The dark prince of Goth that is
Andrew Eldritch is currently on the road and waiving the banner of The Sisters
of Mercy above venues across the UK .
As a rallying call in 2014 you
could be mistaken in thinking that the flag wouldn't draw the rabid response
from the khol eyed children that it once did, but all around me drenched in
petula are those who pledged allegiance for life, and meant it.
They stand proudly peackocking in
monochromatic shades and resolutely believe that they can capture the halcyon days
of their youth on communally tribalistic nights such as this.
And they can.
Slap on the pancake, crimp what
is left of the hair and backcomb it to within an inch of Robert Smith’s life,
and squeeze into those leathers and Festers yer uncle.
Fuck everyone else as that moment
is yours, and why shouldn't it be?
It’s was a Monday night in Glasgow and the summer
sun was out, but the city belonged to those who marched to the beat of an
alternative drum.
In a sense the whole evening was a
rather glorious celebration of a staunch refusal to fit in, and I can get on
board with that.
Of course it was in the main
people exercising some middle age rebellion, but the world can always do with a
bit of that, and while those on the outside can look in and hide smug smiles
behind strategically placed hands I think the Goths know exactly who they are
and by remaining true to themselves are streets ahead of those sniggering.
So all hail the Goths.
They are still kicking against
the pricks, (Biblical quote used by Nick
Cave
As the dry ice engulfed the stage
and spread preternaturally out to swallow the first few rows in the ABC the
dark lord who will stage manage the evening was revealed for seconds at a time
and the band kick off with More from Vision Thing and you could feel the
tension from the crowd being released.
All previous outings where
critics lamented a poor sound are forgotten as Ben Christo and Chris Catalyst lock
it down tight and Eldritch shows himself to be in fine voice.
Once they have started there is
no stopping them either.
There’s a point early on where a
sonic grind is found, a tempo that machine like keeps rolling forward gathering
momentum as it does.
While the trio slip in and out of
the banks of fog and indulge in painting solid silhouettes as they take a
stance to deliver the music the crowd in attendance feel that spark of magic,
the connection, being made.
Mid set and Dominion Mother
Russia is revealed in all its glory and the hardcore fans take their adulation
to a whole new level as the fair-weather hit single fans swoon in delight with
them.
The sound in the ABC is crystal clear
and lends itself to the epic nature of the material.
The volume is however kept
relatively low, but the loss of ear ringing bombast is balanced with a degree
of clarity that is welcomed.
Apart from the Chris Catalyst
penned Arms that remains unreleased the set is largely rooted in well road
tested material that’s familiarity is worn comfortably by the audience who sing
along in unrestrained abandon that those who would shy away from the genres shows
would find hard to believe.
With the mammoth hit that was
This Corrosion finishing the set* no one would have felt short changed, but with
an encore of Kiss the Carpet, Lucretia My Reflection and Vision Thing to follow
it nearly finished off the cult like following that the band has.
It would have been partially
churlish to insist on Temple of Love, even though it was conspicuous by its absence
at that point, as it’s inclusion could have been described as too much of a
good thing, but just as some caught their second wind the band were back with a
second encore that would push things to the edge with First Last and Always,
Misirlou and then finally the fan favourite that is of course Temple of Love.
A song that in itself delivered
the coup de grace for those who were begging for the release of a delightful petite
mort.
*Number seven in the UK charts in 1987
would sell enough to maintain a number one slot for about a year in the
present.
