Simple Minds

There are two possibilities: either Jim Kerr has some trouble with maths, or he's a master of misdirection. Definitely the latter, one would say, though to be fair he'd already hedged his bets in the interview he gave us a few days ago, pointing out that "on big stages and at festivals we mix songs from the first five albums with the later hits." The fact is that the much-anticipated "5x5" multiplication goes out the window by the middle of the show: evidently our sly fox knows full well that to warm up the vast Roman crowd you also need a few stadium anthems. And he won't skimp on those, much to the dismay of devotees of "Life In A Day", "Pleasantly Disturbed", "Factory", "Room" and many other gems from that magical first five albums, all dropped from the final setlist. Oh well, it was to be expected after all. Still, it remains a bold choice on the part of Simple Minds to build the setlist around the most experimental phase of a career that would later turn them into global stars. And above all, we're grateful to have been spared so many indigestible tracks from their later albums.

Perhaps because of these expectations, though, the impression upon arriving at the now-familiar racetrack-turned-auditorium is of being surrounded by a solid contingent of hardcore wavers, the kind who still keep all their Echo & The Bunnymen vinyls at home, and maybe even their Naked Eyes records too. Mostly ageing and nostalgic, but also plenty of very young fans, perhaps drawn in by the reputation of a band they've heard about from their parents or uncles and aunts. In short, a great big wave reunion, underscored too by the parade of classics playing before the show, starting with the Kraftwerk-esque "Autobahn", from which (almost) everything was born.

After the set by the young Rainband from Manchester, which closes with a tribute to Marco Simoncelli ("Rise Again", with proceeds going to the charity of the same name), right on time at 9:45pm, Jim Kerr and co., all dressed in black, burst onto the stage. And the opening of "I Travel" (from "Empires And Dance") is downright triumphant, as stunning today as it was back in 1980: swirling electronics that haven't aged a day and, if anything, sound even more modern than plenty of contemporary synth-pop trinkets. The same goes for the following "Love Song" (from "Sons And Fascination"), an irresistibly pulsing funky-dance groove riding the frenzied bass-and-drums axis. For those, like myself, who had never seen them live before, it's a surprise above all to discover just how much punch Simple Minds pack in a live setting, with the bass pumping at full volume and Kerr proving to be a true stage animal: if his fine voice is perhaps no longer quite as commanding as in the glory days, his stage presence remains intact, as does his ability to carry the crowd along with him. In a black suit and white shirt, lean and agile in his stretch trousers, the fifty-three-year-old frontman is the absolute star of the show, with his repertoire of moves and plastic poses, like when he lies flat on his back and springs back up, at times coming across as almost too much of a crowd-pleaser (then again, from a man who once managed to woo the young Patsy Kensit, that was to be expected).

The stage setup is pretty minimal: mostly white or blue lights, a bit of smoke enveloping the band onstage. And yet the show inevitably betrays the contradictions of a band that for years now has taken on an "arena" dimension and can barely shake it off, even when dusting off its sophisticated underground repertoire. A terrific rediscovery nonetheless: just listen to "Celebrate", another warhorse from "Empires And Dance", with its overpowering bass tones churning your stomach, the technotronic keyboards and that simple chorus, which Kerr delivers with a mocking swagger. Beside him, the inseparable Charlie Burchill on guitar, drummer Mel Gaynor (by now a veteran too), plus Ged Grimes on bass, who doesn't make you miss co-founder Forbes too much, and Andy Gillespie, deftly handling the keyboards. The solid electronic architecture of "Love Song" (from "Sons And Fascination") shows off the cohesion of an ensemble that really does seem capable of updating the dark allure of those sounds for the techno era.

The drum intro to "Waterfront", though, immediately clarifies things: up pops "Sparkle In The Rain", and we're already at six albums. No matter, because it remains a great track, always effective, especially live. As for satisfying the most demanding palates, there's the magnetic "This Fear Of Gods", a dark abyss from "Empires And Dance" with its obsessive, disorienting cadences, as well as a moving double shot from "New Gold Dream": the mystical "Hunter And The Hunted", with its miraculous keyboard arabesques, and "Big Sleep", as hypnotic and evocative as ever, thanks also to Kerr's emphatic delivery, equally at ease in the mantra-like chorus of "The American" (another lesson in pure art-dance-rock from "Sons And Fascination").

But for those nitpicking fans who never digested the mid-Eighties commercial turn, the easy ride is about to end: here come the first warning signs with "See The Lights" (from "Real Life", 1991) and above all with that "Don't You (Forget About Me)" that had been hanging in the air. And indeed it arrives, with its full complement of crowd singalongs, pauses, build-ups and mass jumping. I'm embarrassed to find myself practically the only one not jumping, but thankfully the keyboard chimes of the eternal "Someone Somewhere In Summertime" arrive to win everyone over: one of those tracks that retains a timeless magic of its own, even if no live rendition could ever fully recapture the enchantment of the original.

"New Gold Dream", fresh off its thirtieth anniversary, is the most plundered album (and the only one of the first five from which five tracks are actually drawn), and the title track explodes into the night with all its overwhelming energy (even resurrected by Paul Oakenfold in a famous remix of his), while Kerr plays at counting on his hand: '81, '82, '83, '84, which then becomes "one, two, three, four". More than a song, an anthem: to the glittering Eighties, to our twenties, to the great golden dream. At the peak of the collective euphoria, Kerr and company leave the stage.

When they return to the stage, the whole band is there except the singer: it's the moment to bring back "Theme For Great Cities", the epic instrumental that reigned supreme among the grooves of "Empires And Dance": a performance so flawless it takes your breath away. Then comes another one-two of hits - "Alive And Kicking" and "Sanctify Yourself" (from the bestseller "Once Upon A Time") - which precede the fifth gem from "New Gold Dream", a slightly subdued "Glittering Prize", but at least for one out of the five albums, the numbers add up.

Kerr is in a dedicating mood: to Rome, for which he confesses he's "fallen in love" all over again just like the first time, and to his beloved Sicily, honored with a resounding "minchia!" shouted at the top of his lungs. The musical finale, however, is the tour de force of "Ghostdancing", already immortalized at Live Aid (anno domini 1985), when Simple Minds performed on the other side of the ocean, in Philadelphia. Onstage, it's time for farewells. Kerr takes his leave dancing like a kid to the notes of "Let's Stick Together", and somewhere out there, uncle Bryan gives his thanks.

In the end, even though that blessed "5x5" wasn't completed and the setlist was shorter than expected, there remains the satisfaction of having relived, at least in part, those wonderful atmospheres. A pity that "Up On The Catwalk", the masterpiece from "Sparkle In The Rain", wasn't among the "intruders", and that "Life In A Day", the debut album, was especially shortchanged, left practically untouched to make room for the hits. But above all, a lingering doubt hangs over what Simple Minds might have become had they not let themselves be seduced by the sirens of mainstream rock, had they kept experimenting along those daring synth-wave trajectories that had carried them all the way to the Golden Dream. But then you realize that, even tonight, in front of an audience of "hardcore fans", as Kerr called them, "Don't You" was by far the most acclaimed track of the night. Which makes you think that maybe they were right after all. Maybe.

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