Sometimes, I incidentally come across articles and reviews in magazines that I originally bought for another reason. This accidental “bycatch,” if you will, is a fun addition to my scrapbook. Recently, I came across a pretty good review of Steve Hackett’s performance at the Mogador Theater in Paris on October 16, 1978. It’s from the French magazine Rock en Stock, dated December 1978. It’s quite a funny review, almost poetic. I used AI to translate it into English, and I thought I’d share it here for anyone interested.
“A Tale For Children“
When the angels fall silent and the fairies appear, how many shivers can pass through a child’s body in the space of a second – if, indeed, time itself has not stopped existing…
I left Genesis long ago, and Peter Gabriel hasn’t caught up with me. I arrived at this concert feeling pessimistic, fearing the endless riffs of Genesis that I can barely stand anymore… but a miracle happened. Or rather, it’s the tale of fairies that made me forget the music. Hackett’s ‘Puss in Boots’ stepped onto the stage all dressed in white. The lights and colours in abundance carried us away into another world, and suddenly there was no longer any question of a venue, an audience, or surroundings…
Yes, I let myself be carried away by this carefully crafted play of lights. The guitar notes began to flow through my veins, to the rhythm of waves breaking behind John Shearer’s drumming, then everything faded into blues and the introduction to “Horizons” on acoustic guitar awakened me. A sudden awakening that would not have happened in those distant times when I still loved Genesis… The perfectly executed staging made me forget the rest, and that’s already something. Everyone was in their place that evening: the punks at The Clash, the hippies at Steve Hackett. And they came to listen, and they got more than their fill. As a guitarist, Hackett does not seem to want to strive to create something new, and instead takes pleasure in the atmosphere of the group’s early albums. His musicians do the job expected of them. The result is, in a way, a machine for dreaming. The moments from Voyage of the Acolyte delighted me, but the rest remains deeply marked by this stagnation. The audience, however, was very enthusiastic and more ‘Woodstockian’ than ever.
For this tour, Steve Hackett surrounded himself with his brother John (guitar, flute), Nick Magnus (keyboards), Dick Cadbury (bass), and John Shearer (drums). He also added a singer – something unusual for the group – Pete Hicks. I long wondered what he was doing there, with his new wave look, his harder, almost plaintive voice, and his rock ’n’ roll stage presence.
In the end, there is in this performance one piece more original than the others, even futuristic. A discomfort that is, moreover, perceptible in the audience. A white, harsh light suddenly replaces the comforting warmth of the usual tones. The syncopated rhythm transports us into the cold, automated future of robots. A strange and unique moment where Hackett changes style, biting into fiction. Alas, very quickly, the drummer’s final cry plunges us back into a past filled with familiar, often rehashed sounds. I slip away before the encore, unable to bear any more of this unbearable heaviness, having had my fill of this indigestible fare. As I walk back through the street, the red and mauve lights, the Puss in Boots unconcerned in the shopping arcade, blend in my mind with the fairies of a tale and their lute playing its sweet music. Where does the stardust that still clung to my jeans come from?
Author: M.F. Dalloz