OK, it might be the musical equivalent of the Orwellian concept of doublethink, but here’s the thing: it’s possible to think that this is a weird pairing and still be delighted that you’re seeing Squeeze.
Squeeze, you see, are brilliant. Maybe people don’t realise just how brilliant until they see them for an hour in the sunshine.
They knock out hit after hit—crikey, if you can come on to “Black Coffee in Bed,” you have to be good, right?
“Footprints” likewise, but that’s not all. They even play a new song—unusual in what amounts to a festival setting—but “You Get the Feeling” is superb. They all are.
Most of the rest—“Annie Get Your Gun,” for example—is rooted in the classic. And that’s not hyperbole when you’re dealing with “Cool for Cats,” “Up the Junction,” and “Tempted.”
The duo that have piloted this for almost 50 years—Messrs. Difford and Tilbrook—are as good as any, but the energy they bring is astonishing.
The accordion that drives “Goodbye Girl” makes that one a highlight. In truth, most of it was.
There’s a lengthy jam-cum-band-intro section when maybe “Pulling Mussels (From the Shell)” or something could have been added instead, but that would be disingenuous—because you don’t get to do this for half a century unless you absolutely know what you’re doing.
And Squeeze remain a British institution.
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Train have just started “Meet Virginia” when Pat Monahan surveys the sizeable crowd: “Listen,” he says. “This was a pretty big hit in the US. I’d be grateful if you could pretend it was here too.”
Selling 10 million records worldwide gives you a certain confidence, and they could probably do shows like this in their sleep.
If that’s true, though, they don’t give off that vibe. They look like they’d rather be nowhere else.
Essentially, they just play anthems for 80 minutes. “Calling All Angels”, “If It’s Love” and “Get to Me” are all built for this kind of setting.
But there’s an unexpected highlight.
Usually, when a singer says, “Will you welcome my 13-year-old son to the stage?” you recoil in horror. But most kids aren’t Rock Monahan. The kid is sensational. He sings Pink Floyd’s “Time” incredibly, and if you’re taking on Dave Gilmour’s solo, you’d best be great. The kid is going to be a star.
Follow that, dad. But he does — and you can when you’ve got a song as good as “Save Me, San Francisco”.
And they keep coming. Catchy as you like, “Play That Song”, “Parachute”, and “50 Ways to Say Goodbye” — Train are the kind of band that, when you hear them, you realise just how good they are.
Monahan has a fine voice, equally at ease covering Teddy Swims’ “Lose Control” as he is delivering a new one, “Brokenhearted”.
After that, they ramp it up to the end, including a wonderful “Drive By”, which they close with a singalong of “Hey Jude”.
They don’t bother with an encore — bonus points from MV — but “We Were Made for This” acts as the start of a de facto one.
After another cover, this time “Under Pressure”, “Drops of Jupiter” ends it just as the sun dips behind the castle.
A more English scene you couldn’t wish for — and it’s incongruous, perhaps, that a US band provides the soundtrack. The fact is, though, Train are more or less impossible not to like.
Polished and almost perfect in the way only American bands seem to manage, Train are first class.
