None.
From sub-folk wastrels to huge stadium act, James, Manchester’s most enduring popsters, have come a long way in an eventful 15-year career.
Their adoringly received sell-out show on Saturday just goes to show what near-contemporaries the Stone Roses and the Happy Mondays could have achieved had they not pressed their self-destruct buttons in such spectacular fashion.
Granted, Tim Booth’s ascetic voice might not have been quite on top form — “you may have noticed that my voice sounds a little raggedly sexy this evening” — but the show still made for a top night out.
On a huge set, which looked as if it had come from a 1970s Habitat catalogue, James kicked off with an extended version of perennial live favourite, Johnny Yen.
Immediately, they managed to do what a number of big pop acts, most notably Radiohead, have failed to do in an arena this year — fill it with sound.
It’s been said before that James were made for stadiums, and a slowed down moody version of Laid, and a muscular Destiny Calling, all lush and rounded, proved it.
What made the night all the more agreeable was the unveiling of a trio of new tracks from what must be their umpteenth album, due in April. They sounded a touch introspective and melancholy.
A return to an earlier style, it was a brave thing to do, and although it meant we had to do without How Was It For You?, there were few unhappy faces at the end.
The other memorable occurrence was the sight of Booth singing Say Something from the upper tier of seats at the back of the hall.
It probably gave the security staff kittens, but the fans, many of whom had dug out their James T-shirts for old times sake, loved it.
As clearly, did Booth himself.
Beee-hiiind yoouuu! Twelve-thousand heads suddenly twist round and look up, up and up some more. There, perched like a pantomime dame in his spangly, mirrored showbiz coat, Tim Booth – friend of Zen and generally ‘on one’ spiritually – is belting out ‘Say Something’ from the toppermost stand and wriggling in a manner only the bravest would term dancing. It’s more arthritic flamenco, really. Still, James, Arena; Arena, James – you’ve met before, haven’t you?
And how deafening it is on their home patch, where just some of the 600,000 souls who’ve bought their ‘Best Of’ album are gathered to hear quite a good band shimmy through lots of songs that consistently dented the Top 20, maybe even the Top Ten.
An impressive occasion, then, though one our hosts fail to capitalise on initially. Sure, ‘Johnny Yen’, ‘Sometimes’, even new one ‘Fred Astaire’ are all familiarly rousing yet Booth, who has ditched the coat to reveal a black sarong and tight tiger T-shirt, seems genuinely too weird for his legion of fans. Even stranger, as the six other Jamesblokes try to work miracles through the muddy PA, Booth mingles with the crowd purely because, it seems, this is a stadium show and that’s what frontmen do. A Christian among the Coliseum’s lions, he is duly mauled.
No matter, because he’s up again, mincing across the stage with a bad smell under his nose. Perhaps it’s churlish to read his between-song prose as arrogance, but when Tim introduces ‘Waltzing’ as “a prayer for a strong heart and an open mind”, or oozes, “Trust us, we might know what we’re doing” before the swaggering ‘Vervacious’ (sic), there’s an overwhelming desire to squirm, or to slap him for being so patronising.
And still the hits keep coming. ‘Destiny’, ‘She’s A Star’, the anthemic Simple Minds strut of ‘Born Of Frustration’: all big, all with clever lyrics, all playing in an elevator near you now.
Surprises? Other than Tim’s glittery, neck-cricking encore entrance, no, especially since most of the people are already sitting down when that tune gets played.
The flags are unfurled, the lighters held aloft. James have seen their future and, frankly, it’s enormous. Be afraid, if you like.
None.
For James, a century on from their inception, the enormity of tonight’s show is an absurd aberration, fit only to be corrupted and lampooned. So, as the encore begins, following the first farewell of a typically swaggering “Sit Down”, Tim reappears in the seats at the rear of the arena, swarmed over by delirious, goldfish-mouthed fans. Genuine or simulated spontaneity?
Either way, it’s hilariously slapdash (Tim, stranded several miles from the band, wails “Come on guys, get back onstage!”) and the nonchalance with which it’s executed shows admirable bravura. Magnified on the screen, he gasps a breathless, “Wow!”
His astonishment at the resurrection of James’ career is touching if occasionally irritating, their we’re-not-worthy deference rivaling an Oscar-winning speech for inappropriate modesty.
But bands like James are supported by the weight of their history and they could easily present themselves as a soulless greatest hits vending machine. This puts James in the enviable position of being able to smuggle in a hatful of new songs (the sub-aquatic glide of “Vervacious” being the standout), once the crowd have been placated with some well-loved classics, be it the cyclonic propulsion of “Tomorrow” or the strumming frenzy of “Sometimes”. They can’t fail — even abandoning another newie, “Real World Jam”. Halfway through, as guitars and drums jacknife into each other, is interpreted warmly as a “they’re-human-after-all” sign, like Gary Kasparow losing a game of draughts.
“Ok, whose fault was that?” laughs Tim, walking up to drummer Dave like a solicitor approaching a witness. No one knows. No one cares. James are back from the wilderness and nothing’s going to halt this renaissance.
(as posted on the wattyco messageboard)
Tim wearing a dress-type thing and a buddha t-shirt with a dodgy looking leather jacket.
Saul being polite and assuming as usual – flicking me the finger at the end of the main set for no apparent reason, shouting Come Home and a tirade of swear words at the beginning before having his mic cut off (we think).
Tim climbing on speaker stacks and then the main speaker, scaring the life out of everyone ending up about six feet over Kulas head.
Tim dedicating Heavens to the lifers.
Gene – surprisingly – although Martin Rossiter has eaten all the pies
Soundcheck – they played three other new songs in the soundcheck, one which we think is called “Millionaires” which has a chorus “feel like Fred Astaire”, “Surprise” which some of you know and another one that we couldn’t work out a title for.
Of the newies, Confusion is a fast-paced “brother of Laid” with a killer guitar riff, I Know almost has a breakbeat backdrop to it and the lyrics are all changed from Oxford and they’ve deleted the”nah nahs” at the start, I Defeat is a slowie, with excellent lyrics about being in a good relationship and then throwing it all away and Vivacious starts off slow, builds up, heads off on a tangent and then slows down again.
So the big questions:
WILL THEY CHANGE THE SET LIST?
WILL SAUL GROW UP?
WILL WE SUFFER DEATH BY STEREOPHONICS FAN CRUSH TONIGHT?
we’ll let you know…..
P.S. Don’t you think it’s sh*t that CoS can’t sell fanzines before the show? will they remember that if the next LP flops and they’re slumming it back at the Forum? buy a fanzine, because the program is full of nice photos but little substance for £5