Spawning off the tail-end of punk, new-wave was a musical genre “characterised by its attitude-bold, progressive and unconventional”. It was a constantly changing style to emanate the times, that space around the late seventies to early eighties, where technology and instrumentation began to fuse as one. Some bands in the scene aligned themselves with gothic imagery, while others opted for the madcap colourful hues of a John Waters flick.
Both the Ohio-based Devo and The B-52s, formed in Georgia, are notable groups on the brighter end of the spectrum. Devo can be easily characterised by their robotic synths and plastic red hats. The B-52s, on the other hand, conjure up notions of surf-rock and neon beehives. Nevertheless, the two have put any aesthetic differences aside to celebrate their unique outlooks on a nostalgic co-headliner leg, boasting the subtitle ‘The Cosmic Devolution Tour’.
I simply had to see what this involved.
So, with my good psychobilly pal in tow, we set out for London on the week’s most humid night. I have to admit, I was beginning to fear for the elaborate goth eyeliner I’d donned on that Tube ride over. The Jubilee line was nothing short of a sticky sardine can both ways. My admiration only grows for those living in the capital during these heatwaves. You’re braver than the rest of us.
It wasn’t until we strolled right up to The O2 itself that the reality of our night sank in. As far as venues go, it’s probably the biggest I’ve ever visited, and even on the second time round, I still found myself in awe of the sheer size of it all. The place never gets easier to navigate past swarms of Kent mums heading to Mamma Mia: The Party in their hen-do attire, or giggling primary-schoolers running for the Clip ‘n Climb. No wonder we ended up in the entirely wrong pub for starters. Naming two different establishments ‘The Observatory’ and ‘The Star Gazer’ is frankly absurd if you ask me.
Still, my feelings aren’t negative, and they became even less so upon approaching the crowd. It became apparent to us by then that Devo’s cult following had only grown over the years. Among the casual punters were quite hordes of fans, clad in their own little signature plastic hats, known otherwise as “energy domes”. They bobbed around the place like a sea of enthusiastic flower pots and brought a smile to us all. These new-wavers are a friendly bunch. I realised this even further when a middle-aged American woman asked to take a photo of my friend and I, because we simply “looked so nice”.
Once we’d scrambled about the arena and found our seats, the two of us made it just in time to catch the last three songs of Lene Lovich’s delightful set. Either side of The O2’s billboard screens projected a small elderly woman, adorned in multi-coloured rags, to the masses. I have to say that I found Lovich’s whimsical little act rather charming, as she trilled and squeaked into the mic like a paradise bird. Before, I wasn’t familiar, but her 1979 hit ‘Lucky Number’ sparked off a thrill of recognition. She’s one to remember, by far.
For us, London attenders, the ‘Cosmic Devolution Tour’ did not disappoint. Yet another opening act came striding on under the name of The Rezillos, a Scottish punk band with enough bravado to fuel a monster truck, and the outfits to match. Vocalists Eugene Reynolds and Fay Fife kicked things off with their rendition of ‘Someone’s Gonna Get Their Head Kicked In Tonight’. Thankfully, it appeared that no one actually did. Spirits and morale were already high at this point, and I found myself gripping onto my seat in an effort to conserve my dancing energy before the main event. Simple headbangs would suffice for each of their high-octane tracks. Attention must be given to the creativity of their visuals too, with a beautifully green-screen display of vintage monster flicks throughout their song ‘Cranium’. Another one to add to the streaming libraries.
But it was once Devo began that everything changed. No longer was The O2 a mere concert stadium. As soon as the band’s semi-ironic archive footage played before us, the room became a vessel for pure magic. Kicking off with one of their 2010s releases of ‘Don’t Shoot (I’m a Man)’ was a perfectly constructed choice for morale. Those heavy punches of synths had several of us seated fans leaping up to dance from the beginning. For myself, staying still just wasn’t an option. The setlist itself was simply too strong a mix of deep cuts and all-time hits.
Mark Mothersbaugh and Gerald Casale have evolved heavily as performers, too. Both balance their fronting roles to take on wonderfully strange sci-fi personas, jumping around the stage in the original dome hats and acid yellow boiler suits. This kind of loyalty to their identities is heartwarming to see. At a Devo show, we weirdos are all the better welcomed. You’d have to be pretty hard-hearted not to have the time of your life during hits like ‘Girl U Want’ and ‘Whip It’. Even the casual listeners were on their feet by then.
Sound quality was clear-cut and crisp too, with Bob Mothersbaugh, Josh Hager and Jeff Friedl giving their all towards instrumentation. Devo are a band built heavily on concepts of technology and evolution, so it makes perfect sense for their music to have aged so well. Lyrics from songs are projected on screen to provoke audience sing-along, along with video interludes to splice the set-up into segments. It all works remarkably well for the theme they seem to be conveying, with a famous Carl Sagan talk on the planet Earth included. For the less-known ‘Jocko Homo’, cries of “Are we not men? We are DEVO!” can be heard throughout the stalls. I’d happily embrace that creativity once again.
After eruptions of applause to an encore of ‘Freedom of Choice’ (a song with an infectiously bouncy rhythm), I flopped back down red-faced and sweating. How on earth we’d regain energy for the following set, I had no idea. This all proved to be a completely empty fear when the lights dimmed once again, for a giant silver skull to greet us on screen and tell us to “Put our damn cellphones away and enjoy the show!”.
Sure thing, large floating head, I’ll do whatever you say.
The B-52s are a band extremely proud of their legacy. Endless reels of archive footage from previous tours, music videos and TV guest appearances played before us. They’ve clearly built something worthwhile over the decades, made clear by the group’s sheer joy at being on stage. As ‘Cosmic Thing’ played out, vocalists Fred Schneider, Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson ambled on with palpable enthusiasm. All three sounded perfectly alike the recordings, and I’m pleased to announce that Schneider still very much has the wardrobe of a seaside magician, with the voice of the Dirty Bubble from Spongebob.
Like their robotic predecessors, our setlist was once again a selection box of varied treats. The rare pull of ‘Topaz’ feels especially poignant as a vision of utopia in today’s times, while ‘Roam’ carries a touching weight to it that evening. Wilson choking up in front of the mic only hammered this home. A personal favourite of mine, the funky ‘Dance This Mess Around’, is nothing short of fabulous in live presence, complete with a compilation of famous dance sequences in film on the back screens. My limbs were flailing in all rhythmic directions. Let me tell you, the paracetamol was in high demand the next morning.
By the time our pre-encore finale and actual closer of ‘Love Shack’ and ‘Rock Lobster’ rolled around, I think I could’ve exploded into rainbow confetti. The former started some great party of wriggling hips throughout the tiers, while the latter incorporated a giant lobster suit to the best of its ability. Any grainy footage held in my gallery looks completely dreamed up.
All in all, Devo and The B-52s have very much still got it, as many like to say. The utter euphoria held in that single night is something I wish I could bottle up for years. Perhaps we can learn something from those more underground classics back in the new-wave heyday, a lesson of the benefits of individuality. There's a strong promise in it.
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