Monday, 11 June 2018

Marti Pellow, The Private Collection Tour, Royal Concert Hall, Glasgow. Mon 11th June, 2018


Support act, Ben McKelvie, confidently strummed his guitar in a style more akin to Billy Bragg than Ed Sheeran, but with less message, and got me going 'why did I get here early for this.'

When Marti took to the stage, hips swaying and shimmering in his black sequined jacket, the audience dripped vaginally with excitement, like a hen night attending a Magic Marti strip show but with more clothes on. I'd look around and think she's wet, she's wet and she's wet. I get it now. That's where they got the name from.

As the coiffured hotties whooped for their hero, rising to their feet for the old tunes, leaving their husbands and boyfriends sitting, they all soaked up every smile and became faint each time he approached the front or sides of the stage. It didn't matter to them that he had altered the arrangements to make them more groovy and less catchy. They were too dazzled by the spotlights reflecting off his teeth.

When he grabbed a granny from the front row and danced with her for an entire song, the whiff of jealousy in the room was pervasive. As the song continued, I began to wonder if the woman had angina as her dancing slowed to the point of boredom and he had to jolly her up with a grin.

Later, when he sat down at the front of the stage and reflected on being 20 years drink and drug-free, telling a heartfelt tale of being in rehab in Memphis, I was struck by the irony of him being interrupted by multiple drunk lassies screeching that they loved him.

He's still got a great voice and has a stage personality that the ladies love but, to me, this was just an okay gig. My wife, however, rated it very highly, her second favourite gig of the year behind Billy Joel. I guess you had to be standing to appreciate it fully.






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