One member of Take That stole the show at Croke Park with his cheeky and knowing top entertainment
IT IS extraordinary to see what is commonly referred to, for want of a better expression, as a good old-fashioned entertainer.
But on Saturday night – and last night too, hopefully – the crowd at Croke Park fell willingly into the clutches of Robbie Williams. The former boy band Take That were playing and the Pet Shop Boys were supporting. Good performers. Even Pet Shop Boy Neil Tennant, who stood at the mike wearing a bowler hat and a self-mocking smile, is a good performer. But Robbie Williams was something else.
That something else was the type of entertainer who is long since dead. Amid all the macho posturing and modern irony, there is a lot of the music hall in Robbie Williams. On Saturday night he knew his audience.
“Put the English to shame,” he shouted “Drink the place dry.” An overwhelmingly female audience cheered this lustily. Robbie William is a recovering drug addict.
He is what my granny used to call very vulgar, but then my granny used to travel through Lancashire to see Max Miller, who was music hall vulgarity personified.
“You can study Shakespeare ’til you’re quite elite,” recited Robbie Williams, although I may not have noted that line with absolute accuracy. My hands were so cold it was hard to write, but I am confident of noting the next line with total accuracy: “Or go to Temple Bar and piss in the street.”
Again, loud cheers from us middle-aged ladies. It’s the local reference, you see. It was pantomime.
To see Williams roaring on to the stage for his solo set was a spine-chilling experience. He started singing Let Me Entertain Youin what was supposed to be a sinister fashion. He did a lewd mime. Oh yes, he went to a Catholic school.
The rest of Take That had already done a good set of songs, during which they thanked us for buying the tickets. They’re nice lads still, although some of them are over 40. Robbie Williams came on as the dark side.
Take That do give a lot of thought to how their concerts are structured – some would say too much thought. Take That get through themes at a rate of knots.
There was the Japanese section, the Chesssection, the Alice in Wonderlandsection. There was a huge sort of Spider-Man figure on the stage, which turned out to be animated. It was all gloriously unnecessary. Those boys leave nothing to chance . . .
As Robbie Williams tore into Rock DJ, the lyrics were sung by everyone in the disproportionately blonde crowd and Robbie, with his contempt and his command and his cynicism, was king of it all.
It was easy to see that it would be fruitless search to look for a drug harder than the charge from a willing and delighted crowd.
Robbie looks emotional, sentimental, at times, although it is hard to say how much of this is calculated. He's like Judy Garland – the life story and the act are now so intertwined that it is impossible to separate them and this gives Williams a strong gloss of sincerity. He loves the audience, at the same time as provoking it. We joined in singing Angels. "It feels religious up here," he said. He looked almost tearful.
He ended the night with a pair of women’s knickers on his head. The knickers were worn with a dead-pan expression, as he followed the presiding talent of Take That, Gary Barlow, through the crowd. It was mockery of the oldest type. The knickers disappeared pretty quickly, as if a respectable ringmaster had pulled in the clown.
For those who are not Take That fans – and I myself could not even remember Never Forget– it must be pointed out that Robbie Williams used to be in Take That. But he left. "When Robbie left the band . . ." as one of the other four Take That members put it. "When Robbie was sacked you mean," said Williams. He's the bad one. The needy one. The star.
There is a poignancy about a boy band reuniting as men. The five original members of Take That lined up and did some of their old dance routines and they did that very gracefully.
Take That were a great pop band and pop does make you believe in a prettier world. During one song they asked us to hug the person next to us.
“This is like Mass,” said my friend. “It’s like a wedding,” said the man on my other side, as we were hugging. “It’s just like a wedding.”
At one point there were screams behind us and for a moment we were afraid that someone had gone into labour. But it turned out that a man had just proposed to his heavily pregnant girlfriend. The strangers around them went wild.
I am conscious of the danger that this column has turned into a series which could be entitled What I Did on My Summer Holidays, but I make no apologies for writing about the Take That concert. It was another female fest following fast on the athletic heels of the Flora Women's Mini Marathon. June does seem to be the month for it.