Marillion

Anticipation was running high among Marillion fans for this new double live album. What really stoked the excitement was the curiosity to hear the live rendition of their latest, successful work, that “Sounds That Can’t Be Made” which finally stood worthy comparison with masterpieces like “Marbles” and “Afraid Of Sunlight”, along with an actual shortage of recent Marillion appearances on Italian soil, the last full-band show dating back to summer 2010 in Mogliano Veneto.

Truth be told, the band's impact in our country has gradually faded over the past few years: gone are the days of the four dates scattered across half of Italy on the 2007 tour, to the point that since then only single dates have followed one another, and this time too it's Milan alone that gets the honour of hosting a show, on top of that in a thoroughly inconvenient and ill-advised midweek double date.

Aware of the logistical difficulties, combined with an awareness of the typical laziness of the “average Italian progster”, a massive online campaign launched by the Italian fan club, “The Web Italy”, undoubtedly contributed to what amounts to a small miracle for this niche band: nothing less than a sold-out crowd on both dates, for a total attendance well above 2,000.

The shows also gave audiences the chance to discover the interesting singer-songwriter Marco Machera, a debutant with an unusually distinguished pedigree despite his tiny discography so far. The artist's awkward humour, visibly honoured to open for the English band, made for a pleasant introduction to the two sets, predictably centred on the new album's material, but otherwise completely different across the two nights, as promised.

One thing can be said straight away: “Gaza”, the ambitious opening suite of “Sounds…”, works decidedly better live than it already does on record. Whether it's the live impact that helps you fully appreciate the aggression of the first part, or certain arrangements in the middle section shedding some of their uncertainty on stage and gaining the right amount of bite, or the dramatic delivery of frontman Steve “H” Hogarth; whatever the reason, it works, and works well.

The first big surprise lies in the first night's setlist. You'd be forgiven for expecting something lighter after the behemoth that is “Gaza”, but instead out comes the acclaimed yet rarely played marathon “Ocean Cloud”, welcomed warmly by an audience still genuinely stunned by the massive opener. After all, we're talking about half an hour of music spread across just two songs.

The five-piece's performance on the first night is flawless: perhaps only a few slight slips in some of the tempo changes in the new material, particularly from the unflappable Kelly, keep it from being a perfect score, but throughout the rest of the set you can only marvel at such acoustic precision.

The other songs from Marillion's latest offering met with mixed fortunes: “Pour My Love” benefits slightly from the band's energy but remains a largely forgettable track, while the sparkling “Power” would live up to its “wall of sound” far better the following night. After a stratospheric “Neverland”, the band's tried-and-tested heavyweight, the audience is left stunned by the unreal silence that falls over the venue as the piano droplets introduce one of the best tracks from the band's latest effort: “The Sky Above the Rain” grips the heart even of the toughest gig-goers, its aching lyrics bringing several young women at the Alcatraz to tears.

The wide age range present across the two nights is genuinely surprising too. Although the typical Marillion crowd skews toward forty-somethings, this time the presence of young people and teenagers is well above the norm, not to mention the opposite end of the spectrum: several over-60s, conveniently stationed in the calm of the back rows, prove that after 30 years the English band still has plenty of arrows left in its quiver.

That said, the zenith of the first show still comes in the second half, with “The Great Escape”. It's no coincidence that “Brave” is the most acclaimed album since Steve Hogarth joined the band; the crowd keeps up its respectful silence as it watches, hypnotised, the frontman's theatrics as he screams the violent closing lines, before erupting into a final wave of jubilation. The elation is repeated as the chords of “Warm Wet Circles” ring out, followed by “That Time of The Night”, a moment given over to nostalgia that takes us back to the 80s, before gradually returning to the present day with “Easter” and “Three Minute Boy”.

Up to this point it would seem like the usual excellent show Marillion always deliver live, and yet it turns out the best was still to come. Twenty hours later, with an afternoon fan meet-up at the “Frida” venue in between, we witness what rightfully ranks among the best Italian performances the band has ever put on.

“Gaza”, if anything, has even more energy than the previous night, but you can tell Hogarth is struggling slightly with his voice this time, probably still worn out from performing on consecutive nights. The setlist winds through classic, catchy tracks, from “Beautiful” to “You're Gone”, to the ever-enjoyable “Fantastic Place”. Pleasant compositions, though slightly overplayed by the band in recent years, just to raise a fair criticism. Then, something happens.

Perhaps it was the crowd's response, even warmer than the night before (many of those present had already come the previous evening, taking advantage of the discount for both nights), that set something off, but a huffed, hissed “C'mon…” from a possessed-looking Hogarth, just before striking up the first chords of “Sounds That Can't Be Made”, hinted at a latent sacred fire that would soon explode inside the little man from Kendal.

The whole band starts to take off with an intensity not touched until that moment, to the point that the audience even starts “singing” Rothery's melodic guitar solo in the song's final crescendo, with obvious astonishment mixed with amusement etched across his broad grin. An unexpected alchemy breaks out between the band and the audience, who, drunk on a sense of omnipotence, start loudly demanding “Montreal”, the crown jewel of Marillion's latest album, sadly “reserved for a special occasion…” (sic!). It's easy to guess he's referring to the upcoming Canadian “Marillion Weekend”.

“Somewhere Else” is the setlist's surprise, performed to perfection and followed by a “Power” with a power (forgive the easy pun) unknown to the previous night. But the best arrives with one of the five Englishmen's greatest live tracks: “King” thunders furiously through the venue, rising impetuously to dizzying heights, in a crescendo stretched to the extreme before crashing down thunderously at the end, exactly as scripted.

From that point on, Steve Hogarth truly comes into his own and steals the show from everyone: first he loses himself in the sweet memories recounted in "This Strange Engine", collapsing onto the Alcatraz stage floor, utterly possessed by his own music with an involvement so deep and sincere it moves the audience, only to then be seized by the "demon" of the "Invisible Man". "Invisible Man" becomes pure theatre, with music and technique fading completely into the background, while in front of the stage the despair of a panicked, invisible man plays out: he embraces the emptiness, lunges towards the crowd, screams madly about his unbearable, wretched condition. The performance is so intense and beautifully unhinged it's enough to chill the blood, and when the final "wall of sound" explodes, Hogarth himself is still so immersed in the role that he struggles to snap back, to step out of character, leaving the venue with a mask of tortured pain still etched on his face. It's incredible that a frontman of this calibre - a far cry from the awkward young lad who took his first steps back in 1989 - remains, along with his purest talent, unknown to the wider music-listening public.

After that overwhelming performance, the finale is once again handed to "Neverland", affectionately bidding farewell to what the singer himself would call: "An incredible audience, the best shows we've ever played in Italy".

We can't help but agree with him.

Photo courtesy of Roby Maestrini

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