Roll on Noel. Self confessed Guitar-playing-songwriter-for-the-working-class. Who’s now into acid jazz. And who’s ticket prices start at £70. And who calls geordies the c word, on 5 occasions, in one show. And one lad a Fat and speccy c-word.
Yet surely this is okay? He’s always been on the right side of the war against the man? Always had the type of attitude we like to hold up and champion? Always deserved his god-like status?
The Gallaghers became cultural icons as much for their outspokenness as for their (early) rock and roll rebelliousness. Yet parts of tonight don’t feel like well matured ‘banter’, just plane cruelness.
Which is a shame because the show is a triumph for both his (getting more powerful with age) singing voice, and for the experimentation of his songwriting.
Gone are the distorted licks and swagger of ‘stay young’ or ‘shaker maker’ replaced with scissor parts and extended keyboard solos. We’ve come a long way from Marc Nolan meets the sex pistols or lyrics about hedonism.
We end on ‘All you need is love’. The irony.
Image not mine