Which band or act did you see before they were famous? Want to know mine? There are a few. Genesis at an early-afternoon, Christmas-time gig at the Lyceum in London when I was barely a teenager. Graham Parker, an acquaintance from the south-west Surrey scene of the mid-seventies, of whom other alumni were Paul Weller and The Jam, remembered as the "Woking" boys and slagged off as a result with the puerile changing and addition of a letter or two, despite the dynamism of their performances that led up to "In The City".
Wind forward some years and to a different part of England, and it was Take That. Bradford, must have been 1990. It was at a club which, for the life of me, I can't remember the name of, despite having gone there regularly. It was a barn of a place, getting home from which, at weekends, was advisable before a certain time when some other boys, the bovver variety from Keighley, would turn up in search of the ritual bundle.
I can't say I remember much about them, Take That, that is. "Bunch of dancing boys" was probably my disparaging comment to my girlfriend who was rather more taken with them and rather more lustful than I was. Nevertheless, their appearance allowed me to adopt a sense of superiority when they made it big. "Oh yes, I saw them when ..." I go back a long way with Take That.
The band were in Alcúdia on Saturday. Not the Take That, but a make-believe one. Could it be magic? No, just a tribute act. "Just". Just a tribute act. It can sound as disparaging as I was in 1990. Another form of superiority can abound when it comes to tribs, a supercilious dismissal of the talent that many possess and pour out, as they did on the stage at Hidropark.
It had the atmosphere of an old Radio 1 roadshow. A fading sun and fading summer, down by the seaside with clouds scudding by, threatening rain. All that was missing was the Hairy Cornflake or ooh, Gary Davies. It had held a promise, I had hoped. Would Robbie perform with Take That? Forget all that reunion talk. It didn't happen. Robbie, appropriately enough breathing beery fumes over me, said it couldn't be worked out with the Gary. I couldn't figure out which one was the Gary, much as, in the absence of a blond one, I couldn't identify the Mark. But it didn't matter. Robbie. Rob Idol. Did we let him entertain us? He did. Supremely. So did Take That.
What was all this?
Putting this piece together, I googled Bradford and clubs, trying to jolt the memory for the name of that club. It didn't work, but by coincidence I found a reference to a party night at a club in Bradford's neighbour, Leeds. "Movimiento." A Latin night. Hidropark on Saturday was a benefit concert for the breast cancer charity, "Un Lazo en Movimiento". Sometimes, very good ideas come along, together with very good people who will make them happen. A benefit gig with trib acts is one such. From the despondency or desolation of being diagnosed with breast cancer, as the charity's founder was, to an afternoon in late September. Relighting fires that might otherwise have died in the ashes of this most shattering of diseases.
Abba, Elvis, The Beatles, Tom Jones; they were all there, along with Robbie and Take That. Tributes, a tribute to acts and others prepared to get off their backsides and do something. It could, of course, all sound a bit Radio 1-ish, as in the "charidee, mate" spoof of Smashie and Nicey. But no. Amidst the doom-laden self-pity of resorts in crisis, it is uplifting to know that humanity prevails. And fun. And that Take That and the charity's founder are back for good.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
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