All such considerations taken, though, I’m glad I got off my arse, got my boots on, got down, and got with it, as tonight Slade were far better than I or anyone else had a right to imagine, and exceeded several of (if not quite all) my expectations...
The minute Don Powell begins thumping the intro to 'We’ll Bring The House Down', after which Dave Hill appears, hat and silver cape in place, holding his Firebird aloft and peeling out the riff, and Mal McNulty (their vocalist for some 8 years now) screams “WOH-O-O-OH-OH!!” , things begin to fall into place, and then it dawns on you: you’re watching Slade. Not a tribute band (which I’ve seen enough of in my time) but Slade, or at least as close as you’re likely to get barring some miracle capable of dragging Holder out of comfortable DJ semi-retirement. Koko isn’t exactly full tonight (fair enough, those stage times would have put most people off) but the 500-odd attendees go suitably nuts, and with due cause, as when they put their mind to it, as on the booming, cavernous 'Take Me Bak Ome' the fist-punching onslaught of 'Lock Up Your Daughters' or the ultimate arm-waver 'Far Far Away' (your humble scribe’s very first single, bought for him by his Mum at the tender age of 2!) , Slade are great.
...
Luckily, they pull together and get it back again, and when they do, the effect is simply colossal. Plus, when fully on fire, even during lesser-known '90s material like 'Red Hot' and 'I Hear You Calling', it’s impossible to not recognise this man as the unheralded guitar hero of 70s rock he truly is- even if he does belong nowadays to some nutty religion that has as much to do with rock and roll as Abu Hamza does with a kosher Shabat.
...
“AAAAALWRAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT EVERYBOOOODY!! LET YOOOOUUUUR HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIR DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWNNNNN” yells Mc Nulty, and suddenly we’re at the climax: a pounding 'Get Down….' (the song that singlehandedly turned a zillion suedehead soulboys into heavy rockers) followed by the arm-linking sway of 'My Oh My', which in turn gives way to a triumphant 'Cum On Feel The Noize' (prefaced by another ear-splitting vocal intro, of course) and inevitably leads to that song- you know, the one they always play on the radio this time of year...
...
In reality, of course, Christmas is a bloody horrible time of year, a hideous commercial enterprise designed to drain the West of its money and propagate capitalism, and the future that’s “only just begun” will probably be worse than the past (the sight of tens of shopworn, tired housewives atop the balcony, who at one time were probably the lithe young platform-booted things grooving to the band on TOTP, only serving as a further reminder of our own mortalities) but for 90 minutes, in the confines of Koko’s ornate walls, if you were one of those singing along, or linking arms, stomping boots and yelling “WE WANT SLADE!” at the top of your voice like it was still ’74, you could almost genuinely believe there was a true festive season, and four blokes from Wolverhampton were going to bring it gift-wrapped to you. It wasn’t perfect by any means - it could have been tighter, it could have been later, and, considering we’re dealing with a band to whom ‘noize’ is paramount, it could have been a lot louder - but it was pure, unadulterated fun, of the kind not oft experienced in oh-so-cool Central London. After a whole year of digesting lost prog and psych nuggets, it was great to sing along with some songs I’ve known practically all my life. Just one thing, though - if, as they say, the best rock and roll is catchy and infectious by nature, do yow think that explynes woi soomthing funnoi has happund ter moi accsunt?"
- DARIUS DREWE SHIMON
Slade, Offenbach 8.10.2011 photo by Ilpo Bister
On stage you know who, but in the front row: Martin, Uwe, Rudolf and Volker + ladies
John Berry and Dave Hill, Winterlingen 6.7.2011
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