A midsummer night’s dream - Peter Gabriel at the O2 Arena

Picture: York Tillyer

It’s been 21 years since Peter Gabriel last delivered a full album of net-new material. Children have been born and graduated in that time. I’m now three years older than Gabriel was when he last put out an entire collection of properly original songs. Not that he’s been a recluse: there have been contributions to soundtracks here, collaborations with other artists there, and a couple of cover version projects. But that aside, nothing box-fresh. We have, though, had six tours, of which I’ve seen five, only missing out on his ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors’ double-header with Sting.

However, there is a glimmer of hope on the horizon. In principle, the 73-year-old has been working on a new album for most of those 21 years, but it was only photographs this time last year of Gabriel and long-term cohorts Tony Levin, David Rhodes and Manu Katché at work at his Real World Studios near Bath that confirmed a tenth solo studio album was “on”. But, being Gabriel, and with the middle of 2023 now reached, the semi-mythical new record is still months away. 

This might be, simply, Gabriel’s customary glacial rate of progress: interests and causes constantly throw him off schedule. Or equally, he’s simply teasing. Maybe it’s the latter. There have, in fact, been new releases since the beginning of the year. Six songs, to be precise, each introduced in typically Gabrielesque manner to coincide with the lunar cycle. “I’m an awkward sod,” he told Uncut’s Michael Bonner in March. “I like doing things differently, if I can. I’m 73. At this point, it doesn’t matter what other people say. I listen, still, to people who I think are wise and smart and have good taste. Generally, though, I’ll end up doing what I think will be either fun or interesting.”

He has earned that right, and not always with the recognition his notoriously sporadic output has deserved. While never regarded with the same chameleonic awe as David Bowie, across nine solo studio albums so far, four soundtrack projects and myriad one-offs, produced a body of work as intriguing, compelling and as invariably confounding as anyone I can think of. I’m somewhat biased, of course. Having been first introduced to Gabriel via his seven-year tenure as lead singer and figurehead of proto-prog era Genesis, his solo albums (the first four simply titled Peter Gabriel to encourage the cover art to make each record stand out...although I suspect some wry record label trolling was also at play) have been nothing short of eclectic. Classic rock, soul, funk, gospel, Afro-beat, Indian themes, Aboriginal influences, electronica, barbershop jazz - you name it, they’ve all featured.

Surprisingly, there’s been more commercialism in that array than some might recognise, what with hits like Solsbury Hill, Games Without Frontiers, Shock The Monkey, and then the pop phenomenon that was the So album, with Sledgehammer, Don’t Give Up and In Your Eyes. But as the period between albums has stretched out - the first four made over five years, then gaps of four, six and ten respectively, before the two-decade elapse since 2002’s Up - Gabriel has also found plenty to with which to dilly and dally.

Peter Gabriel plays live - by yours truly in Smash Hits, 14 July 1987

At the O2 Arena last night - the seventh time I’ve seen Gabriel play live since 1987 - the 46-year expanse of Gabriel’s solo career was condensed into almost three hours, separated by an interval, and given fresh impetus. As with any well-established act, there are the expected staples: the now-customary finale of In Your Eyes followed by Biko (in 1980, one of the first mainstream rock songs to address apartheid), the feelgood Stax energy of So’s Sledgehammer (oddly sequenced at the end of the first set before the interval) and Big Time, the intimate optimism of Don’t Give Up (backing vocalist Ayanna Witter-Johnson stamping her own signature to mesmerising effect on Kate Bush’s duet role in the original). These are what many, if not most, of the punters have come to hear. 

This, though, raises questions about the back-to-front commercial wisdom of the 22-song set including a whopping 11 new pieces drawn from the forthcoming album i/o. It’s easy to assume that this is peak contrarian Gabriel - especially as the i/o Tour is not actually in support of the near-mythical new release, the date for which is still not confirmed. In the end, it was a masterstroke. This was, essentially, a preview of the new album on a grand, arena-sized scale. Gabriel has used tours in the past to preview works in progress, but here in North Greenwich, the new material was brought spectacularly to life. 

Even the six new songs released so far, were given bigger and bolder expression in the O2’s expanse. Lead-off single Panopticom, Four Kinds Of Horses and the i/o title track (named after the computing acronym for “input/output”) bounce expressively, their instantly singalongable choruses underpinned by stalwarts Levin, Rhodes and Katché’s combined rhythms. Along with The Court, Playing For Time and Road To Joy, the new songs bloomed into dimensions that seemed familiar and new in equal measure. Those we hadn’t heard before also seemed to fit effortlessly into the programme: Olive Tree, for example, seemed like it had come from a 1980s soundtrack album without sounding out of place in a trio of new songs that included the aforementioned Playing For Time (featuring the studio recording’s Tom Cawley on piano) and the warm reflection on domesticity, This Is Home. 

The one misfire of the entire evening was another new piece, And Still, inspired by the loss of  Gabriel’s mother. Not that it won’t have its place on the new album, but coming after the searing brilliance of Red Rain, it seemed downbeat and out of kilter with the general upbeat mood of the evening (much the result of the ensemble Gabriel has placed around him on this tour - which also includes guitarist Richard Evans, Witter-Johnson on vocals and cello, Marina Moore on vocals and violin, Josh Shpak on brass, along with the very funky keyboardist Don E).

“There’s always a trade-off,” Gabriel explained in one of his monthly Full Moon Club newsletters. “People generally want to hear what they know and the artist generally wants to play the new stuff. So, I think there’s a sort of barter thing where you have to suffer enough new numbers to get to hear the old ones. It’s always been a bit like that with me, but I think this is a strong batch of songs. They’re not all up-tempo, but I feel they’re certainly being played with a lot of heart.” 

Levin, Gabriel and Rhodes - not a comb between them
Picture: York Tillyer

In the early days of Genesis, Gabriel wore masks and costumes to ‘act out’ the invariably complex narratives of their lengthy fantastical songs. He would also tell ponderous, meandering stories between songs, largely to allow Mike Rutherford and Steve Hackett time to retune their twelve-string guitars. Some of this was a front, mere armour to shield his shyness, but also - in his own words - to “command an audience”. Five decades on, he’s still giving ponderous introductions, largely to explain what his songs are about. While mostly worthy, they are also sincere, and delivered with a wry sense of self-depreciation. And while the costumes and greasepaint have long been abandoned for stage clothing redolent of his world music interests, the singer who once bunked out of Charterhouse to see Otis Redding play the RamJam Club in Brixton is still prone to dad-dancing routines to accompany his livelier songs, like Solsbury Hill and In Your Eyes. Rather than being embarrassing, it’s endearing. By the evening’s end, and a somnolent, cavernous drum beat heralds the traditional ending of Biko, the crowd knows the score, clenched fists punching the air in solidarity to the “Heh! Heh! Heh! The man is dead, the man is dead” township refrain.

When the new album i/o eventually arrives, and lyric sheets and press releases can be pored over, the disparate, encyclopedic themes that Gabriel has always pursued will be explored in more depth than via, for most people, their first listen live. It’s part of my fascination with the multiple dimensions he brings to bear with his work, especially with a penchant for eccentric wordplay. When he officially left Genesis in 1975, he released a statement to Sounds newspaper which concluded:

“The following guesswork has little in common with truth: Gabriel left Genesis.
1) To work in theatre.
2) To make more money as solo artist.
3) To do a ‘Bowie’.

4) To do a ‘Ferry’.

5) To do a ‘Furry Boa round my neck and hang myself with it’.
6) To go see an institution.
7) To go senile in the sticks.
I do not express myself adequately in interviews and I felt I owed it to the people who have put a lot of love and energy supporting the band to give an accurate picture of my reasons.”

Such witticism (which found its way into songs like Games Without Frontiers and Sledgehammer) is there on the new songs, but used to cover pet topics such as utopianism (Panopticom), dystopia (The Court) and environmentalism. But, if their unfamiliarity to new ears might be unsettling, audience engagement is undimmed. “Now we’re going to do something new” is usually the cue for a bar stampede, which suggests that devoting half the set list to songs from i/o  would seem instinctively risky at best. But it’s here that you realise that Gabriel - even if never the first name on people’s lips when you invite them to name a rock legend - has earned that respect over 56 years as both a frontman and originator of, in his words “awkward”, yet utterly inventive pop music.

Absence does make the heart grow fonder, but there have been times when it has felt like Gabriel’s almost fan-trolling ponderousness in the studio might have tested that allegiance. “It’s been a while since I’ve been touring, but I am thoroughly enjoying it. We’ve had lovely audiences and I think it is a really extraordinary band, so I am delighted with that,” he wrote in his latest Full Moon Club update. 

For all the human rights causes, obscure artistic rabbit holes and other tangents that will have understandably drawn irate cries of “Just get on and make a new record, will you?!” from his fanbase, his emergence, on this tour and with the prospect to come of i/o, reawakened my belief that Gabriel is one of the most compelling artists in the business.

Noel Gallagher - with strings attached

If I was Noel Gallagher, I’d probably be happy to get through any media interaction without the subject of Oasis being brought up. It probably doesn’t help that his own brother doesn’t let the issue of the band reforming lie. Barely a week goes by without Liam firing off some salvo about his sibling via Twitter. Last week the elder Gallagher branded his junior a “coward” for not picking up the phone (rumours have been circling that the brothers are warming to the idea of getting together for, possibly, a one-off gig, perhaps symbolically at Knebworth to mark the 30th anniversary of Definitely Maybe next year).

This week, The Sun reported a further exchange of salvos in the spat, with Noel insisting that he’s too busy, and that “anyway, Liam is full of shit”, adding “He knows as well as I do that he doesn’t want it either - what he does like doing is making me look a cunt.” The bottom line, he insists, is that his phone has remained silent and nobody has been in contact about a reunion. So that is that.

For those desperate to recreate their ’90s youth, Blur’s reformation may provide an acute stimulation to the brothers. The key here is nostalgia, with such exercises serving the mutual needs of artist and audience alike: one party gets to exploit a lucrative trip down memory lane (viz reformations of the likes of Cream and The Police), while the other revisits their own a time gone by they might cherish. 

For the Gallaghers, however, to a greater or lesser degree, there really isn’t any need for either to recreate a past that was of its moment, either in musical terms or the publicity it generated. At least that has seemed to be the position of the elder sibling, whose new album with his High Flying Birds, Council Skies, is out today. It’s Noel’s fourth record in the 12 years since he acrimoniously left ‘his brother’s band’, and while Liam has largely stuck with the Oasis formula with his subsequent releases (the Lennonish vocals, choppy Indie-light guitars, slavish adhesion to Scally casualwear) Gallagher Snr. has always appeared more progressive.

Quite how Council Skies is more progressive than its predecessors, Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds, Chasing Yesterday and Who Built The Moon?, plus the bumper Record Store Day compilation Back The Way We Came, which included new material, is not easy to ascertain. That is not a criticism, by the way. Gallagher has a gift for edgy melodicism that makes his newest material seem familiar at the same time as requiring a keen listening ear to distinguish what’s different.

It’s that subtlety that makes Council Skies so utterly enjoyable, from start to finish. While it’s title (and title track) - inspired by a book by illustrator Pete McKee - might suggest a sombre sketch of northern despondency, like Richard Hawley’s Sheffield-inspired Standing At The Sky’s Edge, there is a reflective wistfulness to the 11 songs. Perhaps that’s due to the fact that string arrangements appear on at least half the tracks, giving them the inevitable cinematic expanse that orchestration does, accompanied more by acoustic guitars than Gallagher’s trademark electric chug of yore. That said, there are occasional bursts of amplification, such as the sumptuous radio hit Easy Now - a classic arm-waving, festival-friendly piece of singalong-a-Noel, which includes a brief “soaring” guitar solo that conjures up an image of Slash or Richie Sambora on a mountain top.

The title track - which has also benefited from decent radio airplay this year - is another string-soaked classic - and one whose arrangements underline the quality of co-producer Paul Stacey’s brilliance. Stacey has worked with Gallagher since Oasis’s Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants album, and has regularly given his client the room to expand his sound beyond the T-Rex-lite that established his former band.

Council Skies has an understated swagger about it, a confidence ultimately reflective of its creator’s own notable self-confidence (Noel remains one of the industry’s most entertaining interviewees). Open The Door, See What You Find is a good example of this, mixing tempos with chorused vocals that hook themselves into the brain. More follows on There She Blows!, with its Beatley chug and vocal harmonies that transport the listener back to the ’60s (with, dare I say it, a slight nod towards the Wall Of Sound).

Picture: Sharon Latham/noelgallagher.com

For many, Champagne Supernova will always be the gold standard of Gallagher’s sense of the epic. It’s something he seems capable of producing without even thinking about it. Trying To Find, here, goes down a similar path, but of all the tracks on the album most redolent of northern gloom, it is this one. My one complaint is that, at just over three minutes, it’s too short. There is more in this string-infused vein with We’re Gonna Get There In The End and Trying To Find A World That's Been And Gone, both tracks that appeared last year in what felt like demo form as direction of travel to this new collection. Other gems include Think Of A Number (not, to my knowledge, a hat-tip to Johnny Ball), and the soulful I’m Not Giving Up Tonight.

Arguably, though, the drop-dead highlight of this album is Dead To The World. Appearing early on in the running list, it builds from a slowburn opening on a bed of - yes - more strings - to give a woozy, Bacharach-like feel. It even prompted brother Liam to tweet: “How can such a mean spirited little man write such a beautiful song?”. Hardly a sign of a thaw in their relationship, but equally, a glimmer of light that the love between two brothers may not have been lost completely.