The last band I saw at the SECC was Crazy Horse, at least ten years ago. Neil young whined about it not being the Apollo, the sound was terrible, there was no atmosphere, the tickets cost a fortune and I promised myself that I wouldn’t be back. Actually there was a lot more to it than that, but I won’t bore you. It’s enough to say it was shit. And after Gang of Four, watching the sad descent of teenage angst into middle aged bitterness, I decided I wasn’t going to any more comeback gigs.

But there you go. Promises are bound to be broken. In amongst 10,000 riotous women on a freezing November night seems as good a way as any. In fact it seems like a very good way.

I’m glad Take That are still around, they’re good boys and I like them. I’m glad they’re still alive and I’m glad we’re still alive. At one point I imagined they might go on and grow in the way The Beatles did, but (predictably enough) it didn‘t happen. So it’s nice to see them again, not seemingly for the money, but with a very respectable new album and a genuine sense of being grateful to be back on stage. And that’s the main thing, it’s a warm spirited night without the earnest muso poncing usually associated with this kind of thing. And, while I’m at it, if someone is willing to pay 83 grand to listen to Robert Plant warbling on about Gollum, it makes a lot more sense to me to pay 50 quid to hear Gary Barlow sing ‘Never forget where you’re coming from, you’re living someone else’s dream’. At their best Take That are capable of the same kind of simple honest pop which Motown, SAW or ABBA could produce.

Robbie Williams may be missing, but he’s rubbish anyway. And minus Robbie, the band are full of self mocking, good humour and humility - and hardly any ego. There’s none of the self important, lighter waving ’good evening Glasgow’ stuff which you usually get once a band have their own jet. Fat Gary Barlow might occasionally think he’s Barry Manilow, but he can write a song, and he looks chuffed to be given the chance.

They play all the songs you know and some of the others, and it’s all good. Slowed down and mixed up (Gnarl’s Barkley’s ‘Crazy’ gets a look in during ‘Relight my Fire’). They arrive as politicians and depart in amongst a pyrotechnic cabaret which is overblown, camp and very impressive. There are two stages, huge screens, a vast cast of singers, dancers and a fat bloke who sings like Grossburger in ‘Stir Crazy’. Only a bizarre, spaghetti western take on ‘It Only Takes a Minute’ doesn’t really work on any level, but the rest of the 2 hours or so fly by. Like I said, Barlow can write pop songs.

The moment of the evening, though, is a closing ‘Never Forget’ which is certainly beautiful and nearly astonishing and after all the success, the acrimony and the flop solo careers it sums up the whole thing perfectly. It’s three minutes of pure, bittersweet pop, and the thirty something women bellowing along might as well be telling their own stories.

Of course it all means very little but it may actually mean quite a lot. Whatever, it’s about celebrating life in a simple, unpretentious way that most serious bands could never hope to approach. On a night like this, it’s good to have them back.

Stuart Blackwood is 30 (odd), was born in Newarthill and lives in Glasgow. He supports Motherwell FC, has an MA in Economics and Philosophy and likes William Bell (the singer), Bukowski & Fante, Eric Arthur Blair, Negativeland, Eric Hobsbawm, politics, philosophy and ambiguity. He dislikes Alan Bloom and Francis Fukuyama, U2, categorization and Violence

© 2008 Laura Hird All rights reserved.