Some years ago a concert promoter called Alan Day explained to me how he had revived the touring fortunes of sundry long-in-the-tooth acts. He had explained to them, gently, that they were no longer rock’n’roll bands playing to rock’n’roll audiences in rock’n’roll clubs. The people who were coming to see them, he pointed out, were the same age as them, and probably didn’t want to spend a long evening on their feet, being cramped and jostled. Try theatres instead, he suggested. Nice seats, nice toilets, everyone happy.
Once he started booking these bands into theatres only, fans started flocking back. He took Marillion from scuzzy rock rooms like the Forum in Kentish Town to two nights at the Albert Hall. I thought of his words watching the sexagenarian Australian garage band Hoodoo Gurus at the Electric Ballroom, which despite not being sold out was full to the point of discomfort – older audiences tend to be significantly larger than those made up of 18-year-olds.
But would Hoodoo Gurus work in a theatre? Despite the unpleasantness of the venue that night – my companion and I tried multiple spots but everywhere I went I could hear people asking each other if they could see anything – I think they are still just about justified in playing clubs. And the audience turned out regardless because they so rarely visit the UK.
It was one of those shows where everyone was there for the same handful of songs – those from their first album and a couple of later singles. At this kind of gig, your hope is that the songs that matter hit the mark, and they did. ‘I Want You Back’ – one of the best guitar pop singles of the 1980s – sparkled with its little guitar runs and harmonies. ‘Tojo’ – an unlikely history lesson about Japanese bombing raids and hurricanes – was magnificent. The band seemed delighted to be there, too, which makes a huge difference.
Hoodoo Gurus have a lot of workmanlike songs but the handful of special ones are so special that, any evening that you get to hear them played live, you feel like your life has not been wasted.
These days 77-year-old Francis Rossi only plays theatres. Since Status Quo quietly slipped away a couple of years ago – eight years after the death of Rick Parfitt – Rossi has been taking himself around this country and Europe with another guitarist, playing his past to people his own age, while both sit in wingback chairs. It makes no difference that the tour is billed as Quo: Past, Present and Future. No one in Woking was hoping to hear new material.
Nor does Rossi expect his audience to come to him any longer. His current touring circuit is all the places rock bands no longer visit, miles from the major markets: Wimborne Minster, Llandudno, Torquay, Skegness, Buxton. No central London show – just this one in Woking and another in Croydon. He knows very well that his audience is, like him, suburban. But Woking Theatre holds 1,300 people: enough of these shows and you’ll reach a lot of people.
Try theatres instead, he suggested. Nice seats, nice toilets, everyone happy
I have a lot of time for Status Quo. First, because their good albums are more interesting than most people realise. Second, because while what they were best at was very limited, they were absolutely brilliant at it: their boogie was as brutal as any punk band. I mean no one ever says of James Brown: ‘But all he ever did was play funk.’ They are one of British rock’s great institutions, and there’s enough in the catalogue to merit respect.
An opening that consisted of Rossi talking for a quarter of an hour – his chat is full of strange music-hall mannerisms and odd crowd work (consulting members of the audience about whether they were wearing incontinence pants) – boded ill, but once he started playing the night got better and better. A surprising number of Quo hits were actually country songs in disguise, which worked well in this format. As did the bangers.
‘Roll Over Lay Down’ really should need bass and drums but it’s so forceful a work that even two guitars can push it over the line, and Rossi’s soloing was terrific. Did I really want to hear ‘Marguerita Time’ or ‘In the Army Now’ yet again? Not especially. But they were a price worth paying, and actually less annoying performed this way. With no disrespect to Woking – I grew up in Slough, for goodness sake – I never expected to enjoy my Sunday night there quite as much.
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