 1960s TV show called This Life, which feels like a way of shoehorning in the decidedly downbeat album of the same name.
That album was a dud, a swerve into folk-rock that lasted only five weeks in the chart, and Take That are running a risk by playing eight songs from it. But they get away with it because of Gavin’s ability to lay on a feast for the eyes, or rather a tasting menu. Every 15 minutes something delicious arrives.
For Shine there’s a waterfall, slim as a screen, adding an extra twinkle to the consistently outstanding lights. For Greatest Day there’s a walkway that allows Take That to stroll over the stalls in long silver coats, looking like giant Star Wars toys. For Relight
FEAST FOR THE EYES: Howard Donald, Gary Barlow and
Mark Owen of Take That
My Fire, the standard plumes of flame are joined by an entire staircase apparently ablaze. For These Days, there’s so much confetti that you wonder if there will be any left for this summer’s weddings.
The fans – now aged 18 to 80 – play their part, laughing at
Gary’s little jokes, swooning when he sings A Million Love Songs, not minding when the other two do some solo stuff. They’re as responsive as any adult crowd I’ve seen.
If you ever want to witness a swayalong, a Take That gig is the place to be.
There comes a time in a pop career when everything a singer touches turns to platinum, and that’s where Dua Lipa is now. Her first two albums are still selling, she fronts a successful podcast, she had a cameo role in Barbie, and she’s about to become a Glastonbury headliner.
Radical Optimism, her third album, can’t fail, even if it’s not all that radical. As a philosophy, it seems to boil down to looking kindly on your lover’s exes, which at least makes a refreshing change from the misery-memoir school of music.
Lipa has drafted in Kevin Parker of Tame Impala as a co-writer and has talked about being influenced by Britpop, only to end up making volume two of Future Nostalgia.
It’s punchy dance-pop, rather one-paced, but the hits, led by Houdini, are irresistible, and Lipa’s voice is commanding.
At Glastonbury, she will surely get the nation dancing round the sofa.