They say, never meet your heroes. I don’t know why because every time I have met a hero, they’ve never let me down. I haven’t met Todd Rundgren yet, although I have seen him live in concert a number of times. Last night’s show at the Alexandra in Birmingham was, by some distance, the finest show to date.
Rundgren is 77 but doesn’t look it. He doesn’t sing or play like 77, either. And he doesn’t move around stage for over two hours without a break like someone who is ready for the knacker’s yard. With a stellar backing band, who clearly love the music as much as the fans, we were treated to a truly great gig.
We were taken on a journey of over 50 years of music, from his work with Utopia and his long solo career. There was no small talk, no bants with the audience, apart from his band introduction right at the end of the show, just a brilliant performance of some of the most wonderful music in the history of rock and roll.
If you listen to mainstream radio, Rundgren has only written one song, the epic I Saw The Light on which the young man sang and played everything on the track. The fans, who regard Todd as God, are not there just for I Saw The Light, which is just as well since the great man left it until the first encore and even then only as part of a medley of classics, always including Can We Still Be Friends and Hello It’s Me. I have been to shows where he has omitted one or all of these songs from his set, but he did them justice tonight.
I was thrilled that Rundgren played no less than four songs from his 2004 album Liars, my favourite of all his many albums. As the title suggests, the theme of the record is – no, allow me to quote Rundgren himself:
- “All of these songs are about a paucity of truth. At first they may seem to be about other things, but that is just a reflection of how much dishonesty we have accepted in our daily lives. We are raised from birth to believe things that cannot be proven or that are plainly not true. People will often brag of their honesty, when there is so much they have simply chosen to ignore or leave unexamined.
- The fact is, we are terrified of the truth.”
The title track is a bin Laden broadside, God Said has God himself pointing out “I am not really here, so get over yourself.” After God Said, Rundgren performed Fascist Christ, a searing polemic about organised religion. This was not a heritage artist going through the motions: he meant every word.
He has produced albums for Grand Funk Railroad, Sparks, Hall & Oates, the Tubes, XTC and even Meatloaf, for whom he produced Bat Out Of Hell. (The production of the latter was brilliant, which is more than you can say about the music, which was more proof that you can’t polish a turd.) Most people have heard of him, some even have one of more of his albums (and everyone should have 1972’s Something/Anything). He’s not a rock and roll superstar, like Bowie or Prince, but he is a wizard, a true star and, in my view, a genius.
I felt privileged to be in the presence of greatness. Rarely has two hours passed by so quickly. The only interaction with the audience was when Rundgren was recalled for the inevitable encore. A fan shouted: “You’re a fucking legend, Todd.” To which he replied, with a twinkle in his eye: “Only in my mind!” No, Todd. You’re a legend all right.
I’m still coming down from the experience, trying to place the show in order of the great gigs I have seen because it’s right up there, certainly top ten, quite possibly even top five. As Todd himself put it: “But my feelings for you were just something I never knew. ‘Til I saw the light in your eyes.”
