Nostalgia for New Wave Nostalgia

Back in my rock critic phase, I used to write reviews on spec for Classic Rock. But as far as I remember, none of them ever got published. I think because they were a little too Eighties-centric for the Seventies-centric glossy. Such is life.

But since the recent passing of Mike Peters got me thinking back to this glorious summer night some eighteen years back, I thought I might publish this little corker of a review here for you. 

The Psychedelic Furs/ The Alarm/ The Fixx 
Jenkinson’s Pavillion, Point Pleasant, NJ
July 9, 2007

A beachfront tourist trap on the Jersey Shore was the unlikely setting for a night of New Wave nostalgia, in this case proffered by the “Rockin' the Colonies” tour. But if you love classic New Wave -- and have a fetish for drunken, overtanned MILFs stuffed into miniskirts and halter tops -- you’d have been in Heaven.

Mike Peters brought his new-model Alarm along for a spirited set of old favorites and high-energy new songs. Ditching the folky vibe and second-hand U2-isms of the original lineup, this Alarm offered straight-up, old-school street punk, with radical reworkings of songs like “Spirit of 76” and “68 Guns,” sitting nicely with newer tracks like “Without a Fight” and “45 RPM.” Peters looked great and was in fine vocal form, belying his recent battle against leukemia. Welcome back, hero.

Next up, headliners The Psychedelic Furs blasted out a greatest-hits revue delivered with the energy and passion of a band half their age. A setlist alternating singles like “Love My Way” and “Pretty in Pink,” with post-punk stormers like “India,” “President Gas,” and “Dumb Waiters” allowed elfin guitarist John Ashton and sax maniac Mars Williams ample opportunity to rip it up, and so they did. As always, Richard Butler eerily channeled both Bowie and Johnny Rotten, leaving the crowd hungry for more. 

Tragically, they got The Fixx instead. 

The missus and I opted to leave halfway through their set, preferring not to have our loving memories of their Eighties classics sullied by Cy Curnin's unbearable hatefulness. And who the hell records a live album -- of brand new material, mind you -- on a package tour anyway? Sad.

The Point Pleasant boardwalk is absolutely lovely at night, so no harm, no foul. If you're ever in the area, do drop by.