Daryl Hall & John Oates, Wembley Arena, review: a reminder of what live entertainment used to be about
Daryl Hall and John Oates are one of the most successful duos in pop history. They met in college at Philadelphia in 1967 and have been working together for the best part of 50 years.
They have always objected to being referred to as Hall & Oates, however. “The idea of this two-headed monster is not anything we’ve ever wanted,” Oates noted in 2013. And, indeed, it is not what you get from them live, where it is more like a sixteen-legged groove machine, with Hall as the absolutely monster talent at its head.
This is some band, featuring a slick backline of keyboards, bass, drums and percussion, whilst lead guitarist Shane Theriot and long serving saxophonist Charles DeCant join the singer-songwriter duo to take front of stage spotlights. I recently wrote about the preponderance of pre-recorded backing track and vocal elements transforming the live experience into something risk free but this show was about as live as live can be, with virtuoso players interacting joyously on the spot.
At times it was super-sleek and tautly arranged and then it would just expand and open-up. “That’s one song that always feels right, we play it different every night,” Hall noted after a vamping, soulful rendition of Sara’s Smile, seated at a grand piano. There was a lot of eye contact, smiles and laughter on stage during solos and extemporised vocals. That sense of presence and spontaneity communicated to an audience who sang and danced joyously throughout.
It certainly helped that this was an almost all-killer set, where even two deep cut fillers more than punched their musical weight. Although they haven’t released an album of original songs in 15 years, the pop-rock outfit had six US number ones and another 30 chart hits in their seventies and eighties prime, and they played the best of them in a succession of crowd pleasers: Maneater, Family Man, Out of Touch, Say It Isn’t So, Rich Girl, Kiss On My List, Private Eyes, She’s Gone.
A silky smooth version of I Can’t Go For That built to a delightful vocal-exchange between band and audience, gathering momentum as Hall trilled “Hell no, I can’t go” with his head thrown back, apparently laughing in delight. He was always one of the great exponents of blue-eyed soul, a singer with a fluid range who really comes out of himself onstage, summoning up notes and licks that even seem to surprise himself. At 72, his voice has got hoarser in tone, but he remains absolutely committed to releasing himself into each song. He plays piano, keyboards and guitar with the same air of extemporised looseness, confident that his fluidity is supported by the tightly honed skills of his musicians.
Oates role over the decades has devolved from equal partner to able sideman, a tasty blues and funk guitarist who adds his lower and increasingly gritty voice to banks of harmonies. He only takes lead on a couple of occasions but the dazzling jazz fusion of Is It A Star (from 1974’s War Babies) serves as a reminder of the talents he brings to the melting pot. And he certainly looks the part, still wearing his curly locks and thick moustache like a funky cop in a Seventies TV series.
Daryl Hall looks even more like a veteran rocker from central casting, sporting skinny leather jacket and sunglasses, and still apparently blonde and luxuriously coiffed in his seventies. The whole show was a reminder of what live entertainment used to be all about: ridiculous looking musicians playing out of their skins, and carrying their audience with them to a higher plane. I can go for that.
