I reckon we should have a sweepstake about when we will finally get through the Covid backlog of postponed gigs. My guess is some point in 2027… This gem was meant to have happened back in 2020 and this evening both acts mention that the respective albums it was designed to promote have now long since disappeared into posteriority. But to be brutally honest there is nobody in the entire arena that has pitched up tonight with the sole intention of hearing new music from either of these rock veterans. This is an audience that vividly remembers the classics, knows all the words to the classics, and is here to hear the classics.

I’m not sure if the elongated period of navel-gazing that we all recently went through reinvigorated the collective members of Blue Oyster Cult, but they seem to have a real spring in their step this evening. For a band that has been going for fifty-five years, they display an almost youthful demeanour and there is a distinct feeling of playfulness to tonight's performance. All the way through the set, Eric Bloom goes out of his way to both namecheck and publicly herald his bandmates. If there are any animosities or mid-tour niggles, they have been left back on the bus. The core of Blue Oyster Cult has always been Eric and his compatriot in arms Buck Dharma. Tonight, they riff off each other, joke with each other, and genuinely seem comfortable in the company of somebody they have been with for nearly 53 years.

For a band that has a reputation for being a bit well, a bit poe-faced, their elongated support slot is just dripping with fun. They seem acutely aware of their truncated timeslot and have trimmed down their show to a tight and taut hour of majestic heavy rock. We can even forgive them the inclusion of two, relatively new, tracks as the album that they spawn from (2020’s “The Symbol Remains”) is far far better than the fifteenth offering from a legendary act deserves to be. The key ingredient tonight is the aforementioned interaction. This is not five grizzled veteran musicians going through the motions in their own hermetically sealed bubbles. There is plenty of communal playing and on at least two occasions all four guitar-wielding members gather in the front exhibiting trademarked synchronized moves.

Whilst closer ‘Don't Fear the Reaper’ is the one that unleashes across the arena a tsunami of mobile devices, it really is a case of "you know more Blue Oyster Cult than you realize”. ‘Burnin' for You’, ‘E.T.I. (Extra Terrestrial Intelligence)’ and ‘Then Came the Last Days of May’ don’t necessarily get people off their bums, but they certainly elicit a plethora of seat dancing and group singing. There is a sound business model for shoving a band as well known as Blue Öyster Cult into the opening slot but more importantly, it enhances the evening and just adds to the shared enjoyment. As the notes of Reaper fade away and the lights blink on, across the arena punters turn to the neighbours and exclaim “well that was fun” and there is no better sign of approval.

Deep Purple are forever etched in Rock History. They are part of the holy trinity (alongside Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath) that birthed Heavy Metal and in the opening refrain of ‘Smoke on the Water’ they created the most abused riff in music history (my kids can play it on ukulele and my best mate could play it on quack mode on a children’s toy piano). For such rock gods, they have always been remarkably understated and Ian Gillian could have wandered around Manchester before the gig and none of the masses on Market Street would have had a clue who he was. Even though they do come across as rather unassuming they still manage to burst out on stage here tonight.

They start with an absolutely blistering version of ‘Highway Star’ and I'm immediately struck by two things. Firstly, just how good the sound is. Now I’m not just talking good, I'm talking crystal-clear perfection. You can hear every keyboard flourish (and believe me there are quite a few), every thump of the bass, every clash of a cymbal, and every strum of the guitar. The second thing that grabs me is just how bloody good new boy Simon McBride actually is. Now, Simon joins an unenviable list of guitarists who have had the dubious honour of not being Ritchie Blackmore. Now, he seems to have learned from his predecessor Steve Morse (who trivia fans was actually in Deep Purple for longer than Ritchie) that the best way of stepping into Ritchie Blackmore's illustrious shoes is to not try and step into Ritchie Blackmore shoes. Rather than be a carbon copy of what has come before, Simon seems to bring his own inevitable style. He certainly exhibits the technical wizardry to deal with tracks such as ‘Space Truckin’ and ‘Perfect Stranger’, but there is also a warmth to his delivery that seems uniquely his.  

Now Ian Gillian might not have got the hearts racing if he had wandered around the Arndale, but he certainly manages to hold the arena in his hands tonight. Unlike other vocalists of his age (mentioning no names, cough-Coverdale-cough) he still has the range, and ‘When a Blind Man Cries’ is a veritable showcase for just how much depth he has left in his larynxes. He also avoids the current trend of bashing out a couple of verses and then buggering off backstage for a nice sit-down and a biscuit, while someone else tosses out an instrumental interlude. Yes, there is quite a bit of ego-driven musical grandstanding (by my reckoning Don Airey gets to do at least three keyboard solos) but in the main Ian Gillian stays out on stage happily banging his tambourine along to the widdling of his bandmates. Like Blue Öyster Cult before them, seem to be inexplicably having a whale of a time out on stage. Roger Glover sports the massive grin of a man that is content with his lot in life and the inclusion of Simon McBride seems to have given them a whole new lease of life.

In fact, the only niggle about this evening is that for a band with such an impressive back catalogue, we actually get very little of it. When you discount the solos, the set is a quite paltry thirteen songs long, and only ten of those come from what could be ascribed as the classic era (and I'm being kind to ‘Anya’ by including it in that description). ‘Child in Time’, ‘Speed King’, ‘Fireball’, ‘Woman from Tokyo’ (I could go on) are all conspicuous by their absence. But what we do get is actually really rather sublime. The final five tracks (I'm ignoring the bass solo) are a masterclass in musical stagecraft. Yes, we have all heard ‘Smoke on the Water’, ‘Hush’ and ‘Black Night’ played a thousand times by a thousand dubious cover bands. But to hear them rendered into being by the men that created them still makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end (yes, I do know ‘Hush’ is a cover but allow me a little bit of poetic license).

So, set grumbles aside, Deep Purple prove themselves this evening to be nothing short of magnificent. The fact that they are still making new albums illustrates completely this is a band happy and comfortable in their own skin. This is not some grubby payday where they are putting up with each other for the sake of their pensions. This is a band that is still enjoying playing music with each other and still feels that, even after all this time, they have something meaningful to say. It is that collective thirst to create that keeps them together and still makes them so incredibly enjoyable to watch. This ain't no Farewell tour and this is not a band that is planning on throwing in the towel any time soon. They are having way too much fun.

Check the “In The Flesh” page for more photos!