It’s 1974. Britain is coming out of the chaos of the 3-day week, endless power cuts, rubbish in the streets. In a grubby flat above a makeshift porn studio, two wide-eyed young Londoners, brought together by a 50p advert calling for musicians to join a band that didn’t actually exist, start to write songs together about everyday life – kitchen-sink dramas, teen pregnancies, waking up and looking at the lino. Gradually, they start elevating the prosaic into something else.
Fifty years on, and those slightly older Londoners, Glenn Tilbrook and Chris Difford, stride out onto the stage at the Roundhouse. Suited and booted, they look eager to get on with proceedings; there is a lot of music to get through, after all.
It’s fair to say that Squeeze play to a dedicated fan base - but tonight has a slight edge to it. Could it be the fact the show is being filmed, or that it’s the last night of their tour? Whatever the reason, gone are the softer fan-club vibes of past gigs. The tempo is high and the songs come in great thundering waves of sound. Black Coffee In Bed, Footsteps, Is That Love and Up The Junction leave us wondering: “Have they gone too big, too early?”
A handful of old favourites and a clutch of newer songs add to the depth and pacing of the performance, but that harder edge is still there, tempered slightly by Glenn and Chris’ anecdotes, giving context and meaning to their back catalogue.
