CityLife

Cliff Richard

IN THE PINK: Cliff Richard

WE’RE sniffy about Sir Cliff Richard yet revere a certain Rolling Stone with a similar name.

Why should that be?

Keith Richards parades a 19-year-old poppet on his arm and is lauded as a rock God, while Sir Cliff still loyally serenades the same ladies who fell for him when they were in their teens and says that God is his rock.

Tonight’s performance presses home why the perpetual Peter Pan of Pop really does deserve better.

He’s loyalty served up with a healthy helping of pickled 1950’s sensibilities and that’s why the ladies (of a certain age) really do love him.

First the stuff I “appreciate”, but could never enjoy.

The faux outrageousness of Devil Woman still seems preposterous.

As does the way in which Wired For Sound reveals Cliff’s liking for “small” speakers, “tall” speakers but most of all “loud” speakers.

It’s So Funny rhymes the words “sleep” and “sheep” without so much as breaking a knowing smile at the silliness of it all.

I struggle not to cringe when Sir Cliff proffers pop as though all the stage is a pulpit.

Then he invokes the memory of the lost and loved, revealing how he can no longer sing Miss You Nights without his mind drifting towards Caron Keating, Billy Fury, Lionel Bart, Jill Dando and his Mum And Dad, whose images appear one-by-one on a big screen.

Generational thing

It’s a generational thing, but I’ve not been cultured to accept sentimentality at face value.

His voice is precise but not strong and I’m pretty sure his dancers have been asked to move slowly so as not to show him up.

But none of that matters when it comes to what makes Cliff a national treasure.

The premise of tonight’s show is that Sir Cliff is trapped in a time machine, tumbling across 50 years performing hit after hit.

That’s FIFTY years of hits, and they’re not all terrible.

And while his flesh, teeth and hair might have shown signs of subsidence, he doesn’t look bad at all for his 67 years.

We’re reminded how his CV lists matinee idol alongside thespian, pop star, rock ‘n’ roller and Christian.

Proper show-man

He’s a proper show-man too, changing through a succession of glittery jackets, yet thankfully stopping short of wearing one in yellow like the M.E.N. Arena’s stewards.

And now I’ve got it.

While Keith Richards has grown old disgracefully, Sir Cliff marbles are still firmly rooted in 1958.

He’s still got that post-wall charm, honesty and loyalty and if those outside his clique don’t quite get it, then he’s so nice that he understands.

The night draws to a close with the breathlessly fulfilled promise that everything he hasn’t sung in the previous three hours will now be ticked off in the following 10 minutes.

The final two numbers are as calculated and well-meaning as everything else that went before.

To paraphrase, they reveal how Cliff’s grateful to have had his audience’s company these five decades.

He opens the last of many jackets, pretends to pull heart from chest and throws it into the crowd.

Not exactly rock ‘n’ roll, but I now know why people like it.

What did you think of Cliff's set? Have your say.

Cliff Richard plays the M.E.N. Arena again tonight (Nov 26).