// Category Archive for: Sparks Spectacular

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?

Sparks Spectacular: Introducing Sparks (1977)

By Janina

I wanted to see this album live mainly because I’ve not seen it done before. My favorite Sparks opus will probably always be Propaganda. However, unlike say, Big Beat or Music That You Can Dance To, I still like all the songs on Introducing.

I “prepared” for the gig by talking about it with new-found Sparks “friends” in the pub beforehand—we’re a dedicated, “fine bunch of guys.”

For Sparks’ 1977 album, Introducing, which was a third of the way through their mammoth past repertoire, the small Islington venue was just over half-full, but it was not a bad turnout of clearly hard-core Sparks fans for what Russell Mael himself said was “one of the lesser known albums”. He stated it was “a real treat that” we came out and made them feel “all warm inside”. Aah. The fans were very conservative-looking guys—none of the Goth and Bohemian crowds seen in larger venues when the band has showcased a new album. Although there wasn’t a lot of movement on stage, it was hard to see everything clearly.

The guitarists, drummer, and the roadies were all wearing T-shirts with Ron’s face from the album cover. It’s a reminder of what a mammoth undertaking this was to plan, since the T-shirts change for each gig, as does the stage’s only decoration—the screen backdrop with the album covers rotating. Such attention to small (and as always, tongue-in cheek) details is definitely appreciated.

The line-up onstage was similar to the previous six gigs: goatee-bearded Jim Wilson, a Sparks fan, was on guitar; apparently he’s been amazed that he’s actually on stage with the Mael brothers. Curly-haired Steven Nistor was on drums, but for this show Marcus Blake pitched in on bass, doing a sterling job—as did the entire quintet. Russell wore a black suit with red stripes and tie. Ron sat in his white shirt and played away without engaging for the entire hour. It’s been said he doesn’t like Introducing at all, but with his deadpan expression on stage we’ll never know if he does hate it or whether having performed it live in front of an appreciative audience changed his mind.

“A Big Surprise” opened the show, with the crowd already singing along. If there’s one thing that could niggle with these concerts it’s that since the order of the songs follows that of the albums, you’re not necessarily opening, or closing, on the strongest, rockingest number, but this “Surprise” still came across well, with Russell even managing a bit of bopping on the small stage. Was it my imagination, or did he look tense at the start and then relax as the songs went on?

“Occupation” rocked, with Russell ironically checking with the audience for the lyrics at the “we pilots” point and subsequent verse. “Ladies,” a song about flights of fancy involving famous women, came and went without so much impact, but still got the crowd singing along. However, I wonder how close to bland some tracks on other albums may sound live. . . I always preferred the upbeat, fast numbers. “I’m Not” and “Forever Young” were punchy numbers with the guitar screech section in the latter song coming across perfectly—”just like the album,” everyone said. “I’ve broken every rule,” sang Russell, and musically Sparks certainly have done that.

“Goofing Off,” the song like a Cossack dance, was definitely the sharp rocking highlight—with the crowd shouting out “hey!” when needed, and the guitars allowed free reign to go into a long frenzy. Alas, whereas for Indiscreet strings had appeared, Sparks had decided not to bring on a violinist for the start of this number, so Russell spoke the first verse with no background music and then, like a train chugging off, the pace built up into the sledgehammer chorus.

“Girls on the Brain” and “Over the Summer” could be Beach Boys tracks, one of Sparks’ cited influences from L.A. Jim and Marcus gave a perfect rendition of the backing harmonies for these, especially as the album itself has seven backers. For “Girls on the Brain” did Ron nod his head when Russell sang “. . . my brother, who is kind of thick?” How far from true. The songs, while more muted and less frenetic generally than the more familiar previous albums, still carry the same Sparks chuckle-inducing lyrics.

A few times Russell seemed to mispronounce words—”menopause” in “Girls on the Brain,” for example—but otherwise the performance was flawless. The low-key “Those Mysteries” had grown men waving their arms and swaying.

The encore was a mid-seventies b-side—”Alabamy Right”—where Russell had to revert to his trademark of singing fast and very high so it was quite a contrast to the Introducing songs. The bass guitarist on the previous concerts, Steve McDonald, was brought back for this one song which was “so complicated” that it required an extra hand on stage.

The overall sound could have been a little less booming and the clarity of the backing vocals turned up a notch (though I’m no techie), and there was perhaps less enthusiasm, but generally—although Introducing is a short album—it was another fine Sparks night for me. The short concert left me wanting more, so had to rush off to buy tickets for two others.

Sparks Spectacular: Big Beat (1976)

By Michael Row

You gotta realize: I’m a social worker by trade—on a fixed income—and I’m trying to get by in insanely expensive London. This isn’t exactly easy. Much as I might’ve wanted to, I just couldn’t plop down £350 for a Golden Ticket to see all 21 SPARKS gigs at the Carling Islington Academy. I had to choose, and very carefully.

Initially, I figured I’d go and see the very first record the Mael brothers ever recorded—under the moniker HALFNELSON—a really weird one, even by SPARKS standards. Then I started leaning toward Angst in My Pants: that was my newwavey entrance into the wild and woolly world of SPARKS as an 11 yr old in ’81. Eventually, I even considered Introducing Sparks, their most maligned and dismissed work; I am a contrary bastard by nature. But one godawful early morning a few months back, I reached for something to hold morning coffee and I found my hands wrapped tightly around my vintage SPARKS Big Beat mug. I’d made my decision.

Yes, Big Beat from 1976—the first LP SPARKS made stateside after returning to L.A. from their years-long, chart-topping run in the UK. Recorded with an entirely new band, some of whom had been plucked from New York “new thing” bands like MILK & COOKIES and TUFF DARTS. A return to a simpler, harder-rockin’ sound. And a big letdown in the eyes of most SPARKS fans.

But to these ears, Big Beat always sounded like a big step forward: they were turning into a streamlined CHEAP TRICK that suited the second half of the seventies like a glove, while their lyrics remained as cynically absurd/biting as ever. So what if the arrangements and production felt a bit blunted in comparison to earlier LPs like Indiscreet? The Maels were in the process of reinventing themselves yet again, and that’s when SPARKS always felt most vibrant.

I struck up a conversation with a greyhaired, 40-something fella while in line. By day, he worked as a rubber scientist (!), but night he transformed into an unflagging SPARKS fanboy and lucky Golden Ticket holder. He gave me a rundown of the first five shows I’d missed and we chatted about things only meaningful within a tight SPARKS orbit: what Ron’s moustache looks like these days, how cryptic the lyrics to “Biology 2” were, and which song they might play for the encore this evening (I picked “I Wanna Hold Your Hand”, while he chose correctly with “Tearing the Place Apart”). I appreciated the opportunity to vent my fandom to someone similarly awestruck.

Early on in the evening, Russell gave thanks to the far-from-capacity crowd of mostly middle-aged men for coming out for “one of the obscure albums.” He acknowledged that we all could have done the obvious and come out for Kimono My House—yawn—but we didn’t. We were there for Big Beat. We knew he knew why we were there.

No bare chests or high-waisted white jeans on display from Russell on this night. But that didn’t matter, because he was belting out these tuff tunes like Jacques Brel might’ve sang “Jacky” back in ’65, if that Frenchman had a deeper appreciation for Marshall stacks and three-chord guitar pop. In between songs, Russell put the songs into context: prefacing “Nothing to Do” with a story about how Johnny Ramone was always threatening to work up a cover of it with his RAMONES (it woulda sounded hot), and relating the story of writing “Confusion” for a Jacques Tati film that was left unfinished when the director died suddenly of a pulmonary embolism. Throughout the gig, Ron sat near-immutable behind his Roland keyboards—with logo altered to spell out Ronald—only slightly altering his stare sloth-like every few minutes to creep everyone out. The real show-stopper was “I Want to Be Like Everybody Else” which got all us gushing fans screaming along like it was a dumb football chant. “A warning,” Ron noted halfway through the set, “some of these lyrics are not meant to be taken literally.” Thank you, sir, for the clarification.

Weirder still was seeing gentlemen Ron and Russell propelled forward by such a young, motley group of backing musicians. On closer inspection, I realized I recognized a few: Steven McDonald of REDD KROSS on bass, Jim Wilson and Marcus Blake of MOTHER SUPERIOR on guitars. These longhairs played it perfectly—wild but rock solid—with that restrained precision that always marks all SPARKS in my mind. Eternal teen Steven M., in particular, looked to be having a grand ol’ time, grinning and bobbing as he thumped out basslines that may well have inspired a half dozen different REDD KROSS tunes.

And so when things finally rolled toward a close with “Tearing The Place Apart,” it didn’t matter that Russell flubbed the lines and had to start again from the beginning. “I’m getting rid of every memory/I don’t know where to start”—we knew the lyrics by heart, anyway.

Sparks Spectacular: Indiscreet (1975)

By Noisy Boy

My excitement for this show was piqued when I ran into Jim Wilson and Marcus Blake wandering around Islington, and they told me to “expect some surprises tonight,” and surprises there were aplenty.

First off was the wonderfully charismatic support act Phillipe Tasquin, who had the courage to start his set with a piano/vocal cover of “This Town Ain’t Big Enough For The Both Of Us.” With a vocal range and style similar to Russell Mael he pulled it off, much to the delight of the crowd. The rest of his set was just him and his string quintet, and jolly good it was, too.

For the first five songs, this was the best Sparks gig yet—the enthusiasm was high, the crowd roared louder than I’d ever heard them, and they simply ripped through the high-energy first few songs. Similarly, “Without Using Hands” was tremendous and note-perfect, and when the brass section came back out for “Get In The Swing,” the place went wild, especially during the “I’m happy! so happy!” bit, then Steve’s drum roll back into the chorus. Actually, on reflection, it’s probably the best single performance so far. To be then greeted with the string quartet and Phillipe Tasquin conducting and playing his recorder solo for “Under The Table With Her” (my favorite on the album) was simply heavenly, and it was nearly impeccably performed. However, my heart sank when Ron’s vocal didn’t come through on the “dinner for twelve, thank you” line, which is a favorite part, and slowly, after that, the gig sort of unraveled.

Maybe it was my vantage point up above the stage where it’s impossible to generate the same atmosphere as on the floor because it’s simply not crowded. The guitars were all but inaudible, especially Marcus’s acoustic guitar. Maybe it’s just that things weren’t rehearsed as well, which is understandable seeing as this included the first new musicians for one gig only. At any rate, it sort of felt like a balloon slowly deflating.

I was willing “Looks, Looks, Looks” to go right, especially as Russell had said it was the song’s debut performance since Top Of The Pops in 1975. But the horns weren’t given a count in and missed their cue and Russell’s autocue broke just before the final verse, which is why they kept repeating the lyrics a bit too often. It was amusing to see Steve McDonald laughing his ass off at this while the prompter tried to flash up the right lyric, but for a few seconds I genuinely thought it was going to fall apart. However, it’s a testament to the band (and the crowd’s enthusiasm) that they managed to patch it up and end it relatively flawlessly.

Speaking of flawless, the final two songs certainly made up for any flubs—both were beautiful, and “Gone With The Wind” was a nice surprise (albeit one I’d spotted on the setlist from up on high). So, not the best gig technically, but still a wonderful experience, and one that will have to endure until No. 1 In Heaven, which is my next one.

By Craig Irving

Since I arrived in London, everything was an emotional build-up to this show. It’s always been my favorite Sparks record and I never thought I would get to hear it played up close and in person. There isn’t a single track on the album I wasn’t dying to hear live.

I heard about their plans to bring in musicians for the show that night to play strings and horns and I was very excited. I heard that it was a last-minute decision, but the musical prodigies they hired came and just destroyed it. . . seriously. Everything altogether sounded utterly incredible. “Without Using Hands,” “Get In The Swing,” “Under The Table With Her,” “How Are You Getting Home,” “Pineapple”. . . it was almost too much to handle. It’s exhausting really; hit after hit after hit, and everything played to perfection.

My favorite of the evening was definitely “In The Future;” that’s always been my favorite song off the album. I always dreamed of how loud, crazy, and quirky those keyboard lines would sound live and I was right; Ron played them wonderfully. I can’t imagine how “Looks, Looks, Looks” would have sounded without the extra musicians they brought in. I guess Ron would have just programmed everything into his keyboards, which obviously wouldn’t have had a tenth of the impact it did.

My only disappointment that night was that I was hoping they would play “Looks Aren’t Everything” as the encore, but instead they played “Gone With The Wind.” Oh well, I got to hear it on their webcast later.

At the end of the show it was clear to me this would be the peak of my trip. Even though I had the privilege of seeing Sparks three more times after that night (Big Beat, Introducing Sparks, and, No. 1 In Heaven), Indiscreet was the height of my Sparks Spectacular experience. To top things off, I had the pleasure of meeting Ron and Russell after the show
. . . another dream come true.

As my trip to London was winding down, I thought I would get depressed pretty quickly. But after having the privilege of seeing Sparks play eight concerts in a row, I knew I had no reason to feel unfulfilled. Even better, I knew I would be seeing Steven McDonald play with Redd Kross two weeks later in Toronto. Who wouldn’t be thrilled?

. . . and as Ron writes, “wanting more than what I have might appear as greed.”

Also:

Please read Mike Bennett’s review at Hablo Ennui.

Sparks Spectacular: Propaganda (1974)

By Noisy Boy

If I say this was the first Sparks show that was just as good as the previous night, I’d be damning it with faint praise—it was absolutely wonderful, but they’ve all been wonderful so far. Another capacity crowd were as reverential as they had been on previous nights, and the guys do seem genuinely touched by the repeated displays of love and gratitude from the crowd. And rightly so—the performances were nearly flawless, bar the odd little flub here or there (most notably the end of “Achoo” where either the band carried on too long or Russell came in too early, probably the former).

Highlights included the title track rearranged for three voices, performed impeccably, and the sheer crowd enthusiasm that greeted “B.C.,” all capped off with the “I wish that I” sing-along from the crowd at the climax of “Bon Voyage.” And, of course, when Ron did his dance during “Who Don’t Like Kids”—whether it was spontaneous or not—it brought the house down. The encore of “Lost and Found” was also a surprise (sort of—I looked at the setlist while they were being laid out for the band), but was still excellent, even if I’d have preferred “Marry Me.” Nonetheless, the guy that tried to give the bouquets of roses to Ron and Russell (thwarted by security, but successful thanks to a kindly person with a photographer’s pass who put them on the stage) had exactly the right idea.

By Alex Arnott

Tuesday 20th May was an exciting day for this Sparks fan. I had three Sparks tickets in my hot little hands for the performances this week, but for some reason Propaganda was the one that excited me the most. It certainly helped that half an hour prior to going to the N1 centre, one of my companions gave me a present: a handmade Sparks-themed passport holder embroidered with the slogan Bon Voyage!

We managed to grab a more desirable spot than we’d had for Sunday night’s Kimono My House show, which was filled to the gunnels. Directly in front of us were a couple that had decided to bring their preteen daughter to the show, a child who will hopefully be well-versed in decent music by the time she comes of age. We arrived in time for the support, which was Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip. It was apparent that the crowd was skeptical at first, but they managed to win us over with intelligent rap and the aid of props, which always help.

The main attraction loomed and the suspense was absolutely palpable. The guys were a little bit later than they’d been on Sunday night for Kimono, which heightened the anticipation further. Soon enough the band entered the stage, clad in their phenomenal, now-trademark album art T-shirts. A huge cheer as Ron walked on, another massive cheer for Russell. After a few moments, they started to indulge us. Just like on the album, “Propaganda” the song is over almost as soon as it’s begun. I’d hoped with futility for the longer version, but we’ll have to wait for Plagiarism for that. The band did a valiant job with the a cappella backing vocals. This led seamlessly into “At Home, At Work, At Play” where Russell got to start flexing his vocals a little more and generally get the crowd excited.

Naturally, “Reinforcements” followed. “Reinforcements” always makes me think of Blackadder IV. With lyrical motifs such as “I’m on guard again but unprepared to fend for myself in a battle,” I can’t help but be reminded of Stephen Fry’s character General Melchett! Whether anyone else shares this comparison with me is a different story, but it was clear that this song is a true sing-along, really giving me the feeling of being in the Sparks Army. Even Russell counting along in the break of this song was a privilege to view. At the end of the song there was a powerful combination of band and audience singing “re-in-force-ments, re-in-force-ments,” which was nothing short of a joy.

“Here’s a little song now, it’s about a happy little family whose names were Aaron, Betty and Charlie. . . the song is called ‘B.C.'” declared Russell at the request of the drummer Steven Nistor, self-referencing an old performance of the song on German TV. I’m sure you know the one: Russell’s wearing a long red scarf, and the audience clap after the first verse and he says “Not yet!” “B.C.” went past in a frenetic flash with some quality Ron faces illustrating once more the vast differences between the Mael personalities. “Thanks But No Thanks” allowed more audience participation with the opening la’s, and Russell got more active running around the stage, claiming, “My orders come from high above me” with real credibility, gesticulating at the viewers in the balcony.

At this point, I saddened a touch knowing we were about halfway through, which is a curse that is also the key ingredient to the magic of these shows. In a way you know exactly what you’re getting, which is why you’re there, but all the time you’re wishing that the albums were at least three times longer! Soon enough the pounding introduction of “Don’t Leave Me Alone With Her” was upon us, and Russell was tackling one of the more difficult songs on this opus, and tackle it he did, with relish. Rushing to the front of the stage while imploring us not to leave him alone with her, it seemed for a moment that he was contemplating a stage dive! Ron surveyed his adoring minions in his disparaging manner all the while, despite uncharacteristic (but welcome!) grinning towards the start of the show. The end of the song was a chaotic, yet perfectly organized falsetto.

Just as we were recovering from the wonder of their performance, they stunned us once more with a beautiful rendition of “Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth” with a projected large image of the earth on the screen behind them. Even the oft-tuneless roars of the crowd couldn’t spoil this song. I have always loved watching live videos of this song, wherein Russell magnanimously waves his arms at the crowd during the line “Hang on to anything that brings a quick return to my friends, to my friends!” and was delighted to finally be a part of it. My personal favorite part of the song however, is “Well, I’ll admit I was unfaithful, but from now I’ll be more faithful”, a promise that would be very hard to believe if sung from any other lips.

Ron tinkled out the final phrase and then they burst into an extremely energetic “Something For The Girl With Everything,” which got us all grooving again. A personal highlight of this song for me was yet more audience participation, with Russell whispering, “something for the girl who has got everything is. . . ” and us all yelling back, “EVERYTHING!” We were rendered speechless by Russell succeeding at the very challenging ending to the song, and heartened knowing that “Achoo” will be easily achievable, too.

Ron’s gentle keyboard opening to “Achoo” belies the true energy of this ode to sneezing, which must in fact be the catchiest and best song with sneezing as a subject matter that anyone will hear. We all joined in with the sneezing in the chorus, and the final sneezing fit was pulled off with the aid of the band working as backing singers (sneezers?). At this point, the gig was drawing achingly close to a close. For “Who Don’t Like Kids,” the album art was flanked by two animated mice marching in time to the song, mice who look suspiciously like Jerry of Tom and Jerry fame. At this point, our beloved Ron could not suppress himself any longer, and launched into what seemed to be a spontaneous performance of the Ron shuffle, after which my friend announced that now she could die happy, having seen it live! After his dance, he apologized sheepishly and said that he would never do it again, to disappointed cries from us, who would gladly watch him dance again and again.

Then came “Bon Voyage,” and this being the last of the shows my friends would be attending, it was an absolutely perfect farewell for them. This is one of the songs that my crafty friend (who made the passport holder) favors, so she was delighted to get to see it live. “Goodbye to my lucky friends and foes, glad that we could know you” is as good a sentiment as any on which to finish the album proper. After the introductions of the mightily able band, thanks and presentations of bouquets to the Maels, they quit the stage, but having attended the gig the night before, we knew that there would be a small encore. I was hoping for “Marry Me” but we inexplicably got “Lost and Found” instead, which was triumphant and left us craving yet more.

Opening act Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip’s most successful song to date is called “Thou Shalt Always Kill.” In it there is a section wherein they reel off a list of influential bands, followed by the phrase “just a band.” At the end of this section, they threw in “Sparks—just a band” and got booed by all of us devoted fans. It was a valiant effort, boys, but this is one musical act that is most certainly not “just a band.” Just a band would never be able to treat their fans to such an extravaganza and succeed so triumphantly.

Also:

Please read Mike Bennett’s review at Hablo Ennui.

Sparks Spectacular: Kimono My House (1974)

By Noisy Boy

More reports from the (literal) front line! This was absolutely brilliant, and as much an improvement in every respect (including the sound, which even down the front was superb) as the second night was from the first. Unsurprising perhaps, given the capacity crowd (who grew impatient during the DJ’s protracted set, booing and chanting for him to get off, at least until he dropped a remix of “Good Morning” as his final song) and the widely-known material, but still wonderful to see the enthusiasm that Ron and Russell put into material they must be sick of playing, especially “This Town” and “Amateur Hour,” which both were met with rapturous applause.

What’s more, Ron had even changed his moustache to the classic “Hitler” look, and save for the odd extra line, didn’t look 34 years older than the fellow on the rear sleeve of Kimono My House! While Russell didn’t quite go for the full afro look (shame!), his voice was in fine fettle, and again if you closed your eyes, you could believe that only days had passed rather than years.

Once they launched into “Falling In Love With Myself Again,” it was obvious that the enthusiasm was uniform for all the songs, as was the high level of playing, most notably Russell’s continued absence of any sort of prompt sheet or reminders, and Jim Wilson’s note-for-note rendition of Adrian Fisher’s fine fretwork. What was also noticeable was the Marcus Blake had much more of a role, and occasionally their dual lead playing was a spectacle to behold. Not to dismiss the contributions of the rhythm section—both bassist Steven McDonald and drummer Steven Nistor play the material as if they’ve been playing it for years. The call-and-response between guitar and bass in “Falling In Love With Myself Again” drew much applause and rightly so.

The energy reached fever pitch during the clap-along intro to “Talent Is An Asset” (again, flawless) and continued during “Complaints,” and into “In My Family.” The abiding image of the evening for me was Russell stood behind Ron, leading the crowd in a clap-along while Ron looked his usual deadpan self. Brilliant.

The only real clunker of the night was “Equator.” I’ve a feeling that all the musicians messed this up at some point or another, and Russell’s vocals dipped a bit during the really high parts, but all was made up for with the final vocal which slowly faded out, the audience leading the response with help from Jim and Marcus. I wasn’t at the Kimono/Lil’ Beethoven show for Morrissey’s Meltdown, but I imagine that the starry-eyed reverence that attendees talk about when they mention the end of “Equator” could apply here, too.

Cue more rapturous applause, and the first bow, but a second clunker—this time Steve’s beautiful Rickenbacker 401 took an off-balance dive straight onto the floor, causing him to miss the bow and look extremely distraught (and rightly so since they’re not cheap). When they came back out for the encore, a quick fix took place while Russell retold his story of rubbish hairspray. But once they powered into “Barbecutie” it was a delight—I’d previously asked Ron and Russell to play this song when they did the Hello Young Lovers show in London, and they politely declined, but now I was able to see it, and rock it did. Russell mentioned it was a “contender” for the final show setlist, so if they do it again, I’ll be twice as happy!

Also:

Please check out Mike Bennett’s review at Hablo Ennui.

Sparks Spectacular: A Woofer in Tweeter’s Clothing (1973)

By Noisy Boy

Tonight’s show was about twenty times better than last night. My friend complained that the sound was worse where she was, but stood further back, it sounded a lot better, if not so powerful. Nonetheless, the band were on fire.

Everything was performed brilliantly and there was a much more charged atmosphere, including air punches aplenty for “Beaver O’Lindy” and “Do Re Mi” (which was possibly the highlight). “Here Comes Bob” was rearranged for piano, acoustic guitar, and electric guitar. As with last night, one of the many joys of this series of shows is simply watching Sparks play as a band without any backing tracks, extra vocals, or over-reliance on synths. They well and truly rocked by the time “Whippings & Apologies” was played, Russell milking the pauses for all they were worth! If there’s one lingering complaint (and there has to be), it’s that Jim Wilson should take the distortion off his guitar at certain moments—it sort of made “Roger” a bit wonky last night, and the same for “The Louvre” tonight, where the slide guitar should be a bit more delicate. But it’s a minor grumble! If they’re as much improved tomorrow as they were from yesterday, we’re in for a treat. . .

By Craig Irving

All right, night number two. . . This time we knew we could arrive a little later in the evening and still manage to get a great spot to watch from. We got the impression Sparks would come on every night at 9 o’clock like clockwork so we arrived just before that, yet still managed to work our way back into the exact same amazing spot we had the night before.

“Girl From Germany” kicked off the set and immediately painted a massive grin across my face. Russell sang this wonderfully, and he seemed all warmed up from the night before. This was pretty damn clear to everybody as he sang his long extended falsetto at the end of “Nothing is Sacred.” I was totally floored, and my friend was, too.

“Beaver O’Lindy” was very fun and full of energy from the crowd. “Here Comes Bob” is one of my favorites from the album, and hearing it live was definitely not just a novelty; it was one of my favorite performances that entire set.

As the next few songs were played, it occurred to me that most of my favorite pre-Kimono songs were on the first album. Since the album copy I had was an official combo disc of the two together, I guess I never separated them.

“The Louvre” was pretty and “The Underground” was fun, but my excitement was reserved for what I knew was around the corner. . . “Batteries Not Included” and “Whippings and Apologies.”

Hearing “Batteries Not Included” was a novelty, but a damn fine one it was. However, the best song of the entire night was certainly their album-closer, “Whippings and Apologies.” I had high expectations and had in my head exactly how I hoped it would sound, yet they made it sound even better than I could imagine.

It’s because of the full band that this song sounded so strong and powerful. Ron and Russell simply couldn’t have pulled off such a big sound with just themselves. The sound mix was perfect where I stood; everything was loud, clear, and (of course) Russell’s vocals did not disappoint. . . each and every time he came back in to sing the chorus line. When I went back home I knew I wouldn’t get to hear it that way again. I got to see/hear it performed again on the webcast for the Exotic Creatures of the Deep encore show, and though it did remind me of how it sounded back in London, I can still only hear it in my head. I sure won’t forget it.

Also:

Please check out Mike Bennett’s review at Hablo Ennui.