Gig review: Deep Purple + Reef at O2 Arena, London

Live review: Deep Purple and Reef at O2 Arena, London, Wednesday, November 6 2024

By STEVE MASCORD

“I SAW the Rolling Stones on the Some Girls tour in 1978 and they did not play as many songs off their current album then as Deep Purple did the other night.”

Your correspondent runs into a friend by chance in one of the local watering holes a week after Purple’s London show and his enthusiasm is still fizzing. The reasons for his plaudits, though, are decidedly old school. In an age where a band like, say, Buckcherry feel pressure to play the hits and Cold Chisel aren’t giving much from this century an airing, a Brontosaurus from the dawn of stadium rock is peddling six songs from their =1 album out of a total setlist of 19, making it the best represented LP of the night.

Six songs off the new album from a band formed in 1968 and 23 studio albums to their name. You read that right.

The maxim is that fans want to go to the toilets when old bands play new songs – in which case Ian Gillen and co were virtally pointing at the dunnies for the whole show. Off you go! They just did not give a fuck.

Purple never play David Coverdale-era songs such as “Burn” and “Soldier Of Fortune” with Gillan but tonight they didn’t even trot out “My Woman From Tokyo”, although – you know – “Highway Star” opened it, “Smoke On The Water” ended the main set and “Black Night” brought down the curtain for the final time.

When a fan of Parkway Drive or Avenged Sevenfold goes to see AC/DC or Scorpions, I’d imagine they might consume the show much the same way I did tonight’s fare – as a fan of the latter two acts mentioned there, peering a further half-generation into the past.

You appreciate it. You admire it. You recognise the elements that are so familiar to the music you love. But it doesn’t quite move you the same way. Don Airey is probably the number one rock keyboardist in the world but “heavy” keyboards (as opposed to 1980s synth) never again reached the heights they did with Purple in the seventies so – as an example of what I’m talking about – they don’t resonate as much with me.

Northern Irish guitarist Simon McBride is an extremely impressive musician, it must be said, and seeing him live for the first time was reason enough to head out to North Greenwich this evening.

There’s no doubt I would travel much further than that to catch Reef, one of my favourite British bands and one that falls more squarely in my wheelhouse.

Even Reef managed a song of their most recent album, Shoot Me Your Ace, in the chugging “Refugee”. This was an accomplished and powerful set in front of an audience that was entirely seated. Gary Stringer and Amy Newton do prompt a few brave souls to rise with their set-closing cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain”. I sniggered at this until everyone stood up for Purple and realised I was smack bang in the middle of an episode of a TV show from the year the band was formed, 1968 … that show being Land Of The Giants.

I had a pleasant enough night. To my mate, Deep Purple’s middle finger to heritage rock orthodoxy and septuagenarian commercial compliance was enervated. When he explained his rationale, I found it difficult not to agree with him.

PS: By the way, I was actually sitting next to a blind man for “When A Blind Man Cries”. The tall people in front were no concern to him. He sat there talking it all in with a gentle smile, no tears.