Published in Sounds, 28th August 1982

The Undertones | Gig Review | Kilburn National 1982 | I WAS waiting for the Undertones to prove something. I doubted their substance — would songs about Mars Bars be as fresh and nutritious as they were a year ago, or would they have staled and decayed?

The Undertones, to a large extent, took the easy way out by choosing the Kilburn National for their showcase gig, base of the London Irish and as near as they could conceivably get to a home venue at an away match. And there’s no denying that it helped.

From the word go, the audience were 180 per cent behind them. Feargal Sharkey could do no wrong. Whatever he wanted from them he got — cheers, applause, hand-clapping with the music, joining in with the songs. He baited and goaded, mostly from a semi-foetal position scrunched up on the floor, enticing the crowd with raunchy new numbers liberally laced with a few old faves.

He knew just when to reward. Just as the heap of Guinness-sweating bodies started to flag, he’d come in with a classic like ‘Wednesday Week’ or ‘You’ve Got My Number’, revitalised, the throbbing swarm of black and tan leather hurled themselves higher and faster to the poppy, boppy ‘Tones tunes.

The new songs are just as danceable, with an added organ sound to the doo-wop choruses of songs like ‘See That Girl’ and ‘Luxury’.

The Undertones | Gig Review | Kilburn National 1982

Feargal’s tremelo voice and the catchy, bouncy songs work together like Irish whisky and ice. The age-old formula still slips down a treat. There’s a lot to be said for this kind of unpretentiousness.

The joy is in the simplicity of the entertainment. Nice songs, songs which make you sing and dance, songs which make you smile. You can have too much of a good thing though, and the second lengthy encore began to tire even the staunchest supporter.

A final flay into ‘Jimmy Jimmy’ and they were all satisfied. One last bop and the last bus home. But admittedly, as sports commentators say, the Undertones were never under pressure.

They proved that songs about chocolate and girls are perennial entertainment, as long as they’re positive, fresh, fun, full of energy. As long as they make you feel good. The Undertones proved that you don’t need to prove anything. (Carole Linfield)

THE UNDERTONES National Club, Kilburn

THE CROWD stretched far down the High Road in Kilburn from early in the evening. Steadily an irrepressible atmosphere, a definite sense of “an event” built up and when The ‘Tones finally took the stage for this one-off return to London, all the expectations were fulfilled, and then surpassed.

Half-way through the performance I’m three storeys and two closed doors away from the throbbing mass on the dancefloor, but even here (in the bloody toilet!) the sound and the message is coming through; loud and clear, strong and proud.

The group are playing a trilogy of razor sharp goldlined singles — ‘Julie Ocean’, ‘Wednesday Week’ and ‘Teenage Kicks’.

Moving through the songs’ dreamy craft and construction it all starts to crystalise, sounds so beautiful, so right . . . and when they hit into the propeller-frantic introduction of their 1978 debut hit, I can’t contain my excitement (steady, Gavin, — Ed).

I’m smiling inanely, fixing up my zip and rushing onto the balcony to cheer and join in the triumph. If The Undertones hadn’t released ‘Teenage Kicks’ four years ago the world would be a poorer place. But this is much more than a gig for old times’ sake.

The Undertones at Kilburn are a roaring success because they still sound fresh and alert and they inspire the same feeling in the audience.

They invest the old or new, with a purpose and passion which is positively heart-warming. I’m slayed out, stayed and when that happens I know why I began to love pop music in the first place.

La monde pop has become an altogether more self-important beast than it was when The Undertones came to prominence a few years ago. Then they were a great tonic for a sagging form and the public and press responded gleefully; these guys were harder to believe in than the leprechauns, it was a dream come true.

Detached from the ingrown, prissy pop process The ‘Tones never got over-awed by their excellence or the critics’ explanations for it, never stopped to consider their place in the grand scheme of things.

And now as great pop writers and performers — crisp, level-headed and common-sensical — they are in a position to return with all their initiative and personality intact and provide us with a tonic we need now just as badly as we did in 1978.

From the top — a helter skelter ‘When Saturday Comes’, a set building with pace and clarity, the thumping ‘Get Over You’ , the wise cracking ‘Untouchables’ and then the new songs, the sort of songs you want to hear again as soon as you’ve heard them, just to check the sheer craft and confidence, the spite and the hard laughs delivered in the lyrics and the music.

There are no great departures — they use what they know and use it how they want and the new compositions — mature, melodic peach-perfect pop ballads — show the Undertones mould being stretched, the instruments and the melodies used with a care and skill which gives them more texture and more definition.

These songs are strong, it becomes clearer than ever that Feargal Sharkey is one of the great British pop singers. While half the world wants to be Mario Lanza and the other half wants to be his sister, it’s really refreshing to hear someone with a powerful voice letting it roar like a lion, the best of its kind since early John Lennon and Small Faces’ Steve Marriott.

It’s a marvellous, throaty voice, with a lean crying edge and it fits in perfectly with the hungry sound of the group. Most of all the night exuded happiness: this was a celebration and a confirmation of real values.

Not rock as any great moral dictate, but one for clear heads and strong hearts fighting the good fight and winning it with humour, resilience and dedication, Pop became alive again, it became something natural end spontaneous.

It’s been a great year for Irish achievements and events —Gerry Armstrong in Spain, Van Morrison in Belfast, Hurricane Higgins at Wembley and now another special occasion with The Undertones at Kilburn.

Older, wiser and stronger, they towered like giants over virtually every group in the country. Nine encores, 90 gallons of sweat, and then the shock. Mickey Bradley made the announcement: “This is our farewell concert.” Silence, frowns, astonishment on the brink of real tears when . . . “until the next one,” he continues.

Of course, of course — they’ll always be far too young and clever to go out like that. (Gavin Martin)