Nothing to Declare

I was full of trepidation about this event, not just because Tom might have rushed back to rehab at any moment, but also that we didn’t have any tickets - I was assured they would be available for pick-up at the box office, but the only proof I would have would be after the hour-and-a-half drive. As it turned out both Tom and tickets were there, and what seats - balcony right, just above the stage (Tip: never believe them when they say lines open at 9am, call 15 minutes earlier).

Given that Keane are considered about as middle of the road as a squashed hedgehog, to put it bluntly, they kicked ass. Tim played keyboards like Peter Crouch plays football - a gangling mass of energy, playing without letting up but always in control - I wouldn’t want to be his keyboard tech. Trim-looking front-man Tom seemed geniunely surprised at the level of support he received from the well-lit West Midlands crowd, and responded accordingly. Drummer Richard Hughes was understated but solid and capable, as I think he probably is in real life. Not much to say about the set list as the band aren’t yet over-endowed with material, yet each song was bashed out with energy and abandon.

Say what you like about Keane, but there’s a band that are doing it for love and they are getting it paid back in spades. Long may they continue.