Music / heavy rock
Review: The Cult, O2 Academy
It takes balls to take out a fiery support act and The Cult were confident enough to have picked an incredibly fiery support band in The Last Internationale. They played their set as if the end of the world was imminent and burned down the stage.
After a mere five tune set (albeit relatively lengthy songs), guitarist Edgey Pires and vocalist / bassist Delila Paz had the crowd in the palm of their hands. Pires was absolutely, utterly unstoppable, flinging himself around the stage with furious abandon, a blur of energy too chaotic to find the time, or inclination, to pose and throw cliched shapes. blah.
is needed now More than ever
Despite his kinetic performance, Pires managed to crank out the riffs, hefty riffs decorated with stinging spiral solos, underpinned by meaty rhythm work but a player not afraid to shut up and allow the songs to breath. A man barely contained by the stage but capable of pausing to pour the energy into his instrument: the solo in Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Indian Blood soared.
Paz was a perfect foil musically and visually. Her playing was forceful yet infused with soul, and funky little runs that stopped the songs from becoming ponderous. Whilst she was necessarily more static at the mic, she too was full of energy, and wasn’t constrained by the stage. Dumping the bass for a truly righteous cover of Sam Cooke’s A Change is Gonna Come, she was in the photo pit and serenading the front row up close and personal.
Whilst the preceding three songs left no in doubt that Paz could sing, the cover was outstanding: keeping the soul but mixing in blues shouting and adlibbing for a cliché free reimaging of a classic. And when she sang off mic it was evident that she has stunning range and stunning power.
Choosing an understated approach to engaging with the crowd, she had them singing along from the first number and throughout. Her rock steady bass and towering vocals were the anchor for the Pires maelstrom.
Politically charged modern rock, drawing from the classics but not subservient to them, The Last Internationale are a band you need to see. They’re back in town soon, supporting The Rival Sons, so if you’re lucky enough to have a ticket to this sold out show, get yourself there early.
The Cult playing a much-loved LP in full to a sold-out partisan crowd, that’s gotta be a night of joyful, carefree celebration, right? Well yes and no.
The Crowd, already psyched up by the support, were hyped and ready: the whole place buzzing with people reminiscing about previous shows, speculating about the setlist; people jostling for position and making sure they had the drinks in; people revved up, ready to rawk. And people looking for something to lean on “…mate, after 30 years my knees can’t take it anymore”. From opener Sun King, to final encore She Sells Sanctuary, the crowd were moving and grooving, singing and cheering and having a joyful, carefree celebration as their favourite band played their favourite LP and more.
But the vibe from the stage was at odds with both the performance and the crowd reaction. Ian Astbury made at least a half a dozen comments about the crowd, seemingly feeling they weren’t giving their all, weren’t getting into it, weren’t giving themselves to the show wholeheartedly. Even Billy Duffy made a final comment at the end that it took the crowd a while “…but we got there in the end”. Weird, because the band stormed the set and the crowd reacted with passion throughout.
And therein lies the rub…apart from the comments about the crowd reaction the show was a blast. The band were super tight, the sound was spot on and Sonic Temple was followed by a nicely judged mix of classics, deeper cuts and a very welcome blast through Spiritwalker (how good would a tour playing Dreamtime be people?). Astbury was in fine voice, and engaged in more inclusive banter, complimenting a few select individuals on their commitment and their loved-up vibes. He also indulged in some tangential comments…a quick debate with himself about how to pronounce Iggy’s surname (“…oosterberg or austerburg?”) for instance. There were also several comments about the strong Celtic vibe in the west country. Not often a cidered-up crowd of yokels are praised for their Celtic sensibilities mind.
Naturally Duffy nailed the guitar heroics – his style as distinctive as Astbury’s voice – his chiming solos on the older tunes unique and delightful: a six-string shaman. There was quite a stylistic jump from Dreamtime to Sonic Temple (albeit an evolution via Love and Electric) but his skill gave the whole set a homogenous feel, no jarring jumps from old to new. The jagged yet heavy / thrashy riff of American Gothic and the delirious melody of Rain, along with the big (delectably) dumb Li’l Devil, it all worked.
Of course, it wasn’t just the two originals on stage. John Tempesta and Grant Fitzpatrick were powerful yet understated, a launch pad for Astbury and Duffy to do their thing. Damon Fox was the band’s secret weapon though, his keys really fleshing out the tunes and his duets with Astbury lifted several tunes.
So, a night of nostalgia but a night of tunes that sounded fresh and invigorated delivered by a band committed to the material: tight and powerful. Yet a band with very high expectations of their crowd. And did said crowd seem bothered by that? No, they had a whale of a time, determined to escape the world for 90 minutes and give themselves to the rawk. Knees permitting.
The Cult: O2 Academy: Monday, 28 October 2019
All pix by Phil Watson
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