Sparks prove that devotion deepens with age

Gritted-teeth tension though is quickly dispelled by the sea of Sparks attire on display on entering the grounds of Wren’s grand almshouse, attire which is well beyond t-shirts and well into hoodies, hats and even rosettes (perhaps as a nod to the gymkhana-ing folk nearby). This is pleasant surprise number 1. Surprise number 2, which is ambivalent, is that this Sparks audience has collapsed back to its core, shorn of the weight of the curious brought in by Edgar’s Wright’s magnificent film. Which is in no way to say that it’s small; far from it, it’s packed tonight, simply with a group of people who appear to have been with the band since the start (ie Sparks: the Heath/Nixon Years). And, through the amiable and easy chats with neighbours, it’s clear that no one here will be discussing the price of copper or comparing stirrups once the band starts (if at all).

The band which does start up first is actually the Chelsea Pensioners Choir playing a great selection of tunes including a couple of Sparks, Beatles, two sea shanties and a belting version of “Substitute”. Appreciation is sincere.

And this is right and to be expected. Back to the good side of that ambivalence. The main body of our audience tonight clearly gets that advanced age is not something for clasp-handed cooing, merely a container for experience.

Sparks mount the stage to their core audience not as of-the-moment curios but as beloved bearers of a vast catalogue of top tunes. Kicking off with the now customary “So May We Start?” (the Chelsea Pensioners already having played the old turn-of-the-century opener “It’s a Sparks Show”), Ron and Russell Mael backed by their impish band emanate such good vibes and, incredibly (Ron is 80), the kind of vitality that forces us up from our plastic chairs to spend the rest of the night bouncing and swaying.

The dank walk of “Do Thing My Own Way” and then the thinly disguised sexual surrender of Propaganda’s “Reinforcements” follows; the latter’s marching swank is just glorious. Strangers turn and exchange beams that simply communicate: “This is why we come”. Song three and, look, it’s made my prose go mushy.

A couple of treats from 1982’s Angst In My Pants provide one of the standout moments this evening. “Mickey Mouse” was an easy track to miss on the album but (dare I say it?) perhaps the live mix brings out its thumping charms – “’Cause if a mouse can be special, so can you”. A dead-eyed you-can’t-sue-us take on the vacuousness of Disney culture just needed a loud crunching guitar – this is a most excellent discovery.

The other standout moment is the mock-hoedown of “(Baby, Baby) Can I Invade Your Country?” No doubt apt, but slightly wasted on us who will do no invading. Perhaps some of the ex-warrior Chelsea Pensioners paused and thought. No bad thing.

For this tour, the staple Ron-on-the-mic track is “Let’s Get Funky” which leads to some nice choreographed side-stepping with Russell.

Much of the rest of the set is either from Mad or “the unavoidably big songs”, and here’s an observation which is in no way a complaint. “Beat the Clock”, “Number One Song…”, “When Do I Get to Sing…”, “Music You Can Dance To”, “This Town…” are incredible and put Sparks in the top tier, but so, I learned, is “Mickey Mouse”, and so no doubt are a bunch more from their 28 albums. This audience could certainly handle shows without This Town.

So, the evening grows dark, we get a brief mechanical breakdown which is cheerfully handled by the brothers, the lights get sparkier, and we all become friends for a couple of hours. “All That” plays us out, and the Maels (with mics cut so the Chealsea Pensioners can get some sleep) hover for a movingly long time apparently reluctant to exit.

And that, folks, is another Sparks Show done. With a pleasing murmur, back the audience tramps through the gilded neighbourhood beaming from the pleasures of real privilege.