April 25, 2000

Newcastle City Hall

These are strange times for [a]Paul Weller[/a].

These are strange times for Paul Weller. Having been derided by NME off and on since the late-'70s, he now finds himself in the unusual position of being in the middle of a creative and critical rebirth. Heralded as one of 'The Greats' and having just released 'Heliocentric', his best solo album by some distance, it's a case of New Weller, No Danger. Well, in some eyes at least.

There are still plenty of detractors clinging to the belief that he's the mod-rock Antichrist - a man whose commercial reawakening in the '90s has coincided with a) a new-found passion for rock'n'roll beardies (Van Morrison, Crosby Stills & Nash and Dr John), and b) his most excruciatingly dull music to date. That, though, is to miss the point.

Having spent most of the '80s making an arse of himself in the spirit of breaking down musical boundaries (singing in French, experimenting with house and neo-classical atrocities, as well as the odd diversion into jazz), Weller has obviously come to terms with what he does best. With hindsight, his solo career can be seen as the logical development of what he always was: a classic English songwriter. And for all the troughs that that's produced ('Heavy Soul' standing out in particular), this period has been a triumph of persistence and occasional flashes of brilliance - flashes which traditionally derive from Weller's own self-doubts.

Which is where we come in tonight. 'Heliocentric' isn't just exceptional because of ex-Nick Drake associate Robert Kirby's transcendent string arrangements, it also benefits from revealing the fractured, reflective and less geezerish Weller. When he strolls on to the stage to a standing ovation, picks up his acoustic guitar and starts to glide his way through 'With Time And Temperance' - one of 'Heliocentric''s pivotal tracks - it's almost as if he's drawing a line underneath his more rugged recent past. Whether that's what his audience want of him, however, is an entirely different matter.

He returns to his new album time and time again this evening, and - even though stripped of strings and the presence of guitarist Steve Cradock, songs like 'Love-Less' and 'Frightened' remain every bit as airily kaleidoscopic as their studio equivalents - the crowd seem unable to surrender their hearts to them. Maybe it's the unfamiliarity of the material, but there's a nagging doubt that these new displays of vulnerability are not what they came to see. Only a crashing version of 'He's The Keeper' and a feedback-driven demolition of 'Heliocentric''s best track, 'There's No Drinking, After You're Dead', seem to gain their genuine seal of approval.

Perversely, what does capture their imagination are some of Weller's more muscular musical diversions - notably, a punishing ten-minute run through of 'Heavy Soul' (parts one and two) and two favourites from the 'Stanley Road'-era, an immense version of 'The Changingman' and a soulful take on 'Broken Stones'. What Weller feels about this is open to conjecture. He remains terse throughout and, bar the odd smile and leg flick, fairly statuesque - at one point he even berates the audience for their lack of volume (a problem soon remedied with a joyous 'Friday Street').

After an hour and a half, he disappears into the wings after a brief, mumbled announcement. When, after five or so minutes, he still hasn't reappeared, a wave of disgruntlement sweeps the City Hall. A moment later, he returns to play a harmonica-driven 'Woodcutter's Son', which the crowd obviously regard as the prelude to a deluge of hits. To the surprise of both them and, apparently, his band, it isn't to be. It fizzles out and Weller spins on his heels and walks, the rest of the group following hurriedly in his wake. Not for the first time, critical rebirth and instant popular acclaim haven't tallied quite as expected. Like we said, strange times indeed.