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A hymn to the 1990s
REVIEW
The Verve
Roundhouse
BLACKBERRY palmtop devices were not the must-have gadget when the Verve were at their peak.
But then neither were iPods, or even camera phones.
So a decade might seem like a long time. And this is an older, politer, more prosperous audience than Verve entertained in, say, 1997.
Nevertheless, the crowd is, bar a few sassy Londonites and an amiable Chris Moyles, mainly retro, Gallagher-esque blokes. Swap Moyles for Evans, and this could easily be 1997.
But times change. When Ashcroft turned his back on the audience to drag on a crafty fag in a now non-smoking venue, one fan shouted, “He can’t do that!” As if anyone would have cared in those heady mid-1990 days.
With three solo albums in a decade and two children, 10 years of Ashcroft’s life may indeed seem like a long time. But age has been kind to both Ashcroft and his music. Bitter Sweet Symphony, Life’s an Ocean, Rolling People, The Drugs Don’t Work, Lucky Man, This is Music; no one would deny that these are still all urban hymns. A new song, Sit and Wonder, sat comfortably enough between Sonnet and Velvet Morning.
Most of the Verve’s powerful two-hour set does not seem a decade old. In the strobe-lit, feedback-laden finale rendition of Come On, one thing is clear: The Verve need Ashcroft. And judging by the band’s comeback, he needs them.
Times change. The Verve haven’t. And that may not be a bad thing.
RUSSELL HANDY
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