The Divine Comedy (London Palladium, 21.2.17)
As I said in the last blog, I find The Divine Comedy difficult to categorise. Wikipedia have gone with "orchestral pop", which tells some of the story. Generally I'd say that at his best Neil Hannon writes dense, eloquent, beautiful songs with a sort of orchestral indie sensibility*. Last night they returned to the London Palladium to play their first full band show in the capital since god knows when.
Support came from Lisa O'Neill who opened with a Galway folk song, setting the tone immediately. Her Irish accent gives her songs a distinctive feel which elevates lyrics as banal as "He's a nasty, nasty man". Some of her songs are fortunately more ambitious and by the end of her half hour set she's charmed the crowd.
The Divine Comedy take to the stage and open with the dischordant thrashings of Sweden, a song I don't much care for, but it's difficult to deny that opening a show with the line "I would like to live in Sweden" gives proceedings a satirical edge. We quickly move into funkier territory with How Could You Leave Me On My Own from last year's "Foreverland". From then on it's basically wall to wall brilliant songs for 90 minutes.
Mother insulter Darren Maskell fretted about whether the band would play Bad Ambassador and The Pact in the days and weeks leading up to this gig. We exchange knowing glances across Row J as the band deliver them back to back. The latter is a lovely, elegant tune, the former is one of the best songs the band have written, an effortlessly cool number with a sensational guitar solo.
There were so many highlights here, I don't have time for them all. The irresistably catchy Generation Sex. The epic Our Mutual Friend. The still brilliant lamentation of a lost French lover in The Frog Princess. The subtle tragedy of A Lady Of A Certain Age. The main set concludes with National Express, a big band triumph which sees everyone in the room on their feet.
Hannon is a charming, understated stage presence, batting back well meaning heckles but never derailing the show's momentum. "It's bloody exhausting being a pop star" he laments, as he struggles with a particularly testing section of "A Drinking Song", a track that he recorded nearly 24 years ago at the age of 22. But there's life in the old world yet and in Hannon too.
The show inevitably ends with the sweeping brilliance of "Tonight We Fly", the song that I'd still like played at my funeral. A magnificent set of songs in beautiful surroundings, this was one of the best shows I've ever seen.
"If heaven doesn't exist, what will we have missed? This life is the best we've ever had". Particularly on nights like tonight.
* I don't know what the fuck this means.
Support came from Lisa O'Neill who opened with a Galway folk song, setting the tone immediately. Her Irish accent gives her songs a distinctive feel which elevates lyrics as banal as "He's a nasty, nasty man". Some of her songs are fortunately more ambitious and by the end of her half hour set she's charmed the crowd.
The Divine Comedy take to the stage and open with the dischordant thrashings of Sweden, a song I don't much care for, but it's difficult to deny that opening a show with the line "I would like to live in Sweden" gives proceedings a satirical edge. We quickly move into funkier territory with How Could You Leave Me On My Own from last year's "Foreverland". From then on it's basically wall to wall brilliant songs for 90 minutes.
Mother insulter Darren Maskell fretted about whether the band would play Bad Ambassador and The Pact in the days and weeks leading up to this gig. We exchange knowing glances across Row J as the band deliver them back to back. The latter is a lovely, elegant tune, the former is one of the best songs the band have written, an effortlessly cool number with a sensational guitar solo.
There were so many highlights here, I don't have time for them all. The irresistably catchy Generation Sex. The epic Our Mutual Friend. The still brilliant lamentation of a lost French lover in The Frog Princess. The subtle tragedy of A Lady Of A Certain Age. The main set concludes with National Express, a big band triumph which sees everyone in the room on their feet.
Hannon is a charming, understated stage presence, batting back well meaning heckles but never derailing the show's momentum. "It's bloody exhausting being a pop star" he laments, as he struggles with a particularly testing section of "A Drinking Song", a track that he recorded nearly 24 years ago at the age of 22. But there's life in the old world yet and in Hannon too.
The show inevitably ends with the sweeping brilliance of "Tonight We Fly", the song that I'd still like played at my funeral. A magnificent set of songs in beautiful surroundings, this was one of the best shows I've ever seen.
"If heaven doesn't exist, what will we have missed? This life is the best we've ever had". Particularly on nights like tonight.
* I don't know what the fuck this means.
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