// Category Archive for: Issues

Sparks Spectacular: Plagiarism (1997)

By Michael Pearson

It’s 8 p.m. on the seventh of June and I’m sitting in a bar just across the road from the Carling Academy in Islington. Sparks are due on stage in little under half an hour but I’m perfectly relaxed. I had chosen tonight’s album—Plagiarism—partly because being the money-conscious person I am it is amongst the lengthiest of Sparks’ canon, but also because I was sure there would not be too many people there. On entering the venue I immediately see how wrong I had been. The place is almost packed and the best spot I can get is standing right next to the bar.

Plagiarism of course, is Sparks’ reworking of several of their older songs, be it slowing them down, speeding them up, or adding strings. The additional musicians for tonight’s show enter the stage and sit there somewhat embarrassed for what seems an age before they are joined by the Mael brothers and their supporting band. Launching into “Pulling Rabbits out of a Hat” it is immediately evident that the whole band is again relaxed and confident. Everything works beautifully: the techno-thrash of “Angst in my Pants,” the beguiling strings of “Something for the Girl with Everything,” and the extended “Propaganda” after which Russell is visibly delighted to have got through word- and note-perfect.

About half-way through the show I look up at the balcony and spot a diminutive figure dancing away and clearly having a whale of a time. It looks like. . . Could it be? Indeed it could. Shortly before the end of the show the figure is no longer there but it reappears on stage in the guise of Jimmy Somerville, performing a wondrous duet with Russell on “Number One Song in Heaven.” In time to the words, “Written of course by the mightiest hand,” Jimmy falls to his knees and bows to Ron. Amen to that!

The following review was originally published on Cult TV and is being used here with the kind permission of the author and publication.

By Alex J. Geairns

2008 seems to be fast becoming one of those years where I get to revisit previous parts of my life with a new 21st Century perspective. And the lovely thing about it is that in almost all cases it wasn’t a case that the stuff that meant something to me all those years ago was a victim of rose-tinted spectacles. The return gigs have reminded me exactly WHY I was fired up about them all those years ago, and that I was right to hold them in such esteem to do this day.

Read the rest at Cult TV.

Sparks Spectacular: Gratuitous Sax & Senseless Violins (1994)

By Angie Holmes

Gratuitous Sax, Sparks in the 21st Century, and a Girl from Wolverhampton

The very first time I ever heard Sparks was on Radio 1 in 1974—shortly before my 12th birthday—and I was totally blown away by their sound. 34 years later I still adore them.

I first saw them at the Odeon Theatre in Birmingham on Thursday 6 November 1975; the ticket cost me £2 and I still have it! (I stuck it in one of two scrapbooks full of photographs and articles about Ron and Russell.) I have since seen them three more times and they just get better and better.

When I found out about the 21-gig Sparks Spectacular I just had to go to at least one of the concerts. The one that fit best with my schedule was Gratuitous Sax & Senseless Violins. This was perfect. My 15-year-old son Sam was “force-fed” them from an early age and fancied going to see them. He was two years old in the summer of 1995 when Gratuitous Sax was played over and over again on the car stereo on holiday in Cornwall. It was on so often that he knew lots of the words, often quoting “Gone with the Wind” by stating “Frankly Scarlett, I don’t give a damn” on a regular basis.

Anyway, we booked our tickets, also buying some for our good friends Chris and Jane (friends from High School). We also booked a hotel in Islington and some train tickets. On a wet Friday evening in June we pitched up at the Islington Carling Academy. I was so excited (much to the embarrassment of my son and amusement of my friends).

Ron and Russell were completely superb from the minute they came on the stage to the time they eventually left, after many minutes of tumultuous applause. The sound was excellent—Russell’s voice sounding exactly as it did in 1994. The guys in the band played well together and looked very smart in their specially-produced album cover T-shirts. It was Ron though, who stole the show. His presence is awesome, if a little scary, especially during “I Thought I Told You to Wait in the Car.” You feel as if he is actually scolding you as he wags his finger and stares into the audience. And as Tsui Hark was unavailable to do the vocals in the song bearing his name, Ron stepped in claiming that he was the only one who had a deep enough voice in the band—he even remembered most of the words! He truly looks no different to when I saw him all those years ago in Birmingham.

The large screen behind the band projecting “relevant” photographs was also a very nice touch as we were treated to stills of Charlie Parker, Vivien Leigh, and Clark Gable, not to mention some surfing shots for “Let’s Go Surfing” and a BBC logo for “Now That I Own the BBC.”

The venue was electric when they came on for their encore of “Marry Me” with the majority of the crowd singing along. It was so sad to see them go but wonderful to have been able to witness one of a truly historic series of concerts. No other band in the world has attempted such a feat and I doubt none ever will. That’s what makes Sparks the best band ever, never mind about the senseless violins.

By Here Kitty

My boyfriend is the longtime Sparks fan, not me. Like most listeners too young to have been there at the time, my Sparks knowledge stretched only as far my Dad’s “Best of the 70s” CD would allow. I admit Lil’ Beethoven was an aural epiphany upon my first listen in 2003, like swimming through shifting layers of sound, sublime orchestral movements unfurling around repetitive voice samples. I saw them on the 2006 Hello Young Lovers tour and loved their humor, their style, and showmanship. I laughed at the cynicism and truth in their lyrics; I appreciated their obvious originality and eccentricity; and I thought Ron was cool and Russell cute, seemingly ticking all the right boxes for fangirl membership. . . and yet. . . somehow I still hadn’t made that transition from casual listener and occasional gig-goer to full-time obsessive. Gratuitous Sax & Senseless Violins is the gig that changed that.

I was 17 in 1994 when Gratuitous Sax was released, and although I didn’t listen to the album until the journey down to the gig, I felt a rather disjointed sense of nostalgia as the lights started to throb in time to the thunderous opening beat of “When do I get to sing “My Way”—I know I hadn’t heard the song before this year and while I can’t remember listening to music quite like it in 1994, I know if I had heard it back then it’s exactly the kind of thing I would have loved. So there I was in 2008, listening to new music which reminded me of the past and discovering just how much my tastes haven’t changed.

There was so much to like, but my favorite of the night was the infectious and epic opener “My Way.” “Now that I Own the BBC” was both bright and bold, and I thought “Charlie Parker” translated particularly well too, like a lyrical roller coaster, part tongue-twister, part scattergun. “Hear No Evil” was wistful and beautiful and creepy. “I Thought I told you to Wait in the Car” was a surprisingly intense and enjoyable performance and I was impressed again by “The Ghost of Liberace,” another track I had thought of as one of the weaker songs on the album, but one which was utterly charming on execution. Though it was when Ron took the microphone to darkly intone “Tsui Hark” that caused the biggest fan uproar of the night, evoking more cheers and catcalls when he missed out the Chinese bits.

The brothers contrast yet complement each other. Russell is impishly-little, camp and charismatic with the crowd. He is so frenetic in his performance that of the 79 of photos I took that night, 76 show him to be an artily-blurred figure ghosting movement trails, like a 70s howlaround. Only three managed to show such detail of the Rhys-from-Hollyoaks indie cut and black-and-Brighton-rock-pink jacket. Silent and still (and therefore much more photograph-friendly), Ron is pipe-cleaner thin and business-man smart, a look oddly offset by a Boston Blackie tache and trendy trainers, doing the whole moody-glower-behind-the-keyboard act, a band dynamic I thought the Pet Shop Boys had originated rather than ripped-off. Sparks are funny and charming and as they say on Exotic Creatures of the Deep, oh-so-likeable.

All this has inspired an interest in Sparks’ back catalogue and I’m discovering more and more to like with each new song on each album. But it’s a bittersweet experience, because I can’t help but think how much better it would have been to hear so many of these songs for the first time crammed into a mass of like-minded fans, clamoring to see over taller shoulders and uplifted mobiles, while attempting and failing to get another photo of Russell not moving—rather than sitting at my computer on my own. Oh damn my timing.

The following review was originally published on Playlouder and is being used here with the kind permission of the author and publication.

Gratuitous Sax and Senseless Violins 1994, yet another Sparks renaissance album. They’d been away for six years having been stuck in something of a creative rut at the close of the 80s. Few would’ve predicted that their comeback would not only fit seamlessly into the musical climate of the time but that it would produce their biggest hit single to date, leading to a full critical reappraisal and new appreciation for their work.

Read the rest at Playlouder.

Sparks Spectacular: Interior Design (1988)

By Miss Missy Tannenbaum

Hey, this was fun! Interior Design is the Sparks album that many fans—often in sheer annoyance—have called “Inferior Design,” but it worked great on stage. The sound was crisp; the performance showed a great enthusiasm for digging this album out of the shame pit, and that was done without trying to update the eighties arrangement that has condemned the album as being dated.

As always, there were speculations among fans about how the album would sound live in 2008, and there were certain expectations that there would be changes made to achieve a more layered sound. There were no changes and thankfully so: firstly, because it showed how brave Sparks are to perform a type of musical arrangement that’s not considered to have stood the test of time. It was also a reminder of how many different types of musical styles Sparks have embraced and appreciated, an attitude that has kept them versatile as artists for years.

By the time from the first Halfnelson gig to this album (number fifteen in the line of shows) it seemed to be settled that Sparks would play the albums as faithfully as possible to the studio recordings. When the evening’s first song “So Important” started the show, it felt amazingly close to the original album sound. Jim Wilson got his moment with a short but delightful guitar solo.

“I Just Got Back From Heaven,” the album’s weakest song, benefited from the boosted bass sound that’s typical for a live setting. The studio recording of some of the songs sounded flat, but in a live context they became more vivid. In “A Lot Of Reasons” for instance, Wilson got his chance again to put the guitar in good use, giving the song an extra punch.

Interior Design‘s ballads “You Got A Hold Of My Heart,” “Toughest Girl In Town,” and “Let’s Make Love” were absolutely gorgeous. The highlight of this gig was “A Walk Down Memory Lane,” a song which let Russell make beautiful use of his falsetto voice. On “Madonna,” Russell sang a verse in French which made the audience cheer with enthusiasm.

Tonight’s big surprise was that the band decided to play two obscure songs instead of one as they’d usually been doing. The choice of the encores was splendid; first, the mighty “Big Brass Ring,” which was unexpected since the forthcoming concert of Plagiarism has a version of that melody. The other great surprise was “It’s Kind Of Like The Movies” from the Bad Manners soundtrack, a song so obscure that Russell believed no one had heard of it. Again, Wilson kicked in with a smooth guitar solo to end the evening’s last tune.

Sparks Spectacular: Music That You Can Dance To (1986)

By Miss Missy Tannenbaum

Music That You Can Dance To is an album that very few fans would entitle as their favorite. As with the other low-rated albums, MTYCDT‘s advantage was most of the fans’ belief that it would probably be better live. When Sparks started with the album’s title song the beat kicked right in. Gone were the previous night’s sound problems with the synth; it sounded as crisp and loud as it could get.

This is not the easiest album to perform live because it has more heavy drumbeats and bass than harmonious melodies. By far, the most difficult song of the evening was undoubtedly the cover of Stevie Wonder’s “Fingertips.” The performance was good; the band did everything to the note and more. Judging by Russell’s vocal work he really wanted this to be well received; he absolutely did his best. The problem was that without audience participation a live version of “Fingertips” falls dead, and unfortunately tonight’s audience seemed completely uninterested in the song. What a pity, as it would have been great if the crowd would have bothered to just shout “Yeah!” That was all the song needed to become an excellent live performance.

Thankfully there were melodies like “Armies Of The Night,” a wonderful highlight of the evening where Russell’s voice was at its very peak of clear, sheer beauty when he hit those high notes from the middle part of the song.

During “Shopping Mall Of Love” it was Ron Mael’s opportunity to shine with his lead vocal, but he certainly was not in a hurry to let us hear him sing: he rather wanted to drink some water. To everybody’s amusement Ron showed off his cleaning skills after spilling water on the stage. He demonstrated that time is not an issue when it comes to wiping the floor clear of everything of a liquid nature. His poignant, dry singing contrasted with Russell’s perfectly. It was a joy to hear the drumbeats as the only instrument and there was really good work by Steven Nistor, who was accompanied by Russell’s and Jim Wilson’s terrific hand claps.

The encore was, as expected, “Change.” Over the years, “Armies Of The Night” from the main set has ended up being a more obscure song than “Change,” but the difference this time was that the song was performed with the original eighties hard synth arrangements instead of the piano version Sparks have done in recent shows. No matter which version, “Change” is truly popular among the fans, something that the enthusiastic crowd proved with a standing ovation.

Sparks Spectacular: Pulling Rabbits Out Of A Hat (1984)

By Janina

This isn’t my favorite album; I had to think twice about booking to see it because in my view it contained too many soppy songs (although maybe not as many as Interior Design). But on the strength of the Introducing show I went along on the Sunday and never regretted it.

I preferred the Islington Academy to larger places: it was great feeling part of a community, especially for a slightly more obscure album—here the venue was only around half-full. There was possibly some corporate hospitality going on, with dressed-up women in heels being ushered past the ropes and later to the front of the stage—they didn’t seem to fit with the middle-aged, hefty Sparks fans already standing there.

The music pounded out for Pulling Rabbits and Russell came on stage. I found the title track very atmospheric, even though Russell’s pitch is less suited to singing “deep and brooding” stuff. There seemed to be more going on in terms of lighting in this show—a lot of dramatic colors flashing up suddenly and then off again during the lines “applause, applause, applause.”

I so rarely play most of the tracks I’d forgotten what was on the album, so it was fun not knowing what came next—a case of beat the intro. I actually enjoyed “Love Scenes”—it’s a gentle verse but there’s a bit in the chorus where Ron’s synth goes “crash crash,” so that, combined with Steve Nistor’s drums, really made an impression. Or perhaps I just don’t play it loud enough normally. “Pretending To Be Drunk” seemed to be a favorite with the audience; it’s a cheerful bouncy number, although Russ slightly messed up the lyrics at one point.

“Progress” seemed to be a hit—very punchy. The audience, mainly men, sang along, of course. “With All My Might” was another low-key number, but probably suitable for a small audience. I think “Sparks in the Dark,” short version, segued straight into the next track as per the album, but can’t now remember. “Everybody Move” is one of the best on the album for me. The song “Sisters,” about a threesome, also proved popular, with hands being waved in the air. I actually think there is an underlying air of melancholy about a lot of the lyrics on this album.

Russell commented on the encore playlist for the forthcoming final gig, giving away that Introducing‘s “Goofing Off” was going to be one of the numbers; he also mentioned “A Song that Sings Itself.” (In the end the latter proved not to be the case.)

As there was plenty of room, I danced about to the long version of “Sparks in the Dark.” Russell mentioned it’s one of their rare instrumentals and he only hovered around the stage for a while. Again, it was a case of following strict album order that made the concert perhaps take a little downturn as the whole “team” wasn’t involved.

When they all returned on stage, the encore song was given away by Ron, said Russell. Big brother grinned and insisted he’d just been checking his keyboard but the Psycho knifing sounds had come out, so those in the know guessed that “National Crime Awareness Week” was coming up.

Another really enjoyable gig and a privilege to be part of something this special. It’s also great to be reintroduced to music you’ve had for ages but neglected. It’s not a classic, but either way, I’m now playing the Rabbits CD regularly in my car.

By Musicalsushi

I’ve always felt a bit sorry for Pulling Rabbits Out Of A Hat. Released in 1984, and containing songs such as “Progress” and “Everybody Move,” it never really stood a chance of aging well. All the same, there are some decent songs on there, crushed under the weight of dodgy mid-eighties production. I can never decide whether this is my favorite bad Sparks album or my least favorite good Sparks album. It marks the turning point between Sparks’ popular early-eighties work and their. . . uh. . . less appreciated late-eighties albums—but it’s not obvious on which side of the line Rabbits lies. A nineties re-recording gave the title track a new lease of life—this violin-driven version sounded less tired and much more distinctive than the song’s original synth-smothered form. Throughout the first half of Sparks’ 2008 tour, I was impatient to find out whether a modern performance of the full album could rescue the rest of the songs.

The night of the show arrives, and I arrive at 7:30 to catch the support act—tonight, it’s the Young Knives, who missed their earlier slot supporting A Woofer In Tweeter’s Clothing. They play a good set, but the audience haven’t really warmed up yet. By virtue of moving my head and torso to the spiky beats, I’m one of the more enthusiastic dancers.

Between the two sets, I mingle with other fans and chat about their expectations for tonight’s show. Although many faces are familiar to me from previous nights, there are also many people who’ve only recently started attending the tour. One of the die-hards tells me this is his favorite Sparks album. Others are more circumspect, but nonetheless enthusiastic about the show. Many fans are eagerly anticipating the live rendition of “A Song That Sings Itself,” which I doubt has ever been performed live in the UK.

By the time Sparks take the stage, just over 140 fans have turned up (when I ask the manager about attendance figures a couple of shows later, he seems fairly certain that this night had the lowest attendance of the tour). En route to his keyboard, Ron peers at the album cover projected behind the stage—he is wearing the same clothes tonight. Russell is dressed in a silver pinstripe suit and pink tie. Steve Nistor counts in for the title track, and it sounds amazing from the start: I know already that the rest of the album is going to sound fantastic live.

Russell virtually acts out the words of the chorus, shouting, “APPLAUSE! APPLAUSE!” with passion but then clapping politely and reservedly to the audience; I like this. By the end of the song, the audience have livened up, unable to resist the pounding synth and guitars. They immediately dance and sway when the next song, “Love Scenes,” begins. Russell flexes his arm to punctuate every synth blast in the choruses, and who’d have thought eighties-style synths could sound this good?

After “Love Scenes,” Russell finally welcomes us to the show, although he’s not sure how far into the tour they are at this point—hardly surprising, as he’s already played through 12 shows. Some nice, cool beers appear on the background screen as the intro to “Pretending To Be Drunk” starts to play. As the percussion kicks in, the audience begins to pogo. The dancing continues during the next song, “Progress.” Russell sings the anachronistic lyric “you’re so fun, so alive, you’re so 1985” without altering the year, and it describes the song pretty well—it’s clearly a product of the eighties but we’re having great fun dancing to it.

Someone shouts, “Brilliant!” after the applause for “Progress” has died down, but the whole audience cheers when Ron starts to play “With All My Might.” Despite the slower pace, the audience is still dancing, and it sounds sublime. The bridge solo places more emphasis on the guitar than the synth, unlike the LP, which is good, but unfortunately the backing vocals during the choruses can’t really be heard over the instruments. The pace picks up again with “Everybody Move” and the audience resumes bouncing up and down, while Russell tries to catch us out by getting us to sing along—of course, as the gig is populated almost entirely with die-hard Sparks fans, no one drops “Everybody move!” in the wrong place as he’s hoping. We cheer like mad when the song finishes, having had a fantastic time, but the highlight of the show is just about to begin.

“A Song That Sings Itself” is a huge fan favorite, and it’s likely that this song was responsible for many people deciding to come to this show. One fan films it in its entirety—you can probably find the recording on YouTube. Nistor’s percussion gives the song a real boost, and Russell’s singing is right on form, although it feels strange to hear the chorus without the faux-harmony used on the LP. Russell encourages us to clap along during the bridge, which starts off as synth chords but becomes a guitar solo. As the song draws to a close, most of the audience are swaying and clapping along. The atmosphere is enhanced further by pellets of bright, primary-colored light drifting down the screen behind the stage—yet more eighties style, but perfect for the song. The audience are rapturous when it finishes, and Russell takes this opportunity to remind us that we can vote for songs we want to be played in the final set of the tour, but points out that he and Ron might well “stuff the ballot box” in favor of this one. “We’re allowed to cheat; it’s our band.” Sadly, it later turns out that this song doesn’t get selected for the final set—a real shame, as the live rendition in this show was excellent.

The next song is “Sisters.” I’m impressed that Russell still manages to hit the falsetto notes in the bridge. He also sings the chorus to the next song, “Kiss Me Quick,” in falsetto—you may also be able to catch this one on YouTube. When the applause dies down, Russell triumphantly announces, “Ha, my night’s over!” The final song is an instrumental, “Sparks In The Dark.” The audience claps along enthusiastically during this synth-driven piece, which is augmented with extra guitar during the second verse. Russell dances near his brother’s keyboards, and at one point Ron turns to glare theatrically at him. Visual jokes centering on Ron’s stern demeanor have been a mainstay of the tour.

To enthusiastic applause, the band returns for an encore after the main set, and Russell asks us to thank each of the band members: Steve Nistor, Jim Wilson, Marcus Blake, and Ron Mael, whom he ironically describes as “sort of weak on lyrics but his instrumentals are fantastically composed.” Unfortunately, Ron disgraces himself by jumping the gun with the encore song—we hear a couple of chords from the Psycho theme, and people cheer as they realise the band are going to play the awesome “National Crime Awareness Week.” “I was just testing!” he protests, and Russell tells us that “we have a lot of songs with Psycho shower scene intros. We’re not going to do the obvious one.” Needless to say though, they go ahead and play it, and it’s as fun as it always is—throughout my tenure as a Sparks fan (which only started in the 21st century, sadly), this song has been a staple of their live sets. As such, it’s not a unique treat like some of the other encores, but it’s impossible not to enjoy a live performance of this song, and I’m delighted that it’s been chosen to end such a great concert, even if Ron did let the cat out of the bag. Russell has his revenge during the bridge, making stabbing motions at Ron with his mic, in time with the Psycho theme that Ron’s playing. Everyone has a great time dancing to the song, and the cheers and applause last so long that the Mael brothers can hardly leave the stage. We’re told to look forward to the next show, although they can’t remember which album they’ll be playing.

Sparks did a superb job of this show, updating the songs and emphasizing the guitar and bass for the live concert, but retaining the fun, cheesy parts of their eighties sound. I’m not the only person to be impressed; a Canadian tourist, visiting London for three days, approaches me after the show to chat about the music, and tells me that he’d never heard of Sparks until tonight but had read about the tour and decided to come to the gig on a whim. He liked it so much that it was hardly any effort for me to persuade him to buy Kimono My House on his way out. It’s official: this gig was good enough to convert Sparks virgins into new fans!

Sparks Spectacular: In Outer Space (1983)

By a-anne

In Outer Space is a creepy record. Sure it’s gloriously danceable, but it’s creepy. It’s like Less Than Zero set to music: all air-headed teenage bliss, girls, sex, insecurities, and parties galore: “Let’s meet the rest of our friends/At a place that’s called/I forget what it’s called/But it’s really great/And all our friends will be there.” The undercurrent of menace that threads through the album manifests itself in “Dance Goddammit,” arguably the darkest song ever set to record, but Sparks being Sparks, one still possible to dance to, even if you feel a little coerced into it.

And what a dance. Every single song on the album lends itself perfectly to the Russell Bop: skipping frenetically from one foot to another whilst swinging arms back and forth in an over-exaggerated manner, and incorporating the occasional twirl when things get really exciting, like a badly-choreographed aerobics session. I’d vouch for it being the greatest dance ever, possibly even surpassing the Ron Shuffle. While Russell himself may have stopped indulging in it long ago, it doesn’t stop me (and quite a few others) from having a go in public. Not that it’s so public anymore, as these gigs became a private party for about 400 hardcore fans about a week ago. No one minds a little embarrassment in front of friends.

The big question of tonight’s performance was who was going to perform Jane Wiedlin’s duet parts in “Cool Places” and “Lucky Me, Lucky You.” As it turns out, the answer was no one—and rightfully so. If it couldn’t be Jane, it wouldn’t really work with anyone else. Russell the vocal superhero copes just fine, and with eunuch-voiced sidekicks Jim and Marcus, both songs on the album bop along all honeyed and glowing. “Popularity” sees a whole audience singing along to the synth line in the middle eight. People are so happy that they even go a little crazy for “Praying For A Party.” Or maybe people just like that song. It’s never done it for me, but it chugs on through with its totally singable chorus being all rousing and irritatingly persuasive.

“All You Ever Think About Is Sex!” The greatest synth pop song ever written! I danced. It’s telling when you’re only twenty minutes into a concert and you’ve got leg cramps already. The Russell Bop is deceivingly exhausting. The gods being as good as they are, “Please Baby Please” is the slowest track on the album, and demands exuberant singing but very little dancing. By the time Russell announces, “This song’s called. . . ‘Rockin’ Girls’,” everyone’s refreshed and ecstatically bopping around again at the prospect of hearing one of the greatest Sparks songs live. Russell mangles the lyrics a little, but at least he gets “Come on baby!” right, which is obviously the most important part. Once the song ends, the entire audience spontaneously yells, “Yeahhh!” immediately before showering them with applause and eternal gratitude. We are having a Good Time.

“Dress for success/That’s what they say/Give me some clothes to slap over my head”—it’s impressive when lyrics can still make you laugh when you’re hearing them for the hundredth time. Another sing along, ending in a 400-person-strong “LET’S GO!” and by the time we’ve got through “I Wish I Looked A Little Better,” the applause is deafening. “A Fun Bunch Of Guys From Outer Space” passes gleefully, and in the context of watching the Maels pull out their most sunshine L.A.-centric tracks in a gloomy London rock venue, is almost convincing.

And then it’s that horrendous beast of a song, “Dance Godammit.” Don’t get me wrong; it’s an underrated masterpiece. It swaggers; it sounds as horny as hell. When Russell eyeballs the audience, intoning “Do you wanna dance?” you know it’s not a question but a roundabout imperative. Frightening and somehow so wholesome.

They encore with “Sports,” the b-side to “Cool Places” and we damn well dance. The audience cheers throughout the verses and choruses. . . we more or less just cheer throughout the whole thing. “One more time for a healthy body! One more time for a healthy mind! One more time for no good reason!” Just to prove their point, at the moment the song ends Russell dashes onstage with a custard pie. Just as we’re in full party mode, they terrify us, and just when we’re scared enough, they bring on the slapstick. With the infamous album cover projected high above their heads, he gently, astonishingly, tenderly, lobs it at Ron. The crowd goes wild, a little guiltily, but it’s probably safe to assume he’s more than used to it by now. “You got an extra bonus,” drawls Ron. After a gig like that, it’s not like we needed one, but having proved themselves the most generous band in history, who minds them going one further?

Sparks Spectacular: Angst In My Pants (1982)

By a-anne

Angst In My Pants is my favorite album ever made, so this review will be entirely biased and partial. To hear it live was like a thousand blessings, an invitation to the greatest party—perhaps not the biggest, but the most unstoppably fun. Someone in the audience was wearing a flashing Little Mermaid bracelet. Someone else wore a gold lamé jumpsuit. Another was in possession of a full packet of Dramamine. I love Sparks.

Russell wore the green sequin jacket, as seen on Saturday Night Live in 1982. I think I may have wet myself in a dazzling rush of happiness. The outstanding sadness that Ron didn’t strip or wear the wedding dress was immediately excused and Ron forgiven, for he wrote all these songs and I’d forgive him more or less anything.

For reasons unknown, they played a buzzier, synthier version of the title track, more in keeping with the version played around the Balls era. Having strived to replicate the original sound on every other album, this decision meant the concert started with a little sigh of confusion and disappointment alongside the frenetic cheering that greeted the opener. And then there was the sound: from where I stood at the barrier, everything was a muffled catastrophe. I idly imagined punching the soundman to the beat of “I Predict:” “And somebody’s gonna die/But I can’t reveal who!” indeed. “Sherlock Holmes” became a barrage of percussion and not much else, with synth, bass, guitar, and even Russell’s vocal inaudible above the pounding drums.

While the concert was dogged with sound problems, in retrospect this was almost irrelevant. The Sparks Spectacular series was half-live-performance and half-concept. Perpetual awe that were actually doing it automatically compensated for all technical hitches, even if it meant losing perfection a little here and there and wanting to kill people at the time. The real joy was hearing the songs live (they never toured the early eighties albums in the UK) and dancing like a fool—and who needs perfect sound for that? Answer: everyone, but with all these albums indelibly etched in the brain, lost melodies and deafening bass lines were automatically corrected in the mix internally.

Meanwhile and regardless, the band played on like veritable troopers—I believe it’s the whole of the backing band’s favorite album—and as long as Russell was wearing that jacket, they could’ve come on, taken a bow, and left, and I would’ve tripped into seventh heaven. “Sextown USA” was a storm, all outrageous vocals and ohhhh yahhhhhs. The real gem-like trio of “Nicotina,” “Mickey Mouse,” and “Moustache” I have no recollection of at all. That’s the amnesia of true bliss for you.

Russell referred to this album as their record of “L.A.-themed songs” and the delightfully vacant lyrics made it all the more of a joy to sing along with. Dog! Cat! Bird! Pig! Lamb! Horse! Cow! Fox! Wolf! Snake! Ox! Fish! A Goldfish! Mouse! I love Sparks. And somehow this remains one of the most poignant records they’ve ever made. “Instant Weight Loss,” “Tarzan and Jane,” and “The Decline and Fall of Me” respectively manage to be vacuously touching tributes to eating disorders, kids gone wild, and old age, while simultaneously remaining gloriously pop. Or something. “The Decline. . . ” in particular made a surprisingly excellent live transition, possibly because Russell was radiating absolute happiness and superb falsetto. Lyrically it’s a mountain amongst mountains: “Now I’ve got a hobby/I collect frozen pizzas/check out my pizzas.”

“Eaten By The Monster of Love” was a riotous sing along: huge, stupid, and perfect. My face hurt from a non-stop grin. We knew what the encore would be. It couldn’t have been anything else, but I still screamed like a fool when they announced it: “Minnie Mouse,” the poppiest pop song ever written. A whole evening of saccharin glee, topped with a cherry of a love song to Minnie Mouse. Life doesn’t get much better.

By Albert Resonox

The evening started with the usual revelries in The Eddie (EDVI as it is signposted), but I thought I’d leave the party behind just to check out The Standards who were supporting Sparks for “The Angst Show.” It’s funny how we kept abbreviating these shows. It was because we were so comfy with them, I suppose.

The Standards weren’t, I have to admit, everyone’s cup of tea, but by George, milk and two sugars for me! I thought they were cracking: a performance combining high camp and rock (though not always in the same song). They thanked us for the enthusiastic reception and said they couldn’t wait to get into the audience to watch Sparks, which elicited another massive cheer.

Whilst the stage was cleared, little knots of strangers compared notes on the previous shows and people they had met during this Sparks marathon. Cheers, screams, and shrieks were heard as the band took the stage. As usual, Ron’s entrance (though it was not as some wags predicted, in a wedding dress) was greeted by thunderous applause and chants of “Ronronron Ronronron” which he acknowledged by an almost shy wave. The lights dimmed for Russell’s entrance (in a lime-green sparkly jacket) and this was greeted by another bout of incredible cheering which was reciprocated by Russell’s self-effacing wave.

Then that genius of the skins, Steven Nistor, counted the band in on his drumsticks and we were off to “Angst In My Pants.” I love this track and tonight’s rendition was awesome and absolutely flawless, even the little “southern drawl” bits on the end. Of course the crowd sang along. How do some of the guys in the audience get to the high notes?

“I Predict” was a belter; it really rocked. I loved Russell’s little can-can dance at the appropriate line and Ron’s look of mock chagrin at this was a treat to behold, but it didn’t cause him or the other musicians in the band to waver from the performance (though I noticed they all smiled a bit; obviously a private joke there). And when this song did eventually “fade-out”? Oh my, the applause was deafening.

“Sextown USA” was its usual roller coaster ride, though I didn’t notice who was making the “crispy” noise. I assumed Ron, but thought it might’ve been Steven Nistor (although how he would have time for anything other than the drums is beyond me; I’m truly converted to his fan-club). Russell announced the next track as “Your Very Own Sherlock Holmes” before delivering a most poignant and heartfelt rendition in which the angst of the narrator really shone through.

Russell spoke about the band’s “L.A. phase” before launching into “Nicotina.” Only Sparks could produce a rock ballad of this caliber about a cigarette’s aspirations and ultimate death. It was really obvious the band were enjoying this album because they were so tight. I’ll bet the rehearsals for this one were a real fun time. Then it was “Mickey Mouse.” Russell told us about how Disney were initially sniffy about this song but soon grew to like it. Soon we were all singing along too, even raising our hands and clapping.

I often take a little glance around the audience at gigs just to gauge the reactions of my fellow fans. By this point everyone was smiling which I took as a good sign! And as for Sparks, I have noticed that here are times when Ron’s stare into middle distance was almost beatific, glowing with something akin to the “hero light” in the tales told by my Celtic ancestors.

“M-M-M-Moustache” was next, another real belter of a song about the most unlikely of subjects. Only Sparks could do it—or would dare to—and do it as brilliantly as this. And the crowd knew it and loved the band for it. The other “L.A.” songs were soon rattled off: “Instant Weight Loss,” “Tarzan And Jane,” each getting the tremendous cheering and applause they truly deserved.

“The Decline And Fall Of Me” was next. . . Oh excellent, one of my favorites on this album and Russell’s, too, it seemed. He even reminded everyone about the “encore” voting and recommended this as a contender, a very worthy contender I might add!!

The final album track (where did the time go?) was “Eaten By The Monster Of Love.” Oh man, it was a dream to hear this live and loud with the usual astounding applause at the end. One girl, who was uncomfortably close to my ear, was screaming with such piercing intensity that colonies of bats in the Outer Hebrides would’ve swarmed into a frenzy, but she was happy. . . bless!

The band was duly introduced and cheered in turn. Ron was introduced as the “one who writes songs about Mickey Mouse and Moustaches.” He merely took the mic and said, “Write about what you know!” and shrugged. The band trooped offstage to allow us to chant for the encore (even though by now we knew it was coming).

And what an encore! “Minnie Mouse” was the perfect accompaniment to this show in my opinion. The song’s raison d’etre was explained nd you’d think we were all confirmed Mouseketeers the way we sang along. Again, it ended much too soon and off we went to our various places to sit and discuss the shows. One thing which was striking: everyone noted that each song seems to be unstoppable. . . until the next one is played and so on. It must be a measure of how incredible these guys are!

Sparks Spectacular: Whomp That Sucker (1981)

By Noisy Boy

This show was absolutely awesome! I was slightly unsure of how it would go, with the sparse attendance the night before, and Russell’s reticence about the eighties, but there were many reasons why this was up there with the best.

For one, the sound was the best I’ve heard at any of the gigs so far, apart from No. 1 In Heaven. The guitars were up-front, the synths popped through at the right point, Steven Nistor had the drum sound down pat, and the whole thing was very faithful to the album. When they came out and simply tore through “Tips For Teens,” I was completely enthused!

The whole album is a real favorite of mine and “Upstairs” (one of my most frequently-played Sparks obscurities) was impeccable. It was also great to be surrounded with an audience who were totally up for it, joining in on all the call-and-response on this song as well as “Funny Face.” It was also great to see Steve McDonald back in action, as having Marcus on second guitar adds an extra punch that was absent for the last two shows. He’s so energetic and expressive that it always cheers me up to just watch him for a bit.

I thought things went off the boil slightly for “Susie Safety” but came right back in for the last two tracks on the album. Following a convoluted monologue from Russell concerning Giorgio Moroder and his friend Nastassja Kinski, they really nailed that in the same key as the original (my one contender for a song they’d change key for). Absolutely magnificent. Same for “Wacky Women,” which was a lot of fun, and again lots of crowd replies on the “Medic! Medic!” bit.

The encore of “Get Crazy” was actually from the 1983 film, not this album, but it certainly looked like Russell was surprised at how well known it was, and I was impressed with the amount of people who were singing.

By a-anne

While the whole of the Sparks Spectacular was destined to be infallible and heavenly, the holy eighties trinity of Whomp That Sucker, Angst In My Pants, and In Outer Space were always earmarked as the ones where I’d lose my cool and fall writhing to the floor in shameless ecstasy. I love these albums. I’ve been known to cry while listening to “Moustache;” some combination of incredulity, adoration, and too much dancing. I acknowledge that I may have problems, but judging by this past month, I’m not the only one.

Whomp was, quite simply, the best concert of the series. Ten albums into the run, the audience had slimmed down from the hyper-crowds of the Island Three, and we—punters and band—had relaxed, gotten to know each other, and settled into a most extravagant routine. In fairness, the first five tracks on this album couldn’t fail in any context. The sound for once was spot on, we all danced in idiotic fashion, and to be honest I can’t remember a lot more. The opportunity to bellow, “Don’t eat that ice cream!/Is it vanilla?/GIVE IT TO ME!” was seized by the entire audience, grateful for the opportunity to finally sing such a thing in public. O, happiness!

This series of concerts has been a golden opportunity for everyone who’s had a lifetime in their bedroom singing along to records to air their obsessive lyrical knowledge. The call-and-response on “Funny Face” and “The Willies” (“Physically! Mentally! MORALLY HE’S LAX!”) were tailor-made for overexcited fans, and Russell sounds particularly splendid backed by a chorus of about 400 people singing tunelessly and much lower than he does. It shows his voice off very well, and it’s damn fun.

Whomp is a particularly demanding album to sing at points and while we didn’t expect any less, Russ effortlessly hit every note in glorious fashion, with Jim and Marcus impressively close behind. “Where’s My Girl” and “Upstairs” in particular, left me torn between standing open-mouthed in awe, and falling at their feet sobbing in appreciation. Predictably I did neither of those things—standing still in “Upstairs” is a physical impossibility—I thus resolved to dance my way out of a dumbstruck corner. Sparks! You band of gods!

The highlight—and given that the entire set was stupendous, this was not only very subjective but highly unexpected—was “The Willies.” “The Willies!” I turned around in the midst of all this glee to see how my friends were coping with the unstoppable barrage of joy, and witnessed a sea of people, all of them eyes closed and heads cocked to the side, mouthing, “They call it The Willies!” And then I collapsed laughing on the barrier, unable to sing or dance for the rest of the song. For all the unforgettable, magical things that happened in May and June 2008, this moment represented the personal pinnacle of the whole month. It’s probably the pinnacle of my entire life.

Alas, then came my three least-liked Sparks songs: “Don’t Shoot Me,” “Suzie Safety,” and “That’s Not Nastassia.” (Why Ron! Why!) And yet, even they transcended their hellishly-irritating recorded selves, and became live tracks which still annoyed the hell out of me but in the most charming manner possible. “Someone looking like her stole a bike/That’s not Nastassia!” still remains a class lyric, while Russell’s hilariously bungled spiel about Giorgio Moroder just about rescued the rest of the song. My wringing of hands by the fiftieth “Nastassia!” symbolized a particularly affectionate frustration, and any pain I experienced was immediately countered by the immense rush of love I felt towards this damn band for managing to annoy me so much at such a happy moment.

Whomp is an album of silliness. While it contains waves and rivulets of increasing degrees of silliness, topping “Wacky Women” would be an impassable impossibility. I have spent my life waiting to hear Russell Mael sing the immortal lyric, “Hello everybody this is Russell! And right before I sing I’m gonna make a muscle!” When the moment came, a tear arrived in my eye. And the rest is a frenzied blur, a blur of arms and legs, of simultaneously dancing and crying, of yelling, “MEDIC! MEDIC! MEDIC! MEDIC!”, a blur of having three of the greatest minutes of my life. The encore was “Get Crazy” and that was faultless, too. I can’t say much more.

Sparks Spectacular: Terminal Jive (1980)

By Noisy Boy

I’m pretty sure that many Sparks fans would be of the opinion that anything following the euphoria from the No. 1 in Heaven show would be a letdown. And in some respects it was: the attendance was quite low and the sound mix was a bit fluid (too much guitar in one song, too much keys in another), but the whole experience was still wonderful.

Ron and Russell may have publicly stated that this is their least favorite album, but Ron’s beret (indicating the popularity of “When I’m With You” in France, I suppose) and Russell’s continued onstage enthusiasm would suggest otherwise. All songs were delivered with panache and vigor, and the smaller crowd responded in kind! Not as much dancing as the previous show, but plenty of shouting and approval.

The best song of the evening was probably “Noisy Boys” (for obvious reasons) and would’ve been slightly edged out by “Young Girls” (noted by Russell as being on Word Magazine’s recent list of inappropriate songs) had the keyboards been mixed slightly higher. Interestingly, John Thomas’s sterling keyboard work was a lot more to the fore than Ron’s, but the song was no worse for it. He took the solos on “When I’m With You” perfectly, and added some nice textures to the sound.

The surprise encore of “Singing in the Shower” was another highlight, and a nice dedication to the late Fred Chichin. As Russell noted, this was their final album of the seventies, and their decision to u-turn from Harold Faltemeyer would lead to their eighties output, which begins tomorrow. . . can’t wait!

By Miss Missy Tannenbaum

This album was a follow-up to the excellent No 1 In Heaven, but it has not been the most popular album among fans, something that the small crowd of about 150 people proved.

Knowing that the Mael Bros weren’t happy with the album, I was a bit unsure if some of the missing synth sounds were intentional or not. The band seemed to give the album a more rock sound approach.

On the night’s first song, “When I’m With You,” there were volume problems with the synth but it was quickly boosted. Unfortunately, there were a lot of disco elements from the synths that were either too low or left out of the mix, something that was also apparent in the performance of “Rock ‘n’ Roll People In A Disco World.” However, Russell’s vocals were prominent and clear through all the songs and the backing vocals were a joy to hear.

As Russell pointed out, Word Magazine had written that “Young Girls” was an inappropriate song, but having expected an awkward moment myself, I must say this was a good sing-along for the audience and the creepy edge was taken away from it.

There were some speculations about the possibility that the instrumental version of “When I’m With You” would be left out. I was actually surprised when it was played, but finally the synth was done justice with a loud, clear, crisp sound.

The highlights of this set were “In Stereo,” “Young Girls,” and “Noisy Boys.” All had rich sounds and interesting electronic elements added to the vocal performances. The evening’s last song before the encore, “She’s The Greatest Show On Earth,” made the audience clap through the whole tune and Jim Wilson’s guitar (together with Steven Nistor’s drums) rounded off a great ending to the show. The extra song, “Singing In The Shower,” seemed to be the big audience favorite. It was a nice homage to Les Rita Mitsouko and especially to the late Fred Chichin.

Sparks Spectacular: No. 1 in Heaven (1979)

By Noisy Boy

Magnificent. The best gig of the series so far, and nearly perfect in every respect. From Sparks’ twisted concept of introducing an era-defining disco album with a lullaby-singing David Lynch lounge band (Gamine) and Charles Aznavour, to Portishead’s new album on the PA, to Ron’s magnificent “homage” asymmetrical hairdo, this was Sparks in their element.

Maybe it was due to the fact that there’s so many sequenced bits on the album, or that it’s just shorter than the others, but everything was impeccably performed, and any worries my accompanying “Sparks Army” may have had were unfounded. From the opening bit of “Tryouts For The Human Race,” through the end, everything was just about faultless

When they finally reached the pinnacle of “Number One Song In Heaven,” everybody around me went absolutely apeshit. I even got a laugh out of the Bob-Dylan-cognizant portion of the crowd by yelling “JUDAS!” when Russell was talking about accusations of selling out when the album was first released.

The finale of “Dancing Is Dangerous” was something that had crossed my mind as a potential choice, but it turned out to be a revelation. If the album’s not been released on CD, someone should take the bull by the horns and get it out quickly!

As an aside, how good is Steve Nistor? His work tonight was absolutely sterling. From his sequenced pads to his strict disco rhythms, the guy is untouchable.

By Will Vigar

No. 1 One In Heaven: A Tale of Tragedy, Annoyance, Enormous Pain, and Ultimately, Transcendent Redemption

Things started off badly; I don’t travel well. Since moving from Southampton to Leeds, the relatively painless journey to London has become something of a nightmare. The option of flying is right out; airplanes terrify me in a way that probably only readers of Lovecraft can comprehend. The train, my preferred method of transport, was prohibitively expensive for one surviving on a student loan, which left the choice open to hitch-hiking (nuh-uh!) or the National Express coach.

The National Express? Ron, Russell. . . do you see how I suffer for you?

Four hours and twenty minutes on a coach was just about do-able. Or at least it would have been had it not been for some very large sporting function taking place at Wembley. The coach was full of people whose idea of a good time was to sing/shout loudly at the top of their voices to no recognizable tune about the prowess of people I’d never heard of. To make matters worse, they were scaring the four babies on the bus, all of whom responded by screaming for the entire journey.

Of course, I said four hours may have been do-able. Factor in road works and two fans going missing at a service station break and it becomes more like six hours. Once the service station farce was over, we were back on our journey. Journey implies movement in time and space, doesn’t it? I’ve ever had such a timeless journey where no progress seemed to be made. The guy sitting next to me decided to quiz me about my team allegiance. I didn’t even know what sport was being played, let alone what teams were playing. Oh, the joy of being pointed at and abused for three hours. How many people walked up the aisle to “look at the bloke who doesn’t like sport'”?

I was in Hell and, fittingly, waiting for Heaven.

It didn’t come at the hotel, that’s for certain. The room was damp, the wardrobes moldy, the windows made mostly of glass (but patched up with rotting cardboard), and strange things that probably once had a use were partially removed, the remnants jutted forlornly from the walls, their embarrassment covered by a thin layer of distemper. The strange red stuff oozing from the wall was best avoided. The lights above the bed didn’t work and the only place you could plug the kettle in was above the sink, meaning you had to hold it while it boiled. A single sheet tried to cover a double bed.

The bathroom was shared by four rooms and not en suite as advertised, didn’t have a functioning shower, and the guttering needed fixing. We knew that by the constant torrents of water falling outside of our window. It was a converted cellar, interior design by Josef Fritzl.

The kitchen next door woke us at 6:30 a.m. preparing breakfast so outlandishly bad the Geneva Convention should really be informed. The triumph being “raw toast” and instant coffee in a cafetière which they “plunged” for you at the table. Why? Anyway, we left to look for fun and found some at the British Museum in the form of prints by American Artists of the 1920s through the 1950s. Then we went to find food.

The next day (gig day!) was more fun. We found a good exhibition of Artists’ Books at the V & A, met friends for lunch at a cracking Japanese Bento specialist, and prepared ourselves for No. 1 in Heaven.

When we arrived at the venue, we settled into a good space and with good grace gave way to those with a more burning need to be nearer the front. Except once it became full and we really couldn’t move, some idiot about a foot taller than me and several feet wider did probably the rudest and most painful thing anyone could do in that situation. Without so much as an “excuse me,” he put his leg in front of me, trod on my foot, and at the same time pushed my leg back. He barged his body in front of me and trod on my other foot, effectively pinning me to the floor by my feet. He then thrust his arse back to “move me,” forgetting I was pinned, and in the crush, broke my little toe and tore the muscles and ligament in my left calf.

There are words for people like this. I’m sure you know most of them. I couldn’t move and he wouldn’t, despite being pushed and yelled at directly into his ear. My partner had to take something of a flying leap to remove him from my feet. He propped me up for the rest of the gig. Whoever that bloke was, I wish you nothing but pain, you arrogant wanker.

But, onwards. With many gins inside me (hic) and a stash of painkillers usually used for my back, I got through the gig. The healing power of music anyone?

I got through it and enjoyed it enormously, although previously I had been sort of apprehensive. I’ve said before that the only reason I was going to No. 1 in Heaven was to hear “My Other Voice” live for probably it’s one and only airing. This sort of damns the rest of the album with faint praise and that really wasn’t the intention at all. I love the album, the only reservations being with “Academy Award Performance,” which I have a love/hate relationship with.

However, On Came Ron, complete with the ill-advised haircut of the No. 1 in Heavenalbum photo. Marvelous. Definitely worth an outing just to see that! Some wag yelled, “Get your hair cut!” but Ron just rolled his eyes.

The synth-drums started and we were suddenly into “Tryouts For The Human Race.” When the beat kicked in, a try to dance. Not the smartest of moves given the situation, but I bobbed happily. I don’t recall seeing this song live before, although I believe it may have been played relatively recently (maybe the Ocean gig which I left early because the sound was so painfully bad). I really don’t remember the album having such punch; “Tryouts” was a triumph! What made it work so perfectly was the two guys on backing vocals. I’m so pleased this was live, rather than keyboard/sample/backing track/whatever. It added so much to the immediacy, the passion, and the overall “liveness.” This was something special.

Next up, “Academy Award Performance,” the one I didn’t really want to see. Consider me converted. Again, the punch—the “liveness”—added so much and the do-do-do choruses were insane, frenetic, manic, and perfect. More nearly-dancing took place, the adrenalin, Paracodol, and gin easing the discomfort and facilitating more movement. (At this rate, I thought, by the time “Beat The Clock” comes round, I’ll be in a frenzy!)

What confused me at this point is that as much of a joy as the live performances of these songs have been before, the sound has always been a bit thin, a bit weak. . . so where the hell is all this power coming from? How are they making it sound so wonderfully visceral? It can’t be just the addition of real drums, although that really, really is helping.

Strangely, “La Dolce Vita,” was a sort of lull in the proceedings. It worked well, did everything it was supposed to do, and somehow didn’t quite hit the heights of the previous two songs. But that’s not to say I didn’t enjoy it; it simply wasn’t as revelatory as the previous songs. “Beat the Clock” was “Beat The Clock” only moreso, again sounding a million times better than previous incarnations, and clearer—so much clearer—with so much more verve.

It’s strange. The next song came as something of a surprise. Yes, yes, I know they were doing all the albums and all the songs from all the albums in order, but MY GOD! THIS IS MY OTHER VOICE! Cue girly scream. Honestly, I’m standing there and they are playing “My Other Voice.” No really! They really are! And it’s wonderful. It’s often overlooked, and Russell seemed a tiny bit embarrassed about playing it (a comment like “Well this rocks, sort of” along with a grimace led me to believe it’s not a favorite of the band), but it’s what I’m here for!

30 years I’ve waited and there it is being played live just, in my little fantasy world, for me. I’m utterly lost. Russell sings and, again in my fantasy world, validates Sparks’ entire output in the space of four lines of song. Transcendent. When the second verse comes along, complete with vocoder/processed vocals, I just lose it. Tears fall, I have to hang onto Andy for dear life. He didn’t really understand the sobbing and weeping, but then he’s not really a fan, rather an incredibly patient partner who understands Sparks’ importance to me. . . from a slightly bemused perspective. I could die now and feel my life is complete. I am sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo gay!

Luckily, having died, I get to go to Heaven. It’s the first time I’ve heard “Number One In Heaven” played live in its entirety ( I was always frustrated by the segue into “Never Turn Your Back On Mother Earth” in live shows) and. . . oh hell, I’m totally lost, totally ecstatic, and dancing like an idiot. The sobbing subsided and I developed a Cheshire Cat grin which lasted for some time.

The encore, “Dancing Is Dangerous,” is a song I was aware of, but which I had never heard. I can’t say it’s the best thing Sparks have ever written, but it was worth hearing and acted as a perfect cooldown. I’ll try and track it down and give it a proper listen. But it was fun and good to see people singing along at the end.

And with that, they were gone. I was very very happy.

I even grinned all the way through the hospital visit. Yup. Broken toes, torn ligaments, strapped up, and on crutches. But I wouldn’t have missed that gig for ANYTHING.

The hotel was just as bad when we got back, the coach home slightly less unpleasant, but I’d seen “My Other Voice” live.

Does it get any better than that?