Depeche Mode

Once upon a time there were great rock bands that filled stadiums and swept the masses along with them. Bands that everyone could agree on, and that managed to win over a new generation with every record. There used to be such bands, but in the case of Depeche Mode there still are. A hundred and twenty thousand spectators across just two Italian dates, Milan (San Siro) and Rome (Olimpico). Sixty million dollars grossed in under two months on their Delta Machine Tour, enough to put the acclaimed Bruce Springsteen to shame, whose 2013 Wrecking Ball tour didn't even reach a quarter of that figure.

And the beauty of the story is that this feat is pulled off by the band that symbolizes the fickle, fleeting genre par excellence (synth-pop) of the fickle, fleeting decade par excellence (the Eighties). So much for all those self-styled experts who spent years pontificating such nonsense from the fake high ground of their authority as critics of "pure" rock - the uncompromising kind, made of guitars and sweat, not those electronic gadgets where you just press a button, hits that last five minutes, etc. etc.

It's with a certain sadistic pleasure, then, that we now witness the ultra-belated reappraisals of the Basildon band by those who for years turned their noses up at its music. But let's get down to business...

9pm on a sweltering Saturday night. Stadio Olimpico in Rome is packed to the rafters, a sight not seen since Roma-Parma in the scudetto-winning season. We breach the sanctuary of the Tribuna d'Onore thanks to a ticket scrounged at the last minute, for which we'll be eternally grateful. Seats even upholstered in leather (human leather?), and a rather odd crowd: many seem to have ended up there by chance, some look like classic freeloaders out for a Sunday treat, almost everyone is brandishing their phones menacingly, while down on the pitch it's true delirium, with a crowd density rivaling the eastern ring road at rush hour. The anticipation is palpable but short-lived, because at 9:10pm sharp, Depeche Mode burst onto the stage, heralded by a flashing green light. The gigantic Delta Machine Tour stage, designed by their friend Anton Corbijn, is a spectacle within the spectacle: topped by an enormous triangle, it boasts a huge screen behind the band and two side monitors, which will project images as understated as they are striking, true to the Dutch director's style.

The opening one-two of "Welcome To My World" and "Angel" (the same pairing that opens "Delta Machine") immediately shows off a Gahan in fine form, ready to bend his baritone cadences to the warm electro-blues of the band's latest, praiseworthy work. But it's clear right away that this won't just be a promotional spot for the new record. Quite the opposite: Depeche Mode dig generously into their rich back catalogue, starting with a splendid "Walking In My Shoes" (which confirms once again that the much-debated "Songs Of Faith And Devotion" was indeed a great album), before alternating more recent fruits - a poignant "Precious" (from "Playing The Angel", 2005), which finally starts to warm up the stands - with gems from the glorious Eighties decade, like an unexpected, and perhaps for that very reason moving, "Black Celebration", from their eponymous 1986 classic.

But the real jolt comes with the pumped-up bass and the domineering guitar riff of "Policy Of Truth": Gahan, decked out like a flamenco dancer - hair slicked back, a hawk-like mustache and a black leather waistcoat - swaggers and winks in his own inimitable way, sending the fans (especially the female ones) into raptures. At 51 he seems to have grown younger: lean, chiseled abs, exuding a serene, cocky air, a far cry from the dark days of the Devotional Tour. He's the grand master of ceremonies on stage, perfectly backed by his old mates Martin Gore on guitar and Andy Fletcher on keyboards, with Peter Gordeno (keyboards) and Christian Eigner (drums) now permanent fixtures in support.

After an intense "Should Be Higher" (again from the new "Delta Machine") and a flawless "Barrel Of A Gun" (which also resurrects the underrated "Ultra"), Dave hands the stage over to Martin, his longtime partner, whose task is to interpret the more intimate songs, almost entirely in acoustic form, such as "The Child Inside", a sort of sorrowful reflection on a stolen childhood, and the immortal "Shake The Disease", which sheds its metallic clangor to become a ballad sung by sixty thousand lighters (or phones, in the updated version). Nails painted black, grey eyeshadow around his eyes, Gore appears almost intimidated, clearly less at ease than his bandmate when it comes to commanding the stage, but he produces that mixed effect of intensity and tenderness that earns him an ovation.

When Gahan returns to the stage, it's time for "Heaven", the new family jewel ("Being able to sing it," he has said, "is the reason why, after all these years, I still do this job"), followed by a pounding "Soothe My Soul", which finally sets the stands ablaze for good: everyone on their feet, singing and dancing, as the once-stiff Monte Mario turns, from this point on, into an open-air rave party. You can spot older women letting loose without restraint, balding nostalgics lost in a trance, but also plenty of young people, confirming how Depeche Mode are the only Eighties band to have kept a fresh appeal with subsequent generations, and probably also the only Eighties synth-pop band whose masterpiece belongs to the Nineties: that "Violator" (1990) which proves to be the most beloved album even among the sixty thousand at the Olimpico, in raptures over the knockout melody of the ever-eternal "Enjoy The Silence" (sung practically in full by the crowd) and over the pounding beat of a "Personal Jesus" that starts slow and then flares up in all its adrenaline-fueled power, accompanied on the screens by images of people pressed against glass.

The "Violator" one-two is like a cork that finally makes the stadium explode: the stands seem ready to collapse, and by now anything goes as an excuse to celebrate, even when it's a "black celebration", to resurrect a dear old goth ghost named "A Question Of Time", or when, during "Goodbye", Corbijn conjures up a surreal black-and-white video of the three Mode members, still and impassive, swapping hats on a bench.

But it's not over yet: there's still room for another classic Gore number - the achingly sweet "Somebody" - and for another dive into the distant past, all the way back to the band's earliest days, with the ultra-plastic keyboards of "Just Can't Get Enough" once again evoking those years of delightful (and slightly naive) gloss, immediately followed - almost to highlight the jarring contrast of styles across the band's evolution - by "I Feel You", which perhaps embodied the most "rock" and controversial moment in Depeche Mode's history, as well as Gahan's darkest abyss: those three minutes of apparent death in Los Angeles, before doctors managed to revive him, mark one of rock history's many sliding-doors moments: on one side lay the end, on the other rebirth and an even more overwhelming success. Fortunately, we know how that story turned out...

One can't help but think of the incredible jukebox of songs they carry with them on this Delta Machine Tour, but also of the many other great songs left at home. Some think back to "Stripped", some call out for a more recent "Home", some would dream of "Leave In Silence". But it's the solemn tolling of another superclassic that bids goodnight to the sixty thousand at the Olimpico: "Never Let Me Down Again", the only track pulled from the 1987 bestseller "Music For The Masses". Depeche Mode's secular mass is over. Everyone leaves at peace, but well aware they haven't had enough: we just can't get enough.

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