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The Stranglers reviewed: no more heroes anymore?

★★★★☆
Four Stars

The sweat drips from the low ceiling of the O2 Academy Oxford. Somehow on a damp March evening, the Oxonian audience find themselves in a humid atmosphere of discomfort unknown this side of the equator. In the midst of the increasing mist of evaporating perspiration, enter The Stranglers- pursued by an impressive setlist spanning forty years of creativity.

Emerging onto the musical scene through the supposed anarchy of the punk movement, the band describe themselves as being “punk plus and then some”- a musical genre made clear within the first two songs. Walking in on their traditional entrance music, ‘Waltzinblack’, the audience is worked into a frenzy of sinister fairground accordions. The sound brings leering clowns to the forefront of the mind: as well refreshing childhood memories of my dad playing the song as we drove down the equalling chilling sight of Southend seafront to my own.  As the instrumental comes to a close, the plodding bass and whizzing synth of 1979’s ‘The Raven’ welcomes them to the main body of the band’s live performance.  The transition is seamless, the band’s playing seemingly flawless.

The only drawback? The lack of looming founding member Jet Black behind the drums.  At seventy-six, the crashing presence has had to reduce his live performances to limited and fleeting glimpses. Don’t get me wrong, Replacement drummer Jim MacAulay does an impressive job. But no one can truly replace such a charismatic figure as Jet casting his eye out across the crowd from his stool/throne behind the drums.

A brief look around reveals a motley crew of a crowd. Like eclectic surroundings of the fairground that their accordion sounds emerge from, their gig is a “come one, come all!” affair. Aging punks stand alongside youths in a mass of sweat and dreadlocks. Both groups are eagerly jumping along to the thudding bass of ‘Peaches’ or the infectious synth of ‘Baroque Bordello’ in strangely beautiful unison.  Parents do not seem to have dragged their kids to this event. They seem to have come of their own accord to experience the same youthful joy their parents must have felt before them.

Playing a near two and a half hour set, said audience is treated to hits galore. The bizarre timing of ‘Golden Brown’ sets heads of all ages bopping along. As ever, keyboardist Dave Greenfield’s fingers seem to move effortlessly. They glide over the keys as the audience is welcomed to ‘planet Greenfield’, as lead singer Baz Warne jokes as he plays a particularly surreal note more home in the voice-box of a dalek . Controversy is skimmed with the inclusion of the anti-racist  and  clearly ironic ‘I Feel Like A Wog’: whilst ‘Duchess’ reminds a somewhat heart-wrenching lament to the disillusioned lower middle classes day-dreaming of riches sat in desolation of a run-down terrace.

But the height light of the night is by far the extended closing track ‘No More Heroes’. Bassist  Jean-Jaques Burnel begins by teasing the crowd. Thwacking the fretboard to letting out almighty cracks, he launches into the infamous introductory solo to a mesmerised crowd. Playing in beautiful union, the band remain tight and unified to the final notes. In 2014, Jet Black said of the band that “This is the best band in the world — and we’ll carry on until we can’t any more. Though we are not thinking about that”. And after tonight, his statement is proved right. 

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