Television

Twelve years have passed since the last album and last tour by Television. Another fourteen before that since their previous effort. A full twenty-seven since the legendary "Marquee Moon", the album that gave them paternity of new wave and a guaranteed place in the history of popular music. Tom Verlaine and his bandmates didn't find huge success then, and they don't now, despite their cult status being so widespread among veteran music connoisseurs. Veteran, indeed, because the Bataclan is populated by the twenty-somethings of '77, plus a few young converts. There aren't many of us: the emptiness of the venue around 6pm, when usually a good crowd has already filed in, is almost worrying. It seems the world is forgetting this band, or at least prefers to do other things rather than rediscover a group that was fundamental to the development of popular music over the last twenty-five years. Too bad for them: even if this won't be the memorable show it could have been, it's far from certain that all those absent will get another chance to see Television. This fact, combined with the chance to see and hear "Marquee Moon" live, should be enough to qualify this evening as "historic".

Opening for the band is a singer who apparently thinks it's best not to let us know who she is or what her name is. "Given the quality of her performance, that's a spot-on choice," I think to myself. Yet something doesn't add up, I feel like I've seen her somewhere before. After some mulling it over I arrive at the answer, which leaves me stunned. It's Julie Delpy, the actress! Now she's decided to sing. Since it's no longer fashionable to stick to what you do best (and if she started out as an actress, there must be a reason...), I swallow the bitter pill. Never mind, at least I can say I saw a fine actress live (and I stress actress).

The venue slowly fills up, though a full house remains a pipe dream.

Shortly after, greeted by plenty of applause and by some idiot who evidently finds it more entertaining to listen to his own voice than to the band he paid to see, Television immediately run into a hitch. An amplifier isn't working, and the embarrassment on stage is obvious. Verlaine, charismatic but hardly a stage animal, looks lost and doesn't even think of entertaining the waiting crowd. Once the problem is fixed, the four launch straight into a masterful rendition of "The Dream's Dream", the song that closed "Adventure". The long intro, and indeed the whole track, is dominated by the two guitars. Verlaine plays an old Fender Jazzmaster, while Richard Lloyd's Stratocaster makes him look uncannily like a skinny version of David Gilmour. A good start. Verlaine's unexpectedly youthful voice is also striking, as is the skill of the rhythm section, made up as always of Fred Smith on bass and Billy Ficca on drums, a bit weathered by age but still sharp. Still, something hard to pin down is missing, and it's not to be found in the following "1880 Or So" either, from the eponymous 1992 album.

An explosive version of “Venus,” previously featured on “Marquee Moon,” opens our eyes: a completely different electricity now runs between the crowd and the band. This energy feeds, in a virtuous circle, both the people on stage and those below it, but it also mercilessly highlights the gap with everything else — what we've already heard and what's still to come. That's the case with “Call Mr. Lee,” terribly pale by comparison, though enjoyable in its own right, and also with the first unreleased song of the evening, probably titled “Stax,” after the famous soul label. The former is likeable, boasting a genuinely fine solo, but it feels far too “old-fashioned.” The latter recovers interesting new-wave, paranoid atmospheres, thanks mostly to a Verlaine who screams and repeats a kind of obsessive, autistic invective. Still, a certain sense of dissatisfaction lingers, even though everything is very pleasant…

What these songs are missing is made obvious by the infamous “Little Johnny Jewel,” finally traceable today on the remastered edition of “Marquee Moon.” It's a (well-deserved) triumph. You recognize it instantly, from that sensational bass line that opens it. Then the long intro, the song itself, a solo worth clapping your hands raw for, Verlaine's guitar fluttering before the final “BANG!” Gorgeous. When the songs are this good, you forget how much time has passed, and the wax museum turns into an actual time machine.

The tension stays just as high for “Prove It,” stretched out a little and thoroughly entertaining. The band is now on fire, repaying the crowd's enthusiasm with heartfelt, thrilling performances.

Another classic follows: “See No Evil” is absolutely devastating, a real jolt to rock's foundations, just as it was back in the day. The famous solo is Richard Lloyd's work, the true added value in the songs from “Marquee Moon.” While Verlaine always gives his all, Lloyd delivers noticeably superior performances on the tracks taken from the debut album.

After this peak, the show's level drops considerably, almost to the point of yawning. Everyone knows “Marquee Moon” will close the set, and the anticipation makes it hard to enjoy songs that are decent but nothing more, even as Verlaine keeps twisting himself around his guitar.

“The Sea” is nothing special at all. Toward the end, another technical problem strikes: one of Verlaine's guitar strings snaps. Ten minutes to change a string — especially for professionals — feels like an eternity, and it's almost funny to think that at a show like this such a simple task could take so long. Yet not only does it take the full ten minutes, but in the end Verlaine opts to switch guitars altogether. Out goes the Jazzmaster, in comes a Stratocaster identical to Lloyd's. Next comes the pairing of “The Rocket” and “Rhyme,” both from the band's latest studio album. Decent, but truly nothing memorable.

The last unreleased song of the night, the very long “Persia,” is also the best of the unfamiliar tracks on offer. Verlaine plays while holding a 9-volt battery, first in his right hand, then in his left. The Eastern-tinged tones are pleasant enough, if already well-worn, and the length is a bit less so, bordering on exhausting, especially since it's easy to guess what's coming next…

Then here it is, the one everyone's been waiting for. Introduced by its immortal riff, ladies and gentlemen, “Marquee Moon,” the song. The Bataclan turns into one single roaring mass, just as you'd expect, and Television give it everything they've got. Condensation even beads up on Verlaine's guitar as he pulls huge solos and spellbinding virtuosity out of his hat, never showy for its own sake. Calm mixed with sudden explosions makes up the grand finale of a show that had its highs and lows in equal measure — though the highs were truly of enormous proportions.

Tom Verlaine bids everyone farewell with a very shy “good night” and disappears, followed by the rest of the band. Yet that strange sense of inadequacy lingers when comparing the masterpieces (all from the same record) to the rest of the setlist, along with that peculiar feeling somewhere between “it could have been better” and “it couldn't have been otherwise.” Then again, both Verlaine and the audience had to come to terms with an inescapable truth. Television were a brilliant band in 1977. Today, they're a band that was brilliant in 1977.

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google