Lingering around the periphery of Kensington's Royal Albert Hall, a wandering stranger top-to-toe in tie dye frantically dashes from lurker to skulker, her pupils perplexed, her wispy voice quizzical. "What particular strand of spirituality is planned for tonight's performance?" She looks dismayed by the revelation that it's merely a band by the name
Spiritualized, and not a psuedo-revelatory showing from Jonathan Cainer yet what Jason Pierce (or J. Spaceman for the purpose of this review) lacks in a deep, meaningful knowledge of the cosmos he more than atones for in the epiphanic cosmic grooves tonight conjured, sorcerer-like, from a Telecaster.
Spaceman sits stage-left (the centre of the vast platform remains a black hole of vacuity), looking more akin to a presupposed image of a saviour than a sorcerer, swivelling on an office chair during the show's more raucous numbers. He's always been something of an extraterrestrial presence on the space rock scene, an unknown entity, and one constantly subject to change in both style and substance. However one consistent element of his being is to wear his sunglasses at night, and they're not removed for the duration, not even to witness untainted the several standing ovations that the conclusion of the main set and its two encores garner. That said his strobe setup is inconceivably strong, almost to the point of becoming oppressive, and is equally perceptible through eyelids slammed shut as it is when scorched onto the retina, a persistent flicker casting the look of lightning over lily pads on the venue's iconic acoustic diffusing discs that float overhead.
Tonight isn't so much about the pioneering from a man who squirrels away CDs in foil blister packs, nor is it closely related to pyrotechnics (although a series of standard lights do a fairly convincing impression of billowing flames during a rockin', rollin' rendition of Spacemen 3 track, Take Me To The Other Side), but aims to carry unreleased, previously unheard material to the glowing light at the end of the Kensington Gore. Backed by two string ensembles, brass section, a minimal, if maximally audible gospel choir numbering three, a swaying choir of substantially greater tally, the intermittent twang of the banjo, and a full band boasting no less than three guitars at all times, if a tinge of "pop" was promised, opener Hey Jane could quite feasibly be said to sound more akin to NIN than to Nicola Roberts. Not that it sounds in many ways analogous with either, what with it sounding merely quintessentially Spiritualized. It clocks in around the eight minute mark although whooshes by like glimmering skyline seen from the window of a train practically rattling off the tracks, and similarly the first fifty minutes blur mesmerically into what feels like five. The segueing Hey Little Girl is, as with much of Spaceman's work, somewhat self-indulgent, its forgettable refrain beamed out once or twice too often yet that which follows, apparently entitled You Get What You Deserve, is a stonking song of orchestral ingenuity. Mary, meanwhile, is a bruised, brooding piece, strung together, as is Spaceman's modus operandi when not unleashing not so much hell as earth-shuddering aural offensive (as on the anthemic bombast of I Am What I Am), with twines of religious undertone. Nonetheless as the opening Asiatic chimes of Sway commence, the first foray into the great known, they sound like a wand being clinked along the gates of Utopia. We're left feeling purged and all set for admittance into a paradisiacal encore that features a typically rollicking Cheapster, harmonica-led reedy bluegrass romp through Good Times, and, in homage to Spaceman's '97 show in this very venue, a no-expense-spared roar through Oh Happy Day. Following the spirited, if largely sedate run-through of the forthcoming seventh studio record, it's a coda that sounds robust enough to dislodge hunks of office-like panel roofing from Butlins' Centre Stage, were we all down beside the seaside chomping on stale boxed crisps. The reaction to the patiently awaited recognisable is equal parts headbang and hallelujah rejoice, with calm effortlessly interchanged with cacophony throughout, and never is this more effectual than on the divine slide guitar-sustained Shine a Light.
Of course airing a new record in what may well be its entirety once tracklistings are finalised, a record devoid of evident "singles" if you will (not that Spiritualized have, or has, ever even suggested that their, or indeed his, existence hinge on 7" and MP3 releases etc.), when you've such a celestial backcatalogue to submerge yourself in, will always polarise. However with
Primal Scream having amassed great critical acclaim for their returning to, and
reissuing of, the seminal Screamadelica, there's never been a more apposite moment for the Spaceman to come back down and do his thing all over again, albeit this time looking ahead to the future rather than delving back into his past. And with hymnal lyrics routinely centric to forthcoming material, that spiritual psychedelic ambling aimlessly outside should probably have filled one of few lonely seats...
