I like Guy Garvey. I really do. The wife and I have spent many a relaxing Sunday evening just chilling out to his laid back tone and low-key musical selections on his BBC 6 Music show. What's more, The Seldom Seen Kid was one of my favourite albums of 2008. Some grumbled at the time that the disc's Mercury music win was more of a vote of sympathy for a bunch of old geezers who had been plugging away for almost two decades than an acknowledgement of any true artistic achievement. Although I'd still dispute these misanthropes, their bitter commentary now sounds somewhat prescient.
This year has seen a number of high-profile festival appearances for the band, plus the release of Build A Rocket Boys! their fifth studio album. I have to confess I misheard the lyrics of Lippy Kids as Build A Rocking Horse. Perhaps this isn't surprising, as the LP deals with the subject of nostalgia and childhood, and lacks the elements of menacing nastiness that undercut the stadium swagger of previous tracks such as Grounds For Divorce.
Despite the increasing cosiness of a band, that according to Garvey is becoming very comfortable with the joys of fatherhood, we leapt at the chance to see Elbow at the Apolo in Barcelona on 20th November. For those that don't know, it's an old-fashioned music-hall style venue in the heart of the city's theatreland, with atmospheric lighting and pretty good acoustics. The band had been slated for the seating-only Poble Nou Casino, but as they are now a stadium act, the lads apparently felt happier with the larger venue.
Arriving at the Apolo for the umpteenth time we were in for a shock. Apart from the fact that most of the crowd seemed to be British, there was a really peculiar demographic. Middle-aged couples such as ourselves jostled politely with pensioners and children in their early teens. What seems to have happened is that a bunch of UK forty-somethings had packed up granny and the kids for a musical trip to Catalonia. It's been recently shown that the age of UK festival attendees has risen dramatically in the last few years, and this gig seemed to be an illustration of this.
However, it wasn't the age profile of the audience I found disturbing - after all I'm getting used to being the oldest git in the room at concerts these days, and having a few wrinklies in the room made me feel a little less exposed. The problem I had was the flashbacks this happy-clappy crowd gave me. When I was about twelve years old, my parents took me to see The Spinners at Crawley Sports Centre, and now, 32 years later I was looking around the audience, half expecting my mum and dad to be there, clapping along to The Birds.
The band itself were in exceptional musical form. Garvey's voice was CD-perfect. And acoustically, the change of venue had paid off handsomely.
But.
Garvey was just too twee for me. Despite him being increasingly tipsy and letting out the occasional fuck, the performance was anodyne O2-Arena-Simply-Red-ness at its worst. What in moderation could have been amusingly whimsical asides became increasingly cloying. Band-led hand-clapping during slow numbers, and every other song being "dedicated to YOU, Barcelona!" added to the feeling of a Blackpool singalong without the knowing camp. By the time the entire band were standing around the piano toasting their two decades together - and act that can only be described as Doonicanesque - I was ready for the sick bucket.
At the end of the encore, Garvey seemed ready to redeem himself by referring negatively to the day's General Election in which the right-wing Partido Popular had won an absolute majority, to the dismay of most Catalans. So did we get Leaders Of The Free World to see us off into the night? Did we fuck. The band played A Day Like This as they always do.
Time to Build A Rocking Chair, Guy. Here's the video.
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