Take That: Taking it from the streets to the bank
Take That: Taking it from the streets to the bank
By Dini S. Djalal
JAKARTA (JP): How many members of Take That does it take to
change a light bulb? Five: one to hold the bulb, one to cheer him
on, one to dance around him, one to change his outfit, and
another to keep the fans at bay.
Five years ago, when Take That's manager Nigel Martin-Smith
unveiled England's version of New Kids on the Block, everyone
thought it was a joke. Five pretty boys gyrating half-naked while
lipsyncing insipid melodies? So many boys have tried before them,
and most never escape the pages of teen magazines.
Six number one U.K. hits and millions of dollars later, the
public is scratching their head for an explanation. Take That has
not only eclipsed New Kids on the Block, but have gained a
peculiar kind of street-cred.
Could it be magic is on the playlist of London's techno-
wizards deejays the Chemical Brothers. Even the most skeptical
hipsters, including perennial trend-setting magazine The Face,
have reluctantly admitted, "Bad band, but that Gary can write
songs."
Their popularity peaked when token-joker Robbie (at 20 years
old, the youngest in the band) partied onstage with England's
next-big-thing Oasis at Glastonbury music festival this summer.
That everyone loved him instead of laughed at him was a sign of
Take That's now-respectable reputation.
It's been downhill since. After reputedly tarnishing the
band's clean-cut image at Glastonbury, the band sacked Robbie.
Released from his binding contract, he took up TV guest-host
stints at Top-of-the-Pops and the Big Breakfast.
Ratings skyrocketed. Take That's outcasted clown had
metamorphosed into England's biggest pop icon. Take That was now
four, and Robbie had taken many of the fans with him.
Who's laughing now?
I was, for one. From beginning to end of their dramatic show
at Istora Senayan on Tuesday, I couldn't help but giggle. And not
even the embarrassed teenybopper giggle that is usually unleashed
when a heart-throb flashes a coy grin. No, this was a
straightforward "you look sillier than Bill Clinton in a catsuit"
giggle.
If it's a concert, why am I concentrating on appearances
instead of the music? Because appearances are what Take That is
all about. What other band changes costume after every three
songs? Karl Lagerfeld should sponsor their tour, as these boys
are made up as the ultimate fashion victims.
Even their individual hairstyles, re-conceptualized every
three months, are suspect. For this tour, they've let their hair
grow long and shaggy, ostensibly to look sexier tossing their
heads while dancing -- and there is a lot of head-tossing going
on. There is a lot of dancing going on. And not much else.
This is the concept of a Take That concert: the boys come
onstage in outrageous costumes, bump-and-grind to the beat, and
attempt to sing. The mostly-female audience ecstatically shrieks
with every pelvic thrust. Never mind the vocals -- who can bother
with singing when they've got to concentrate on the choreography?
Besides, the six members of the backing band, safely hidden in
the dark, also sing as well as play drums, guitars, and
keyboards.
Only when they speak does the fantasy unravel. Even if he does
have a billion-dollar smile, the tiny Mark Owen has an equally
tiny and nasal voice. In between songs, the band launches an
undoubtedly-rehearsed greeting to the audience. This consists of
Gary acting sophisticated, Mark playing country bumpkin, Howard
(the dreadlocked supposedly Wild-One now that Robbie's gone)
being a tough-guy, and Jason assuming a thoroughly-embarrassing
Rastafarian accent. My laughter is interspersed with sympathy:
how suffocating it must be to constantly play a role.
The toll of celebrity, however, is not without reward, and
Take That are making a lot of money. For their U.K. tour last
August, Take That are estimated to have made US$350,000 an hour
for ten live performances. Their manager may keep them under a
tight leash, but they will live the plush life long after their
inevitable retirement (who wants to see a bunch of thirty-
somethings in tight silver shorts?).
By then, their fans will have outgrown kissing glossy posters.
Teenyboppers are a curious phenomena, simultaneously wholesome
and over-sexed. A few girls in the audience took off their shirts
and threw them onstage. One especially busty teen in a skimpy
singlet stood on the chairs and danced suggestively, her cartoon
socks betraying her adult gestures. T-shirts proclaiming "I LOVE
MARK" or "I LOVE GARY" deluged the crowd. Their parents would
have thought that it was the Beatles onstage.
And it was! During one of their many cover versions, the ever-
imaginative Take That bounded to the stage in 1960s Beatles
costumes and sang a Beatles medley -- albeit, only the simple
ones. I Wanna Hold Your Hand, She Loves You, A Hard Day's Night
-- they were all demolished with frantic footsteps and weak
voices. When the band launched into a version of I Feel Fine (my
personal favorite), the audience grew hushed. Obviously they are
too young to know the Beatles' more obscure songs.
Having pounced on early British pop, these ambitious upstarts
tackled more bohemian territory. Of course this meant another
costume change, this time into black vinyl pants and tacky 1970s
lurex shirts. They even played instruments! Drums, bass, guitars,
synthesizers, all was brought out to showcase months of music
lessons. Are Take That actually trying to be a band? There could
be no more "serious" music than Pink Floyd, and the band played
Another Brick in the Wall. At least the lyrics seem apt: "We
don't need no education ..."
Take That's efforts to be a serious band indicate the tension
they suppress. Realizing the fickleness of teenyboppers, they are
trying to make the transition into the less glamourous side of
the music world. Their biggest single to date, Back for Good, is
an acoustic number rather than a dance-hit. Their current image
also unveils the frayings of the band's seams. Howard, for one,
shows the strain of being a teen-idol. Sporting a ring through
his eyebrows and a square goatee, he seems determined to have his
dreadlocks cover his pretty yet gloomy face. Gary is also an
awkward star. When he does his pelvic thrusts, those plastic
pants do not flatter his bulky figure. His frame, however, has
slimmed down considerably since the British media dubbed him
overweight -- such are the pressures of being a pop star.
Only the other two seem comfortable under the spotlight. The
tongue-wagging, hip-grinding Jason Orange, however, seems too
comfortable, and exudes too much macho bravado. When he came
onstage in tight red hotpants during the disco-anthem finale
Relight my Fire, he exceeded the limit of good taste.
Actually, that's not true. The worst moment of the evening
came when Jason began a familiar guitar chord. Soon the audience
was bouncing to the beat of Nirvana's Smells like Teen Spirit.
There was Gary in a cut-off singlet and plastic pants, gyrating
and pogo-ing to the late Kurt Cobain's heartfelt lyrics about the
superficiality of the entertainment industry. My heart went out
to both Cobain's bastardized artistry and to Take That's absence
of sense. Now that Robbie has gone on to better things, the band
seems to have lost any sense of humor about themselves, and
instead are content with being a bad joke.