Yours for only £12.99

Along with most of the (Internet enabled) planet, I'm guessing, I get spammed regularly by Universal Online Retailers Inc. (aka Play.com, Amazon, etc) with offers of stuff their "clever" algorithms have decided I'll be interested in.

I say spammed, but I'll admit in this case it's partly my own fault for, you know, shopping there. I do take exception to the notion that if you've ever, even once, bought a vampire movie then you're bound to be interested in every other vampire, near-vampire, or teen-vampire movie, or anything with characters similar to "vamp" or "pire" in the title, genre, plot description, crew or cast.

Partly because I'm lazy, partly because it's easier to just delete them, and partly because I'm an eternal optimist who believes that in among the dross will one day sparkle an irresistible gem, I remain subscribed to these emails and occasionally, when the morning crop is a bit thin on the ground in the Inbox, I read one.

Today was one such day. And what I saw was more frightening than the goriest schlock horror film ever produced.

A 3-disc boxed set of... the 2010 Eurovision Song Contest.

I mean, come on. It's bad enough watching the crap the first time through. Who the hell would PAY to watch it again? To be able to watch it again whenever they want? Weird.

Holiday!

What a fabulous start to the first holiday of the year. A beautiful sunny day, nothing much on the schedule, a very lazy start - coffee over the puters, leisurely breakfast, a bit of planning for our trip to Wales, then Nikki took Paul for a walk to Chorlton while I busied myself with a web site project that's been waiting for spare time for a few months.

Got a phone call from Nikki around 3pm to enquire whether I'd had any lunch and since the answer was no, we repaired to the Metropolitan for a very decadent late lunch and a couple of pints. I had the Tuscan bean and vegetable pie with home-made chips and peas. Delicious.

Home again for another session on the puters before setting off at 7.30pm to visit the Buzz Club. Chorlton's famous comedy club, which closed in 2004, had recently reopened and once we learned it was on while Paul was here, a visit was a must. Good job we went tonight as it turned out, because the club is closing again and once more tonight was "the last night at the Buzz club." It's been said before but I think the organiser has been disappointed with the turnout this time round, so I think it might really be the final curtain.

We were treated to eight comedy turns. They were a bit of a mixed bag to be honest but overall it was a good night. By a mile the best act of the night was Lovdev Barpaga from Birmingham. His deadpan delivery nailed every single line of his original and funny material, even when he forgot some of it and had to read from his notes! Great stuff. I hope he goes far.

VISIT 2008

After a light breakfast (previous experience of shows like this led me to suspect I'd be able to graze all day) we set off for the short coach trip to the Augsburg Messe where the conference was being held.

Arriving at the hall I battled through the throng of smokers - a crowd never numbering less than a hundred who restricted access throughout the day forcing everyone to run the gamut of secondary smoke and half-stubbed dog ends to get into the building - and registered at the main desk, collecting my conference map, schedule and badge.

The event had been divided into two main areas: Hall 7 where the presentations and expert talks were held, and the main arena housing the partners' and suppliers' stands, the 360 presentation theatre and the restaurant. I spent most of the morning listening to presentations, including one from the CTO, and broke these up with a brief stop at the restaurant for some lunch and to sit in on the 1pm showing of the 360 presentation - a multi-media show incorporating actors and sfx to showcase the history of Fujitsu-Siemens and their latest infrastructure offerings.

Finally at around half past three it was time for my factory tour. Very similar to the one I'd enjoyed on my aforementioned visit to EMC, with a similar set of production lines, automated fabrication machinery, automatic and manual testing, and palettes full of equipment awaiting shipping. Then it was back to the hotel for another free bar (definitely a theme of the event) and the "gala dinner" complete with speech. Short speech, thankfully. I declined the offer of a trip into town, and headed back to my room while the majority of my fellow diners headed for "Peaches" many of them, apparently, not returning until around 4am.

Illusions newly shattered

When I was offered the chance to attend Fujitsu-Siemens Computers "VISIT 2008" event in Augsburg a couple of months back, I jumped at it. Jollies like this are few and far between these days and my memory of such events in the past is uniformly good.

When I learned UK delegates were to be flown to Munich by private jet from Stansted my excitement leapt up a notch. Memories of our most excellent trip a few years ago to visit EMC's factory in Cork were uppermost in my mind: the 8-seater Gulfstream, the stretch limo, the feeling of ultimate luxury. So it was with great expectations that I set off from home just before 8am to ensure I arrived at the Inflite terminal in good time.

The bloom left the rose slightly when I drove past the gate guard on my arrival. "Make sure you don't leave any gaps when you park up," he advised. "We have to get 100 cars in here today."

Sure enough, for my second experience of private jet travel, it wasn't at all what I'd expected. Gone was the 8-seater executive jet; the leather; the gleaming, polished walnut. Gone were the dainty sandwiches with their crusts cut off, served on crested china plates, fresh coffee in china cups. In their place a 30-year-old Boeing 737-200, its seats configured in the worst charter airline style. I swear there wasn't more than nine inches between me and the seat back in front of me, occupied (as they always are) by a man incapable of sitting still for more than five minutes at a stretch. I couldn't even deploy my tray table without breathing in.

The meal, when it came, was the ubiquitous mystery chicken beloved of airlines the world over, served in plastic, along with a schizophrenic dessert that wasn't sure whether it was apple pie or apple crumble. I couldn't tell you what the coffee was like: I didn't dare try it. Having missed my chance of a pee at the airport after consuming a complementary coffee in the lounge, and with a tray table that wouldn't rest less than 25° from the horizontal, it was too risky on all counts.

Touching down at Munich I finally remembered the mantra of seasoned travellers - never pass up a chance for a pee - and leapt for the gents' as we were waiting at the baggage carousel. After an uneventful (but long!) transfer we arrived at the Hotel Dorint in Augsburg, about 70km NW of Munich.

My room - a slightly more upmarket version of hotel rooms the world over - was very pleasant. The hotel is in a cylindrical building of about 35 floors, only the bottom 11 of which are the hotel. The rooms, arranged radially around the central lifts, are wedge shaped, with a walk-in shower nearest the centre, widening into a well-appointed bathroom which then widens further into the main part of the room. Each room has a semilunar balcony which gives the building the appearance of a series of bubbles on a stick (I've since discovered the hotel is known locally as the "corn cob").

With a free bar starting at 7pm and a late arrival owing to traffic and a massive construction project on the autobahn out of Munich there was just time to phone home and confirm my safe arrival before heading downstairs and seeking out some fellow Northerners with whom to sample the local Bavarian ale.

Fine Foods in small quantities

We attended last year's Northwest Fine Food Festival and were so impressed that we determined to squeeze in a visit to this year's event even though we were expected in Chesterfield later in the day. We figured a swift jaunt over there after breakfast would still leave us plenty of time to get to Chesterfield by mid-afternoon.

What a disappointment. Whether as a result of the blimmin' credit crunch, or because retailers had concluded that spending a couple of days handing out freebies to grazers who walk around and don't buy much was not the most profitable business model ever invented, I don't know, but the show was much smaller than last year. Roughly half the size, at a guess, and with much less variety. The cheesemakers/vendors were still there, as was the farm-fresh meat, but the vintners, chocolatiers, cake and pudding makers were in short supply and the whole place had an air of desperation about it. Quite sad really. For the second time this weekend, we didn't stay long, and we didn't purchase much.

Some interesting and original marinades, some mature cheddar with added chillies and a free sample of organic coffee, and that was about it. On the basis of that experience, we won't be bothering next year, unless there's some promotional material to convince us that the show has returned to its 2007 standard.

Hawkwind: Manchester Academy

The mid-point of Paul's trip and the traditional gig. Last year: Pink Fraud. This year: no fraud at all. The real deal. Hawkwind - on their "Christmas Show" which had been postponed from last year for some reason we didn't bother worrying about, but which gave us a chance to see another set of rock legends in the flesh.

Unfortunately the venue - Manchester Academy 2 - is standing only, which for us geriatrics is a challenge given the doors open at 7.30 and the gig wasn't likely to finish until 11pm, but hey. We were up for it.

What we weren't up for was the slightly less than impressive support act: Tribe of Cro. As soon as these guys took the stage you got the distinct impression you were in for something mediocre. What you didn't know was just how mediocre it was going to be. In fact, mediocre is glittering praise for a band who spent most of their set fiddling with their kit as if they had no idea how to work it properly. As one very tall member of the audience was heard to shout at the end of their interminably long and boring second number: "was that your sound check or what? You're fucking crap."

Nikki suggested a better name for them would have been "Pile of Cro" which is quite apposite, given that "crow" is Nottingham slang for bogeys, or lumps of snot.

The drummer and the bassist could have been playing for any band you have ever seen in your life; the former laying down a series of basic beats (the bass part of which ripped out my spine with each single beat) and the latter repeating the same simple riff over and over and over again. So basically we were left with the other two guitarists to create the heart and soul of the music. Dear God. What I will grudgingly call the lead guitarist looked as though he might have been halfway competent except for the fact that we couldn't hear him during the first number, and he spent most of the second number on the floor poking around with his effects buttons. I remember a short interval during the second number when his guitar burst into life. It sounded pretty good, but somehow strangely divorced from anything the other three were doing.

And then there was the other guitarist. The guy who clearly thought he was in charge, and did all the talking. His guitar prowess apparently consisted of a series of attempts to get the instrument to make as many strange noises as he could in as short a time as physically possible. Interspersed with his "lyrics." After the first "number" had mercifully reached its conclusion, he commented that he doesn't usually sing, but had decided tonight he wanted to. Thanks a million. "I have no life, I have no life," he repeated as his first lyric. I won't make the obvious comment. He followed this gem up with "make me a winner; make me a sinner." Well you already scored very highly on that latter item buddy. For sins against music, score a full 100%. As for making you a winner, I fear that is beyond anyone on the planet.

I said the first guitarist sounded like he was playing something else, but in reality pretty much all of them might as well have been on their own for all the coherence they exhibited. Four individual musicians on stage, all playing something totally different, resulting in a cacophonous melee which lasted for their entire, painful, 45-minute set.

Tribe of Cro helpfully preceded their set with news that they've decided to make their latest album available for free download from their website (yes, you guessed it: the album is worth every penny of its download price) and handed out leaflets with their email and web addresses for their many fans. A bunch of them (the leaflets, not the fans. There weren't enough of them present to be referred to as 'a bunch') were screwed up and thrown back onto the stage at the end of their third number. A fitting tribute, I thought.

And so to the main event: Hawkwind. Prior to tonight my sole exposure to this band has been their seminal hit Silver Machine, which I played regularly when I DJ'ed (occasionally) at the UMIST Heavy Disco on Thursday nights during 1976 and 77, and which has formed part of the backdrop of my life pretty much since its release in 1972. Oh yes, and a review of their tour in the local rag that dropped through our door half an hour before we were due to leave for the gig. Whoever wrote it didn't like them much, but I kept an open mind.

And actually, in the end, I enjoyed it. At least the first hour, after which my feet gave out at about the same time as Nikki's and we beat a retreat for the bar through about 1,000 milling, dancing, beer-spilling Hawkwind fans, leaving Paul at the front with his camera and his friend the obnoxious drunken, balding fan who kept yelling for Spirit of the Age ("play Sp'ri Aids") and who lit a cigarette during the concert and proceeded to smoke the entire thing right next to me without anyone (yes, alright, me included) challenging him. Wanker.

So even though I was unfamiliar with all the music, at least it WAS musical - especially when compared to the previous car crash. Clearly, after 35 years, the band know their instruments. Just as clearly, some of them are completely mad. Like the guy (sorry, not being any kind of Hawkwind fan I can't tell you his name) who started each number by waving his hands expertly around his theremin with a wild-eyed squint. And of course, the music is often accompanied by a load of pretentious, pompous claptrap wrapped up as "narrative" to the story the music is telling. If you can cut through that and enjoy the rocky parts of the music for what it is, it's quite entertaining. I wouldn't buy it, but it was worth listening to for an hour, and I appreciate there were a lot of people there tonight who are every bit as ardent Hawkwind fans as I am a Genesis fan. Takes all sorts.

I was glad to get home though. And I don't think I will *ever* get used to watching live performances from rock legends and seeing how damned wrinkly they all are.

Panto!

Dress rehearsal for the Chorlton Players panto tonight and as usual I was there to take the production photographs.

I quite enjoy doing this. Getting a preview of the show is great fun, there's a sense of anticipation before the opening night and a great deal of satisfaction in grabbing the really good shots from the performance. Making sure you get a few good shots is a challenge, when the actors are almost constantly moving, the lighting is changing from one scene to the next and, having not been involved in rehearsals, I'm not aware of when the key scenes are coming up, so I have to be constantly on my toes and aware of the action. It's all too easy to slip into the role of "audience" - sitting there being entertained and letting the scenes unfold in front of me until I suddenly realise I've missed photographing a crucial moment. Maintaining concentration becomes ever harder as the evening wears on, since dress rehearsals rarely finish before 11pm.

So I was particularly pleased to capture this one - the moment where the principal boy, having examined his map, declares that everyone has to go "that way." In every production I generally manage 2 or 3 really good shots like this, out of the hundreds I take during the evening (I set a new personal record with this year's panto, taking 435 shots tonight over the course of 3 hours).

But the work doesn't stop when the rehearsal is over. I only have the raw material at that point. On my return home, I copy the contents of my memory card over to the PC (which takes a tad over 5 minutes!) and then perform a first pass selection, removing the motion blurred ones, the really bad facial expressions, and the ones where the actors have moved out of shot or blinked at the last second. On average this gets rid of 25% or so, leaving me with around 300 that are reasonably focussed (given that the primary display format will be on the web) and well framed.

I then do a second pass to select the "best" shots and copy these into a separate folder. These are the ones destined for the website. Normally I've ended up with 50 or so in here, but the last two productions have given me over 100 good shots. Am I getting better or discriminating less?

With the best shots selected, I open them all up and fix any red eye problems. I try to avoid using flash when I can. With a fast lens and the camera set to the equivalent of 400ASA film speed I don't usually need it, but for action scenes flash is essential or I'd end up with a blurry mess, and I also find it helps the colour balance on those scenes that are lit with a preponderence of red (scary scenes in the monster's hideaway, or the guts of the fox, or when the lighting crew dim the floods during a song). For these shots, unless the actors are looking across camera, there's always some degree of red eye.

Finally, I make the posters that hang on the doors of the theatre. I call them posters even though I only print them on A4 sheets. I normally do 6, with somewhere between 4 and 8 shots on the page depending on the content. I arrange them in various ways, some at 15° angles, and print them all off.

Then before going to bed (which I usually manage by about 2.30am) I kick off the FTP transfer of the best photos to the online gallery on the Chorlton Players website so that it will be finished by the time I wake up, and I can create the entry for that particular show.

While The Lights Were Out

Regular readers will know I’m the resident photographer for the Chorlton Players. You can see some examples of my work here (they're not all mine). I turn up to all the dress rehearsals (or at least, as many as work allows – and I do try to manage my calendar to avoid disappointment) and spend the evening between 7.30pm and ~11pm snapping happily away from the floor of the hall, walking to and fro to get various angles on the stage, sometimes taking extreme close-ups, sometimes shots of the whole stage, sometimes with flash, sometimes without.

Generally I prefer not to use the flash. The colours are more natural and there’s no red-eye problem. But many of the plays involve lots of movement and subdued lighting, which leads to a high percentage of wasted shots, blurred from the actors’ sudden movements or out of focus because the dim light combined with use of maximum zoom has defeated the autofocus. The “waste” isn’t a problem of course: it’s a digital camera. It just means time wasted taking shots I can’t use, plus more time lost filtering through the pics back at home, throwing them in the recycle bin.

So usually I have to resort to flash. It’s a swings-and-roundabouts situation though; the close-ups inevitably mean more time spent fixing the red eyes once I get home.

For once last night’s dress, for the latest production While The Lights Were Out, had almost no problems with sudden movement. A traditional whodunit farce-type-thing in the style of Agatha Christie (although actually written by Jack Sharkey), the play has a single set where all three acts take place. This meant I ran the risk of the pics being a little samey and meant I had to keep changing my viewpoint to maximise the variety. The play involves a lot of standing around while the cast engage in vast amounts of exposition about what happened and why. The result was that although I took my usual 300+ shots in total, there were far fewer that needed throwing away (after the first pass I was left with 280 usable shots) and many more that fell into the “best” category (after the second pass I had 144 in my “Best” folder compared to an average of 50 for other productions).

After doing all the post-processing of the pics and then assembling some of the very best shots into my traditional six A4 posters for the hall doors, it was 2:15am. Time to grab 4 hours sleep before jumping the 7:15 to Euston in the morning.

Genesis 2007 - the Turn It On Again tour - Manchester

The day before my 50th birthday last year was a red-letter day. After all the rumours of a reunion and a tour, tickets for the UK legs of the first Genesis live concert in 15 years went on sale and although they sold out in half an hour, I was successful in my purchase, securing four tickets in the North Stand at Old Trafford.

Tonight, eight months later, four of us walked in through door N43 - only the second time I have entered Old Trafford football ground in my life, and the first time in the "new" stadium - and up through entrance N1405 - to be greeted by this sight:


Well, not quite *that* sight, as this photo was taken by my mate Phil who was also at the concert but sat at the back, on the third tier. We were over there on the right, about two-thirds of the way back. On this very special night I didn't want to be annoyed at anything or let the slightest niggle spoil the atmosphere, but it was hard not to be irked by the massive number of cameras present. The tickets and concert promos had made it quite clear that digital recording devices of any kind were forbidden, and we'd played with a straight bat and left our cameras at home. From what we saw way more than half the audience had simply ignored this message and were happily snapping away the whole night. We had to make do with phone pictures, of which Phil's are easily the best quality.

The first thing that struck me was how small the stadium is. Admittedly it was foreshortened by having the stage and all the lighting gubbins at the Stretford End where all the seats were closed, but even so it was a lot smaller than I remembered from the one time I saw a match there, sometime in 1977.

To say I was excited would be the mother of all understatements. Genesis are my favourite band of all time and I've been a fan since around 1972. I'd seen them live twice before, but the last time was well over thirty years ago.

That the tour had proved popular was obvious from the speed of the sellout. The band had allegedly settled on only two UK dates because they were worried about the level of interest and didn't think tickets would sell. However an early press conference tells a different story. Since most of them are now well into their sixth decade, they basically wanted to take it easy and make the limited number of appearances (20 quoted in that interview; 22 on the concert t-shirt) fun for them as well as the fans. A 20-venue American tour will follow later.

We were in our seats easily an hour before the start time (billed as 7.45pm), which gave us plenty of time to take in the stage and watch the follow-spot operators climbing into their gantries just in front of us and to the left. The stage looked incredible. Two oval screens - later to prove to be high-definition screens which looked to be about 20 feet high - bracketed the main stage and were joined by a grey metallic wave. This appeared to be studded with light bulbs but once the show got underway it was obvious that it too was a massive versatile computerised graphics unit which was used throughout the concert to display animations, project band members or act as an adjunct to the amazing array of lights that hung above the stage and around the auditorium.

About twenty minutes before start time the black drapes were removed from the main stage to reveal an intricate series of lights suspended from lightweight gantries, and the famous two drum kits - one for Phil Collins and one for Genesis' tour drummer of 30 years standing, the amazing Chester Thompson. These two kits we knew would be the scene for the well-practiced Drum Duet later in the evening.

Shortly after that we heard a cheer from the crowd as the band left their dressing room and then the introductory music swelled through the stadium, the rhythmic drumbeat shaking my spine as it pumped from the massive speaker arrays all over the stadium. With a whoop and a cheer from the crowd near the stage which rippled back through the audience, changing to a polite round of applause as it went, the band took the stage and launched into the first number: a medley of Behind the Lines; Duke's End; and Turn It On Again.

It was a slow start and as the HD screens flicked through close-ups of each of the band members I couldn't help feeling they looked as if they didn't want to be there. Like a bunch of grumpy old men forced into a day out with irritating younger family members. The soundstage was powerful but this early performance a little lacklustre.

But I needn't have worried. As soon as they hit the next number - No Son of Mine - the old energy returned and the concert started to take off. With only the shortest of short pauses the next number followed right along - Land of Confusion - another rocky one and then we were into the second medley of the night: In The Cage; The Cinema Show; Duke’s Travels; Afterglow which cleverly took the atmosphere from fast hard rock to slow love ballad.

By the time the strains of Afterglow died away, I was a wreck. These lyrics were always beautiful and meaningful, as many of Genesis' songs are. That's one of the things that lifts them above being "just another rock band." But the older I get the more meaningful they
become, and the stronger the effect they have on me.
So as the tears fell, I wiped them away. It was, after all, still light in the stadium.


But now, now I've lost
everything,
I give to you my soul.
The meaning of all that I believed before
Escapes me in this world of none, no thing, no one.
And I would search everywhere
Just to hear your call,
And walk upon stranger roads than this one
In a world I used to know before.

I can't even write them out without feeling the pricking behind my eyes.

There was no respite from the emotional charge as the band followed up this medley with Hold On My Heart but then came the part of the concert where, had I needed to take a comfort break, or if I was one of those really strange people who seem incapable of sitting through a concert without sucking on a bottle of beer or fetching themselves a cup of tea, I would have gone and had/fetched one. For this was Home By The Sea / Second Home By The Sea from the self-titled 15th album, released in 1983. And now it's confession time, because despite being a life-long fan of Genesis music we had a falling-out around the time of Duke/Abacab (I thought they were pretty crap at the time, and still don't like Abacab much) and then when they released another live album (I've always hated live albums for some reason) I stopped buying their music altogether, so I'm almost totally unfamiliar with tracks recorded in the first half of the eighties.

Things picked up again though with the sing-a-long single Follow You Follow Me, but surprisingly we hit the doldrums again with a VERY disappointing Firth of Fifth. When we noticed this was in the set list we jumped about like excited kids. As it turned out we were not to be treated to the whole number but to a bastardised version consisting mostly of the guitar solo. Now don't get me wrong Daryl Stuermer is an excellent guitarist. On a good day he's almost as good as Steve Hackett and that is praise indeed. But this was a Genesis concert and you can't get away with playing half a song. Especially not when the song you choose to butcher is Firth of Fifth.

Ah well, no time to dwell on it as the strains of the Firth guitar solo drifted into Genesis' first single release - I Know What I Like - closely followed by the weird and wonderful Mama.

And then...and then it was time for some more magic. I said I hadn't seen them live for thirty years and that was the Trick of the Tail tour. And here they were playing Ripples.
One of the most beautiful songs on an album composed entirely of excellent songs, this time round Ripples was accompanied by an eerie watery-themed backdrop that perfectly captured the mood of the song and transported me back to the summer of 1976 as I sang along to the well-remembered lyric..."it's the last time you'll look like today..." Passing swiftly over Throwing It All Away and Domino (both from the Invisible Touch album which marked the end of my falling-out period with them) we reached longingly for what we expected to be the penultimate high-point of the evening: the Drum Duet.

Way back when, this was a drum DUEL, with Phil Collins and Chester Thompson taking it in turns to try and outdo one another with their percussive prowess. Nowadays they're a little (a lot!) more mature and the drumming is complementary but no less complex. Starting on a pair of leather stooltops and progressing after a few minutes to their respective kits, these two masters regaled us with a combination drum solo the like of which I haven't seen since Greenslade's performance at the Nottingham Albert Hall.

Fabulous in its own right, the drum solos then segued seamlessly into an energetic performance of Los Endos which brought the entire 60,000-strong crowd to its feet in rapturous acclaim.

Inexplicably, we then made a return to the Invisible Touch album for Tonight, Tonight, Tonight (admittedly a crowd-pleaser) and the title track, before the usual temporary interruption to proceedings with the traditional "end of the show" followed by raucous clapping and shouts of "Encore!" Having seen the set list, I knew there were two more songs to come so I didn't partake of this bizarre ritual and eventually the band returned to close off the evening with I Can't Dance and Carpet Crawlers.

Now again, this was a disappointment on two counts. Carpet Crawlers may well be my favourite Genesis track of the lot. It certainly makes the top five. But did they start at the beginning? Did they heck. There I was waiting eagerly for "There is lambswool under my naked feet..." and instead what I got was " The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor." They started with the second verse! So that's two of my favourites butchered in one night and on top of that, Crawlers doesn't actually make for a very good finale. It kind of fizzles out, leaving you listening to a lot of empty air and some half-hearted clapping as people start to realise they're done.

We all agreed Los Endos would have been a far better climax to the concert. They could easily have swapped the encore with the drum duet and Los Endos and ended the show on a real high note.

But these are small niggles really. In the end it was a cracking show, pyrotechnic fireworks at the end and musical fireworks all the way through. They might be old but they proved they can still rock, and so can we.

War of the Worlds - MEN Arena

We went to see Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds tonight at M.E.N. Arena.

Wow.

I've been a fan of this since its release in 1978 but to see it live on stage for the first time was an experience I'm sure everyone in the audience tonight will be talking about for years to come. One of those concerts where those who missed it will never forgive themselves.

While there's still a chance to see it, I wouldn't want to give anything away to spoil the show. Suffice to say the original artists are just as good as they were 30 years ago, and the replacements every bit as good as the originals (with apologies to David Essex and the late great Phil Lynott). The CGI was amazing, the real-life scenes totally believable and the lighting simply awesome, especially the red pencil-spots that swept the audience in imitation of the heat rays.

A stunning sensory feast in every way.

See http://www.thewaroftheworlds.com/ for more on how the live show is being received.