The Faustian version of Take That...

With apologies to those who do this professionally and for a living, I thought I'd stray somewhat to report on a concert I went to last Friday.  Take That at Wembley.

Now, while I've hummed along to Relight my Fire with the best of them, I haven't been a fan since they started.  I'd heard that their live show was worth seeing, my mate Lorraine needed a Christmas present, and - well, here we were.

Because it was at least fifteen minutes into the show that I decided that I had to record this for posterity, I'm a bit ashamed to say I can't remember the name of the first song (I think it was Shine).

However, I was wide awake when we were asked to sing along to the National Anthem, which struck me as so cheesy I was surprised you couldn't smell in Oxford Street.  Embarassment out of the way, this was followed by Patience and the relief was palpable.  The band looked fit and confident although I thought Mark Owen looked knackered.

We then moved into Disneyworld as roller skating bees, a pink caterpillar and a rapid change of costume accompanied a Beatles number (Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds? - I was seriously thrown by the caterpillar), the sun shone, people were happy and yellow ticker tape floated from the sky.  Parents smiled, kiddies clapped and middle-aged ladies bounced. 

And, as the Fab Four wandered off, the sky seemed to darken, the volume increased and dropping like a malevolent spider from the top of the huge set, Robbie Williams arrived.

With a blast of fire I could feel from the second tier of Block M, the atmosphere changed in a second, and Mr Williams, appropriately dressed in black tails and black everything, leered into the camera and snarled his way through Let Me Entertain You.  In his role as Mephistopheles, Williams alternatively made love to the audience and stuck his finger up at them, and those who could lip read might have been a little taken aback at his vehemence, if not his language.  Play time for the kiddies was indeed over with skating insects replaced by bikini-clad women, and the Beatles turned into Beetlejuice who was quite plainly here to spoil the party.

At the end of his second number, he treated us to some doggerel which included the Donne-like lines:
Study Shakespeare and be quite elite
Or be an Essex girl and just piss in the street
as well as reference to some of their Sunderland fans who's got completely hammered at the North East gig. The audience laughed, some of us a bit nervously.  And what's more, you couldn't tell just how serious he was.

Some of the dialogue to the audience declared his patriotism, hand on heart, O to be in England, at Wembley and doing seven shows...or was it eight?...to all their marvellous fans.  The Sun would have been proud.  And then he winked to camera and you wondered if this wasn't all ironic and like the Devil, he was simply leading us a merry dance.

As if the chasm between his short set and before it wasn't obvious enough, he then went into Walk on The Wild Side, with a punch-drunk audience providing the Do, do, dos. 

He repeated, with appropriately inserted expletives, the number to call if people didn't like Uncle Robbie's language, and then, lying flat on a steel platform, swung low over the standing audiences, leering from the platform, touching hands and posing to the camera.  For an ugly man, he can look devilishly handsome.

And then, finishing Feel, we were back on stage and back to panto as he urged the crowd to start a mexican wave.  Such was the sense of theatre that to actually believe in Angels, dedicated to four people who Williams had lost recently - was a bit of a struggle.   But if the mask slipped at all during his performance, it was here.

The crowd loved it.  Disappearing - again like a panto baddie - down a trap door in the stage, Williams left the stage to some shadowy monk-like figures, waving fire baskets and wafting incense.  We were then treated to a Cirque de Soleil interlude (to give him time to change, presumably) with spider-man figures climbing the wall of the 50 foot set.  Seconds later, they were on the scaffolding at the top of the set, and The Flood provided an appropriate soundtrack for the various spider-men to get a thorough soaking as water poured down the walls.

The whole show seemed to me to be a power battle for the band. The smart, blonde (but somehow rather dull) Gary Barlow against the full throated, wicked and sparkling Robbie Williams.  He changes the dynamic of the band so much - it's a like a different band.  The rather anodyne love songs (pretty enough, don't get me wrong) simply don't stack up against the cynical lyrics, sex and heavy beat of Williams' numbers.  And what's more, Barlow looked like a choirister suddenly playing with the bad boys - enjoying himself hugely, but would he love himself in the morning?

The final song before the encore was - predictably enough - Never Forget - and the stadium thundered to the sound of 85,001 people clapping their hands.  Back on stage via a huge sliding stage, the final song - preceeded by a couple of lines of Williams' No Regrets (more irony?), a group hug and a reprise of we are the lads - was Relight My Fire. No Lulu this time, this was a boys party, with Williams singing her part.

Although they did look like a five piece band by the end of the concert, you can't help but wonder if the struggle for the soul of Take That would ever be resolved without tearing the band  apart.  But certainly, there is no going back.  Williams' influence is evident in the more jagged-sounding new albums.  There was some light-hearted fooling around the piano while they did a few old TT numbers - but the lack of punch (and musicians) for them indicated that they were part of another life, another country.





 

open questions - the sign of a good interview

I watched the Fiona Bruce interview with Price Philip.  There's no doubt that he wasn't particularly keen to be interviewed - he said as much - and like many people from his generation, he wasn't keen to dwell on his internal thoughts and feelings.

His reticence wasn't always so apparent, according to other footage in the programme; he can be seen presenting a TV programme on travel and different cultures, inviting the BBC in to film some intimate moments with his family. He appeared to believe that what was shown on the surface, was accepted as truthful.  And didn't think it needed further explanation.

So I can't have been the only person who cringed at a complete lack of rapport between Fiona Bruce and Prince Philip as she assumed more and more in her interviewing approach and left less and less space for true dialogue.  Armed with research, she seemed to go into the interview looking to prove a number of pre-determined hypotheses - he was unhappy when he couldn't continue his naval career, he felt like a spare part when Princess Elizabeth became Queen.

Quite rightly, in my view, the Prince looked rather offended at this presumption and began to answer the questions Fiona Bruce asked - just the questions she asked.  Which, given that she asked mostly closed questions, made for a very uncomfortable interview.  Added to this was an astounding lack of awareness of her interviewee - surely if someone declares that they didn't want to do an interview, don't you believe them? And then tread more delicately, antennae on the alert, building trust and developing some kind of relationship to draw them out? 

None of this appeared to strike Ms Bruce, who seemed to panic slightly, filling in more and more of the dead silence.  It's not that I envy her the job - a reluctant Royal famed for speaking his mind would hardly be considered an easy interview.

But she hardly helped herself, presenting "facts" and then simply asking for comments on them.  I looked up the concept of an open question on Google.  It said to use open questions:


"to develop a conversation and open up someone who is rather quiet."

I think the key part is about developing a conversation - that, and being more attuned to what makes someone comfortable enough with you to open up. While it might be considered a bit of an art, surely an experienced TV interviewer should have it?