Plaza Hotel, London
FROM THE name of the place it sounds like they should be selling pizzas, not dishing up the latest Sheffield sounds souped up in the syncopations of ABC.
In the beginning was the word and the word was ABC. Three letters to make a name, a name to represent a body, a new dance faction with so much soul that reaches way out beyond the beat. ABC fuel the fire to heat your feet to step it up right on down to that funky beat.
Upfront is Mr Martin Fry who croons the tunes and squeezes out every ounce of emotion from those carefully chosen words. A vocal range somewhere between James Brown and David Bowie, and a jacket which looks as though it might have been borrowed from the former, he’s a perfect frontman being particularly adept at presentation to the maximum effect.
The band were with him, all the way, sassy, soulful and outasight! The brass section were wonderful and managed to maintain a party time atmosphere of high energy and modern drugs. But where ABC win where other bands have failed is on the lyrical content which transcends the usual discomix of words.
Tears may not be enough, but there are times when words fail. Open your hearts and let the emotions flow. Happiness is time well spent and you won’t be wasting it with ABC.