Whitesnake: Carling Academy 30/06/06

As the lights go down on a damp and sweaty Carling Academy to the sound of The Who’s My Generation, I wonder if David Coverdale is trying to tell us something. The large-lunged Yorkshireman has seen a few generations come and go, from his early ’70s break onto the scene with Deep Purple through various incarnations of the mighty Whitesnake. In a band which boasts a staff turnover to rival the local McDonalds, Coverdale enters the fray flanked by long time collaborators Doug Aldrich and Tommy Aldridge, and they soon launch into a storming version of Deep Purple’s Burn. It is soon apparent that this is far from men in their fifties going through the motions and cashing in on past glories: this band are having a whale of a time rattling through the hits. This energy and enthusiasm are matched by the (largely older) Glasgow crowd, who are packed tightly into the venue and are singing every word.

All of the obligatory rock clichés are here. Every band member takes a solo spot, with enough fretboard masturbation from axe-wielders Doug Aldrich and Reb Beach to give the front row die-hards wet dreams for weeks to come. There are guitars played behind the head Hendrix-style, wailing feedback from a stack of Marshall amplifiers and a pounding drum solo from Aldridge. Self indulgent? Of course it is, but when you have this many classic songs to back it up then even Coverdale’s prompts to “Take the fucking roof off Glasgow!” can be allowed for one night.

As if sensing a little frustration with all the musical posturing creeping in from the few casual observers in the hall, Coverdale emerges once more to lead the crowd through Ain’t No Love in the Heart of the City, a gentler number which shows off his superb blues-rock voice and allows everyone to sing along for a few choruses. The band go into top flight, showing their experience and depth as the hits come thick and fast. There’s nothing new here: the vast majority of the paying customers know the material inside out and let it be known through loud vocal accompaniment to bona fide rock classics such as Here I Go Again and Slide it In. Little do they realise (or care for that matter) that they are in the palm of Coverdale’s hand.

After the inevitable encore (an extended workout of In the Still of the Night) the night ends with the frontman alone on stage with an unnacompanied rendition of Soldier of Fortune as if bringing things full circle with another slice of his Deep Purple heritage. Perhaps a strange way to leave a crowd who are stamping their feet for more but there are few complaining voices as the house lights come up and the security staff usher us all outside to do battle with the bootleg t-shirt vendors.

What makes the performance into a proper rock and roll show is the fact that Whitesnake visibly work hard to make sure the people have a great time. It would be easy to write such a band off as a bunch of burned out rock stars peddling the same old songs for one more tour, but Whitesnake are better than that. There’s no new album sales pitch and they’re hardly down to their last £10k … but they know who’s coming to see them and how to entertain them. It’s testament to their enthusiasm for live work that they can not only muster such energy after the best part of 25 years, but project it in a way that’s impossible to fake. In focusing energies on giving the audience a great night, Whitesnake exhibit a rare skill in the music world: the ability to give a show that’s actually good honest value. This is a band that need prove nothing and are playing good rock and roll for an audience that doesn’t care about being trendy or fashionable. Everyone revels in the band-crowd interaction. A few of the vocal high notes may now be handled by the younger, newer members of the band but it’s evident that everyone is leaving in good spirits, either home to retire the tight jeans for another night or maybe to the local alehouse for post-gig analysis. This is what it’s all about really, a Friday night with good company and a great band playing unfussy rock and roll that puts a smile on the face. It might not quite be at the cutting edge musically anymore (if indeed it ever was) but to a good proportion on the gig-goers this WAS their generation.

Lighter in the air optional …

[Pink punk]

Whitesnake are shit.

Hold on, all the spilt beer made that line in my notes run; it should say
'Whitesnake are the shit'.

The night has been planned with military precision by some attendees here tonight. Mullets are freshly styled, some have poured themselves back into the skin tight jeans of their youth while others have rescued that old t-shirt from the duster pile. Judging by the looks of anticipation on the faces of those queuing at the bar, this will be a night to remember.

Despite not knowing a single song, I was singing along with the entire auditorium within seconds. Whitesnake really know how to rock and obviously have fun doing it. My notes get more blurred as the night goes on, but highlights have to include learning the words to Slide it In ( yes, all three of them), the most amazing backdrop seen this side of the 1980s and David Coverdale’s fantastic voice.

With the exception of a few self indulgent solos at the end and the accompanying over-enthusiastic strobe lighting, the show was fantastic. Every hit was accounted for, which is saying something since I denied knowing any of them in the pub beforehand—although as we left I was serenaded by a friend singing Here I Go Again, which may have rung a bell or two. She was jealous, I’m sure of it.

I had an amazing night, the band and the company kept my spirits up, even while standing in a large puddle of beer, cider and drum solo. Now, that backdrop is worth fighting for. Will it fit in the back of Chris’ mums car? Will it hell. Still, we could try bribing the roadies, I’d give almost anything for a 40-foot banner saying Whitesnake. Hell, The logo with the glow in the dark snake would almost fit on my living room wall. It certainly ought to be on a t-shirt, but I'm fucked if I’m paying those prices for merch.

Despite the wall to wall Slade reject haircuts and the lack of Slade style platform boots to help view anything, it was the best night out I’ve had in years and easily the best I’ve (not) seen in this venue. Take a good look at Ryan’s photos, it’s the only way I got to see the band over all those mulleted heads.

[Woolies]

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