Having a vibrant rebirth when into the fourth decade of career should give hope to us all, and The Stranglers, despite being unlikely candidates for this, provide just that tonight.
Returning to the classic four-piece formation in the wake of the recent departure of vocalist Paul Roberts means more than just the band looking right again - the symmetry of the quartet having pleasing memories of 1978 - but it has pushed each member back into the spotlight. Iconic bassist Jean Jacques Burnel, who at times in the Roberts line-up seemed content to let the frontman do most of the work, is now the most notably re-energised member of the band, throwing out head-high karate kicks from the opening Five Minutes (and what a bolshy statement of intent it is opening with that) and revelling in his rediscovered singing role. Indeed, many of the set’s subsequent high points come from his lead moments – a superb Threatened, for example, or the surprise reappearance of Thrown Away complete with a “disco time with the Stranglers” introduction.
Alongside him, Baz Warne plays like a life-long Strangler – reeling off note-perfect renditions of Hugh Cornwell’s guitar solos, handling his lead vocals with confidence and even lobbing in some Cornwell-style improvisations during Peaches (“I can think of a lot worse places to be – like down in Manchester, trying to decide if I’m a red or a blue…I’m a blue!”)
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Songs from the confident new album Suite XVI make a successful transition to the stage, particularly a snarling dual-vocalled Unbroken (complete with a volley of hurled underwear from the audience at the ‘I’ll wear these suspenders if it gets you high’ line) and Burnel’s jauntily vicious I Hate You.
Drummer Jet Black, astonishingly fit for being well into pensionable age, puts in a sterling performance of solid rock drumming throughout the hour and a half set, and you have to wonder for how many more years he and the band can physically maintain this level – but for now it’s enough simply to celebrate the fact that they do.
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