"Where you been?" asks diminutive rock star Midge Ure as the interval ends and the evening gets underway. Giving the support a miss' is the audience's silent answer. We came to the Fairfield to see a bona fide British rock star with a cast iron back catalogue writes Ali Masud.

Unfortunately, said bona fide rock star has a new solo album to promote while old record company has a greatest hits compilation to push for Christmas. So we get an assortment of old hits, near misses and new stuff a curate's egg of a gig.

Midge of course, doesn't care. He and his backing band dilegently get to grips with the material, almost forgetting there is an audience present. And the audience doesn't do itself any favours. Men sensibly dressed and balding, women there because they are their other halves. They filter into the hall and sensibly they wait for Midge to launch into his Ultravox songs before they get up and boogie'.

One Small Day gets everyone up on their feet but Midge fudges the moment by going off into a sub-metal instrumental dirge leaving the audience standing there like awkward Alpha course attendees.

Which is apt Midge isn't afraid to discuss the big topics Hymn, The Voice, If I was, Dear God they are all here and trs embarassing. It's only when he reverts to synth classics Fade to Grey and the one about Rigsby's cat that we get a glimmer of 80s European cool.

Midge should realise that nostalgia plays a huge part in drawing his audience. Like it or not, he should balance his live gigs between the two polar opposites of his career Teutonic Monument-era Ultravox and bombastic Live Aid Ultravox or bite the bullet and hit the 80s nostalgia circuit.

December 3, 2001 13:00