Bob Geldof would have been well within his rights not to give two of his favourite four-letter words about this Boomtown Rats reunion.
So to hear him introduce the Irish new wavers in a throaty, mid-Atlantic bellow as “the greatest fucking rock’n’roll band in the world”, then to see him give it what could only be described as “full Bob” for the next 90-minutes is a pleasant surprise. Dressed in, as he describes it, “a fuck-off pretend snakeskin suit”, Geldof’s a dancing, prancing, restless mess of a frontman, all manic gum-chewing, grey scarecrow hair and goofy limbs. Fantastic value, in short.
For a group whose singer’s magnetism ultimately outshone their collective allure, the other five Rats – three originals among them – convincingly play their part in a nostalgia piece with more energy and attack than most, safari-suited bassist Pete Briquette in particular exuding his own pouty charisma.
There’s little to suggest that music history has somehow undervalued this band’s contribution – songs like (I Never Loved) Eva Braun and Neon Heart haunt the memory little longer than their duration. But there’s plenty of proof that, with 11 top-40 singles from 1977-82, five top-10s and two No 1s included, the Rats reaped much from their potential.
Split by a long, pregnant pause, I Don’t Like Mondays is a literal show-stopper, topped only by its partner piece in pseudo-theatrical rock’n’roll pomp, Rat Trap. Dignity would have most groups leave it there, but then tidy grace has never been Geldof’s style, and thus we also get a toe-curling, techno-fied Boomtown Rats theme-song of sorts complete with, yes, dubstep drop. “We’re the Rats,” yells Bob, characteristically unapologetic to the last, “and we’re back.” Good stuff – just keep them away from the recording studio.
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http://www.theguardian.com/music/2014/oct/21/boomtown-rats-o2-abc-glasgow-bob-geldof-review
Bob Geldof would have been well within his rights not to give two of his favourite four-letter words about this Boomtown Rats reunion.
So to hear him introduce the Irish new wavers in a throaty, mid-Atlantic bellow as “the greatest fucking rock’n’roll band in the world”, then to see him give it what could only be described as “full Bob” for the next 90-minutes is a pleasant surprise. Dressed in, as he describes it, “a fuck-off pretend snakeskin suit”, Geldof’s a dancing, prancing, restless mess of a frontman, all manic gum-chewing, grey scarecrow hair and goofy limbs. Fantastic value, in short.
For a group whose singer’s magnetism ultimately outshone their collective allure, the other five Rats – three originals among them – convincingly play their part in a nostalgia piece with more energy and attack than most, safari-suited bassist Pete Briquette in particular exuding his own pouty charisma.
There’s little to suggest that music history has somehow undervalued this band’s contribution – songs like (I Never Loved) Eva Braun and Neon Heart haunt the memory little longer than their duration. But there’s plenty of proof that, with 11 top-40 singles from 1977-82, five top-10s and two No 1s included, the Rats reaped much from their potential.
Split by a long, pregnant pause, I Don’t Like Mondays is a literal show-stopper, topped only by its partner piece in pseudo-theatrical rock’n’roll pomp, Rat Trap. Dignity would have most groups leave it there, but then tidy grace has never been Geldof’s style, and thus we also get a toe-curling, techno-fied Boomtown Rats theme-song of sorts complete with, yes, dubstep drop. “We’re the Rats,” yells Bob, characteristically unapologetic to the last, “and we’re back.” Good stuff – just keep them away from the recording studio.
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