Anniversary Tour

You don’t need an excuse to listen to Travis’ 1999 sophomore album The Man Who; it’s a beautiful, timeless record loaded with endearing melodies, vibrant acoustic guitars and po-faced love songs. It’s the sort of album you listen to because you still like it, because you can’t remember a time when you didn’t like it, and probably because you can remember a time in your life when it didn’t exist and that time wasn’t as good. It’s polarising in that sense; life before and life after The Man Who. Music before, and music after. If you’ve welcomed this album into your life then you know what I’m talking about. Released in the wake of Britpop when pastiche was less of a trend, The Man Who marked a turning point, or at least a dividing line, in pop music. Without any knowing guidance, and despite being sonically informed by Oasis at the time, Travis came to define the sensitive sound of the four-piece male rock band at the turn of the century. Their iconic songs, loved or loathed, dominated radio the world over and lead the way for so many bands to follow from Coldplay through Snow Patrol and up to Mumford & Sons.

In light of this then, Travis themselves need no excuse to celebrate and tour the album that launched them into the pop-rock stratosphere so many years ago. 19 years ago, in fact. 19 is not a significant anniversary but The Man Who is a great album so why not? Fans want to hear it, the band want to play it. The music economy doesn’t get simpler than that these days. A run of shows earlier in the summer took in numerous venues across England, as well as some festival slots, so the final two-weeks of 2018 bring them around again and home to Glasgow’s SSE Hydro just in time for Christmas, and 2 years to the day since they last played here on the Everything At Once Tour.

Isle of Lewis singer songwriter Colin Macleod released one of the year’s best albums in Bloodlines and as the first of two supports for the night he delivers stripped back renditions of five songs from the record, as well as a melancholy interpretation of Ring of Fire. Beautifully understated and delicate from beginning to end, his set feels naturally calm amid the excitement and anticipation of the evening. He concedes his own disbelief at opening the show, admitting that Writing To Reach You was the first song he ever played. Right now though his own songcraft is fully matured and his confidence on stage serves him well, alone in the spotlight.

The second support are relative “old favourites” of Travis’ audience, and certainly owe a debt to the acoustic rock path paved by The Man Who. That said Turin Brakes have never stood in the shadows and since touring with Travis in 2001 they have remained friends and contemporaries, not rivals. Their divergent musical roads couldn’t be better exemplified than in tonight’s performance. A 10-song set draws from across their catalogue, never focussing heavily on one period and certainly not trading on nostalgia, but rather offering a cohesive sonic representation of where the band are now. And it’s a great sound. They’ve always been known to indulge their rock tendencies in the live setting and tonight is no exception. They’re clearly having a lot of fun; whether it’s because they’re out to impress as a support act, or because they don’t have the pressure of headlining, it doesn’t seem to matter, their performance is top shelf. Older hits like Painkiller and Underdog are reworked with fresh intros and some mint distortion on the acoustic guitars. If anyone walked in during Black Rabbit expecting a Travis concert they’d be very surprised by the rambling proggy jam happening on stage. It keeps on the sunny side of excess though and the band are sent off with just the appropriate level of enthusiasm ahead of the main act.

I want to be objective about what happened next but there’s an obvious reason I bought a ticket for this show. Here instead are some facts about the gig:

Between support sets Fran Healy came out to the barrier and met fans, shook hands, posed for photos, signed things, chatted to people.

On stage Fran wore a kilt and a “Zion Lutheran Cougars” t-shirt identical to the one he wore in the video for Why Does It Always Rain On Me?

Andy Dunlop got very sweaty, very quickly.

Dougie Payne smiled a lot.

The band played The Man Who from start to finish, including its hidden track Blue Flashing Light, and then left the stage.

The second half of the set comprised a “best of” selection of singles and closed with a Christmas medley, accompanied by a couple of brawling jakey Santas.

But what was it like? Well honestly, it was pretty special. The nature of a start to end album show is that inevitably a band has to play their hits as they lie, i.e. Driftwood, Turn and Why Does It Always Rain On Me? went out in the first half. It’s unorthodox to play your biggest single in the first hour of your show and it felt a bit strange to be pogo-ing so early in the night but the other side of this is that the band get to play some songs that otherwise wouldn’t make it onto the usual setlist. I haven’t heard Last Laugh of the Laughter in years and the harmonies were sweeter than I can ever remember. It was perhaps the only song that sounded different from the album version, and only because of the strength of the backing vocals, the rest was very true to the original sound. Another take on this format is that some of the band’s more challenging songs also have to come out. Much as they might be endeared to the hardcore fandom moments like Luv and She’s So Strange were reminders of why The Man Who was critically derided as a collection of “sad” “ballads”, the latter in particular proving a bit of a stretch for Fran’s vocal chords. But there were fond memories and pleasing anecdotes to go along with these old songs and the band have never lost their wondrous humour which always keeps their live shows so engaging and entertaining.

The second half of the set highlighted a few other things about The Man Who. Firstly, that the significance of the album to fans cannot be understated; once upon a time these were some of the only Travis songs in existence and they were adored mightily and whole-heartedly which, in the context of the live show, means the album falls so naturally and familiarly on the ears that it sounds like a “best of” in itself, even up against the established singles like Side and Closer. Every song is so well received. Secondly, that Travis’ true nature has always been as a rock band. From the opening chord of Blue Flashing Light the atmosphere in the arena is completely changed, electrified, amplified. The Man Who happens to be a cohesive collection of quiet songs and there are many others in the catalogue (see The Invisible Band) but when given a platform, or an entire half a set, the band choose to play loud, choose to rock out, choose guitar solos, choose to traverse the stage, choose to jump off the drum kit. The Man Who is another side to that band but it was never the limit of their abilities or interests. Lastly, that Travis are a band from Glasgow and were they not, they would never have written as iconic a song as Why Does It Always Rain On Me? because where else in the world could they have found inspiration in the best audience of voices to belt out such an anthem?

As a young child I visited the cassette drawer of my parents’ entertainment unit regularly. It contained so many treasures; a selection of Neil Diamond albums; various ABC Radio compilations; a cleverly duplicated copy of the Young Einstein soundtrack; the all important head-cleaning tape and fluid pack and multiple anti-static cloths for our records. Buried in the back right-hand corner, presumably because it didn’t fit the individual slots of the cassette trays, there was a double album that intrigued me for a long time. When I finally enquired with my Mum about this block of tapes – I hadn’t seen a double album on tape before, it was a block – she related to me the story of how The War of the Worlds had been broadcast as a radio play in the 1930s and caused mass panic, even alleged suicide, because people thought an alien invasion was taking place. I found that story absolutely terrifying. From then on I regarded that double album with a kind of universal fear that I couldn’t even understand.

I must have been about 10 or 11 years old the first time I felt bravely curious enough to listen to that album. The album was, of course, Jeff Wayne’s Musical Adaptation of The War of the Worlds: Not nearly as terrifying as an American radio play adapted from H.G. Wells original invasion novel. Or so I told myself. You know that way frightened children rationalise with themselves about the dark? “There’s nothing to be afraid of” I told myself as the notorious “Ullas” sounded. I nearly survived Tape 1, Side A before turning it off. I made several more attempts but couldn’t get my stomach beyond the notion of that chorus; “But still, they come!”

When I was a little older, maybe 14 or 15, and in the prime of my teen horror film phase I discovered this album again in the record collection of my best friend’s parents. Late one Saturday night while sleeping over with a couple of other girl friends, after a binge of scary movies, we decided to put it on. This time I got all the way to turning over to Side B and was just about to drop the needle when one of the others girls interrupted, “Do we have to? I really don’t like it; it’s scary.” We let it go for the night and later, when it was just me and my best friend, we played Side B. But by the end of that we were bored. The musical themes were still dramatic and frightening, and the narration eerily haunting, but in the light of Sunday afternoon it just didn’t seem as interesting.

It was a long time before I revisited TWOTW, it was on the same long haul flight where I first listened to Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells in full. I had some time to kill. In the confines of the plane I drifted in and out of consciousness and in and out of the nightmarish commentary. When I eventually came around for a meal service the album was somewhere in the middle of its third or fourth repeat, so I can definitely say I’ve played it all the way through. In my memory though it’s still a terrifying listen. Even the titles of the songs/chapters give me chills; one mention of a “heat ray” and I get that sinking feeling in my stomach. There’s no question in my mind: It is a masterpiece! A truly haunting masterpiece.

Never in all these years did I imagine seeing a live stage production of something that so traumatised me as a child. Yet, when the 40th Anniversary arena tour was announced I knew I needed to see it. I could think of no better way to experience this album than in a vast chamber with enormous light and sound capacity, surrounded by an audience of thousands. Yes, this would be the perfect environment to conquer my fear of the “Fighting Machines”.

I had no idea what to expect and for my own enjoyment, or perhaps torture, I didn’t look into the previous stage productions. I wanted to engage with the performance, fresh and naive, like I had done with the album. And really, I did. At first the simplicity of the set appeared disappointingly dull.

A ramp from the back of the stage running between two lamp posts lead the actors into position in front of the band, string orchestra and conductor, while a secondary stage in the centre of the arena was bare. However, as my eyes adjusted to the contrasting light from the large screens behind and on either side of the stage I began to see the finer details. Giant cogs, metal discs, scaffold railings, beams and pillars, adorned the stage surrounds with an industrial charm.

The musicians were often silhouetted but occasional highlights would reveal some glamorous fabrics. The cast, as they featured one-by-one, or at times in pairs, were all fully characterised by their respective wardrobes. And the visuals projected on the screens were loaded with detail and stimulation, particularly fitting to the pace of the narration. In some moments of intense action the density of the production was nearly overwhelming; there was so much to take in. A street scene of destruction featuring “Jeff’s Music Emporium” was one of those moments where your eyes could have been watching anything and you would have seen so much, but missed so much at the same time.

As it turned out the scale of the set was just right for The Hydro. The measure of this was when the Martian Fighting Machine descended upon the stage, unleashing fiery blasts, the heat from which could be felt across the entire stalls and beyond. I have to be completely honest; my jaw hit the floor when I saw that thing coming down! My heart rate was already elevated from the tension of the story; the unscrewing of the first cylinder, the panic at the use of the heat ray; seeing a life-sized alien craft standing right before my eyes was quite extraordinary. I may have lost my breath for just a moment.

The accompanying sound too, was beyond my imagining. I could physically feel the landing of each cylinder, every explosion, and the Thunder Child certainly lived up to its name. The bone-melting cry from the Martians was enough to induce prog-rock sci-fi nightmares for at least another 4 decades to come. Musically I couldn’t fault the performance and the engineers really controlled the sound well. Original session guitarist, Chris Spedding, and bassist, Herbie Flowers, delivered their iconic parts with incredible vitality and effortlessness. I can imagine some fans of the original recording might be put out by the addition of new music (Life Begins Again was introduced in the 2014 production) but I’d like to think fans of this musical style, and the way the story develops through the music, can appreciate Jeff Wayne’s desire to grow his work and legacy through the evolution of the live performance.

As the show went on I became increasingly conscious of the wonderfully effective synchronicity between light and sound; not just in the obvious and violent moments, as in the flashes of destruction and battle, but through the more passive sequences too. The heavy stillness on stage as the alien red weed covered the landscape was so subtle but so crucial to the changing atmosphere at the beginning of the second act. The darkness over the band during the Forever Autumn Reprise duet created a magical moment between just The Journalist, the endeared narrator, and his distant fiancée.

Having said I didn’t know what to expect going in, I was familiar with many of the performers, and I was still really impressed. Jason Donovan portrayed the grotesque anger and distressing confusion of Parson Nathaniel to the point of apparent fatigue. I was exhausted by the end of his frantic ravings. Playing opposite the delightful airiness of Carrie Hope Fletcher really emphasised the conflicted rage of his character; the two were dynamically juxtaposed brilliantly.

I found Adam Garcia as The Artilleryman a little bewildering at first, not that he didn’t embody the shell of a man gone to war with aliens, but that he didn’t in any way sound English at the first encounter. It wasn’t a major drawback because he really nailed it when he returned in the second act. His high note phrase – “We’ll start all over again!” – was perfect every time. Absolutely smashed it! His physicality was admirable too; he really worked to make his contribution immersive for the audience. Running through the crowd at first, and later summoning and scaling a bridge across the stalls added so much human energy to the overall performance.

The story shifts pace up and down throughout but the final resolution still feels hastily simplistic. The spectacular demise of NASA in the epilogue does well to offset this by concluding with a rather deliberately darker message than the narrator himself delivered. After all that had gone on I felt uneasy.

Later as I was leaving I overheard a woman telling a friend how her Dad had banned her from listening to the album when she was young. Apparently she played it all the time and it gave her nightmares. I would love to have been so defiantly brave as a kid! Her friend admitted “It still scares me” and the woman replied, “Me too; I won’t sleep tonight”. I slept alright actually.