by tim howard
Retrospect has done a lot for Mott. Time has let them be appreciated as their own band, putting distance between them, glam rock (which was only ever a portion of their story), and the now-overpowering figure of David Bowie. Sure, the track he gave to them, All The Young Dudes, made an ensemble encore appearance, and is an important enough jam for it to warrant mention so soon in this review.
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That’s beside the point. On this night, one of five marking the band’s 40th anniversary, the band kicked out some boogie like those decades were mere weeks. Their own tunes roared head and shoulders above any covers that they played, though even those were played with vigor, punch and bite.
But wait!
Aren’t reunions like this supposed to be shaky affairs? Forty years have passed! Isn’t the whole dream of rock & roll (and, coincidentally, the theme of several Mott tunes) supposed to have its basic core in youth culture? Won’t that core have been smothered by the years, leaving only the comfortable cushioning of maturity. Wouldn’t they have softened their sound’s muscularity, playing with a limper bite (if bite at all), outmoded relevance and unhip hipster cynicism?
Wouldn’t they just be out of date? Shouldn’t they change their signature pre-stage tune of Holst’s Jupiter (Bringer of Jollity) to the next suite, Saturn (Bringer of Old Age)?
Their opener, “Hymn for the Dudes” seemed to toy with the expectations, and did several things. It starts softly, bringing the worries that their sound will have ‘matured’ into focus. And then, once the jam gets into gear, it reminds you that Mott always had a folkier, soulful side; the uncanny marriage between Mick Ralph’s bluesy boogie with Ian Hunter’s hip mystique that shaped their sound. And it reminds you that the band still have it.
How much they still have it showed when they kicked into the fuzz riff of “Rock & Roll Queen”, before escalating into their roaring take on Lou Reed’s “Sweet Jane”. This was one solid, solid band. Hunter’s voice seemed almost unable to age, as did he himself, running around the stage in skinny black jeans and shades; Ralph’s guitar playing yet more dazzling with each song, as he span on the spot and faced up to Hunter; Verden Allen’s organ playing potent and loud. Each tune seemed to bathe the audience in more energy and excitement as the set went on.
So when the band sat down to play some acoustic tunes, with drummer Martin Chambers of The Pretenders on bongos, you felt that the crowd needed the rest more than the band. There was more to the acoustic set, too: it gave Pete “Overend” Watts a chance to set aside his bass and take the lead guitar reins from Ralphs.
Soon after that it was back to business, with Ralphs’ proto-Bad Company track “Ready For Love” powered through and showing no sign of stopping until they reached Hunter’s perfect set-closer “All The Way To Memphis”.
If that had been the lot, then the band would’ve still won plenty of respect. It was a heavy setlist, and long for most bands. Mott, however, seemed keen to show that they weren’t most bands, bringing on their original drummer, Dale Griffin (whose unfortunate health struggles had called for his absence from the main set), for three more tunes, including the Bowie tune and a version of “Keep on Knockin’” that made you feel certain they’d be exhausted afterward.
The challenge of any band returning ‘from the past’ is to justify themselves, not just to any modern audience but, more crucially, to their loving fans. You don’t want to let down people who’ve waited forty years to see this band, in this line-up, get onstage again (even if the crowd was, so Hunter alleged, full of celebrities: “Nobody else goes out on a Monday night,”). Those guys must have felt some relief in their visible elation: Mott had gone above and beyond any expectations.
