The 1975 – Auckland Town Hall January 15, 2016

There is little need for a review of The 1975’s concert at Auckland’s Town Hall last night — I’m not entirely sure an objective review is even possible. The audience — overwhelmingly female, predominantly aged between about 15 and 25 — were not there to engage with the show on any kind of objective, rational level; they were there to enjoy their favourite band, and that was precisely what they did.

The support act, She’s So Rad — I didn’t get to see them; the queue to enter the Town Hall stretched half-way round the building, and despite doors opening an hour ahead of kick-off, we were still waiting for our bags to be searched as the Auckland foursome wrapped up their set — weren’t really needed; the young ladies I spoke to from the photography pit were clearly in no need of warming up for The 1975. When the band walked onto the rather empty stage, I heard a scream unlike any other I’ve heard at a concert, a wave of wails that drowned out the first few bars of their eponymous opening number.

And so the show proceeded, teenage girls’ favourite band playing their favourite songs du jour, and seemingly unable to do any wrong in their eyes. In my eyes, my rather older and less infatuated eyes, they did plenty wrong.

Let’s start with the sound. The Town Hall was an odd choice for a band like this — the acoustics are simply not set up for a rock show, and last night’s sound simply overwhelmed the room. My guest for the evening was my daughter, herself something of a fan of the band, and she remarked that she struggled to identify quite a few of the songs in last night’s show. The audience as a whole, mind you, had little difficulty — songs were sung along with loudly enough that clearly most people in the room knew what they were listening to.

The production of the show was, similarly, puzzling. The stageset, such as it was, comprised mainly of a large video screen behind the band which displayed, for much of the show, nothing but bright white light, and most of the spotlighting came from behind the band. All very clever, I’m sure, but the practical result was that the band where, in effect, silhouetted for much of the show.

And then there was the show. The 1975 are a difficult band to pin down, partly because they seem unsure of what they want to be. Frontman Matthew Healey, looking for all the world like the bastard child of Marc Bolan and Michael Hutchence, sashayed and shimmied in his sequinned jacket and leather trousers, and there were moments — moments when they weren’t being Simple Minds —  when their music brought to mind Kick-era INXS, all sharp guitars and tight drumming. These, in particular, were the moments that most pleased the eager-to-be-pleased crowd; the somewhat shoehorned-in saxophony felt forced, though, like someone trying to work Local Hero into Listen Like Thieves, a little bit of jazz parachuted unnecessarily into pop-funk-rock, and songs like A Change Of Heart, synth-driven and plodding, saw the audience’s previously frenzied dancing and screaming subdue quite noticeably.

And Healey, trying for all he’s worth to be a rock star, simply can’t quite manage it. He tried a little profundity on his audience, tried to explain to them how wonderful it was to be seeing a band on its way to greatness in an intimate setting; he had a fair and valid point, but when his audience cheered his point, he told them “Stop that, listen.” And when the band then kicked into Me, and his audience began to clap out the rhythm, he told them “Stop clapping, listen to me.” He might want to wear the leather trews of a Jim Morrison, but he managed to come across more like a petulant teenager who hates everybody because nobody listens to him.

The irony, of course, is that everybody was listening to him — when he and his band were playing. And the band are clearly a competent outfit. Adam Hann is an able guitarist, his stabbing, chopping guitar lines the highlight of the band’s sound. Drummer George Daniel is a little too fond of his electronic clap-drum machine, but otherwise held the band’s sound together well. Ross MacDonald looked a little out of place, a shoegazer among glam rockers in his orange turtleneck and white Nikes, but his bass lines, so prominent in the mix they made my hair vibrate, are a powerful underpinning to The 1975’s music. And when Healey remembered why The 1975 were on stage — to entertain, not to philosophise, and the band ripped into their closing numbers, Robbers and Girls, their audience forgave their digressions, the young woman a few seats down from me in the circle screaming “Matty, I love you” loudly enough that he most likely heard.

“I want everyone to jump on the count of three — I don’t care how cool you are,” Healey asked his audience, and, on three, the building shook. I had my misgivings about last night’s show, but my misgivings are utterly irrelevant. I was there to review the concert; the rest of the audience, the two thousand screaming, singing, dancing fans that packed the floor and shook the balcony, were there to sing and dance and scream to today’s favourite band. And by that standard, last night’s show was as resounding a success as any I’ve seen in a very long time.

Steve McCabe

Click on any image to view a photo gallery by Amina McCabe:

 

Setlist:

The 1975

Love Me

Heart Out

Settle Down

So Far (It’s Alright)

The City

You

Menswear

A Change Of Heart

She’s American

Me

fallingforyou

Somebody Else

The Sound

Robbers

Girls

[encore]

Medicine

Chocolate

Sex