A curious wheeze afflicts the occasional "maturing" rock star – waste bands. That's waste, not waist. I'm talking orchestral manure in the art, the revisiting of the back catalogue in front of a big, big band. Sometimes a choir will be thrown in for a singalong.
This symphonic plague – and it is a plague – has struck, among others, Metallica, Aerosmith, Kiss, Elbow, Elton John and, naturally, Sting. They all, bless them, play their little hearts out, but ultimately it's about the orchestra and, gosh, how much longer songs seem when you launch 100 musos at them.
Of course, it works on one level – punters flock to listen – but is it necessary? OK, so it's not all bad: Melbourne Symphony Orchestra donned Kiss face (if that's the term) when they backed the merry men of soft metal, so that was fun. And Elton, being Elton, duly delivered with the MSO when, voice shot and throat surgery imminent, he still managed to wig up and come over all Amadeus on us.
But still. What to make of Peter Gabriel? Pete, mate, love your work, love it. But this New Blood thing? You're breaking my heart, and I don't mean the way you did with with Father Son (which destroys me every time). If this blog were a romcom I'd be saying, bottom lip all aquiver: "You had me at hello." I'm a simple man, don't need much. I need less, love, much less than you're willing to give, and you don't need the orchestra – just gimme the groove. Gimme some … Steam.
Fine, so I'm old, and grumpy, and quite possibly living in the past. But I'll wager this song still lives well, nearly 20 years since I first heard it. And though it seems strange calling a 90s tune old music, a lot can happen in 20 years. Back then I was a trainee reporter on a regional paper, on the other side of the world. And at that paper, at that time, cutting and pasting was still more a craft than a keystroke. A lot can happen in 20 years.
