Mark Knopfler - Königsplatz Munich 25th June 2010
Setlist: Border Reiver / Why Aye Man / What It Is / Sailing to Philadelphia / Coyote / Hill Farmer's Blues / Romeo & Juliet / Sultans of Swing / Done With Bonaparte / Marbletown / Get Lucky / Speedway at Nazareth / Telegraph Road // Brothers in Arms / So Far Away / Piper to the End
Going to see someone of Mark Knopfler’s calibre play live always offers the distinct possibility that it could all go base-over-apex and turn into a dreadfully expensive evening of disappointment, especially considering the 85.65€ the ticket cost me, last October. Alternatively, it could turn out to be something otherworldly! As I made the trip over to Munich, I really had no idea what to expect. The gig was taking place in the open air, at Munich’s Königsplatz, where one can see some very impressive examples of a certain diminutive, strangely-moustachioed, Austrian midget’s monumental masonry. Not too shabby a setting, considering and my companion for the evening was, as ever, great fun to be with. ;-)
So, Knopfler/Munich. Patience, mein kleines Schweinchen…
Just in case you didn’t know, Knopfler was actually born in Glasgow – Scottish mother, Hungarian father – so, technically, he isn’t even a real Geordie. What is more, although he is left-handed, he plays right-handed, without a pick. Not quite sure what my point is there, to be honest, I guess it is probably something about his really unusual, distinctive sound and style, yada, yada, yada. Anyway, I couldn’t not include these piquant little fact-ettes, could I? That would lead to an information surplus and create a EU Factmountain, which means that I am being green and saving the planet, so there!
Gratuitous digression and execrable bollocks notwithstanding, Dire Straits, we all remember, from 1978 through the ‘80snd into the ‘90s, meant perfection in every way, shape, and form. The playing, the production, the performance, were always top notch and, since the mid-‘90s, his solo material has not lowered those standards one iota. Of course, the cynic in me says: ‘Wasn’t Dire Straits really just Knopfler and some blokes, anyway?’ Maybe that is a little harsh, but you do know what I mean… I can tell by that look on your face… It’s a difficult one to answer that. The knee-jerk response is a vehement, “NO!”
So, Knopfler/Munich. Patience, mein kleines Schweinchen…
Just in case you didn’t know, Knopfler was actually born in Glasgow – Scottish mother, Hungarian father – so, technically, he isn’t even a real Geordie. What is more, although he is left-handed, he plays right-handed, without a pick. Not quite sure what my point is there, to be honest, I guess it is probably something about his really unusual, distinctive sound and style, yada, yada, yada. Anyway, I couldn’t not include these piquant little fact-ettes, could I? That would lead to an information surplus and create a EU Factmountain, which means that I am being green and saving the planet, so there!
Gratuitous digression and execrable bollocks notwithstanding, Dire Straits, we all remember, from 1978 through the ‘80snd into the ‘90s, meant perfection in every way, shape, and form. The playing, the production, the performance, were always top notch and, since the mid-‘90s, his solo material has not lowered those standards one iota. Of course, the cynic in me says: ‘Wasn’t Dire Straits really just Knopfler and some blokes, anyway?’ Maybe that is a little harsh, but you do know what I mean… I can tell by that look on your face… It’s a difficult one to answer that. The knee-jerk response is a vehement, “NO!”
OK. Now, your starter for ten: Ask your mates to name the members of Dire Straits. Most people will say Knopfler, his brother, (sorry, no points for saying Knopfler – Mark, or David!) and there was that tall bloke with the Brian May hairdo, and don’t forget the drummer. Yeah, the Welsh Wizard, Terry Williams, you mean? Right. I’d wager that John Illsley and Pick Withers are the first ones to be forgotten, just like that other bloke from Bros, and the two in U2 that aren’t Bono or The Edge.
Now, assuming you got a starter question, ask them to name anything that Knopfler has done outside Dire Straits; five points for each correct answer. Some people will know about things like Local Hero, Princess Bride, and his other soundtrack output, others will know Sailing to Philadelphia, maybe even Golden Heart, or Ragpicker’s Dream, and someone is surely bound to remember The Notting Hillbillies, (but probably only from some 2-CD Greatest Hits package).
I can hear the little cogs in your brains turning, my little pitbulls. What the bloody hell is this horse’s ass ranting about? That is what you are thinking. Well, you see, Knopfler is a prime example of a particular type of performer. He is very hard to dislike, and equally hard to pinpoint for 90% of his fanbase. Naturally, some portion of his following will be colossal, collect everything, anally-retentive, anorak-wearing, sprout-eating, Birkenstock-wearing sadsacks, but the majority will be there because they just like his stuff. More to the point, they don’t dislike it. Now are you with me? After Sultans of Swing, Brothers in Arms, Romeo and Juliet, and Private Investigations etc, you only know songs because you have heard them before, but couldn’t name them if your life depended on it. It is hardly the sort of thing that you would want Chris Tarrant to ask you for a million pounds.
All that pontification aside, the guy is a guitar God, has a truly unique sound, and has written some fantastic songs over the years, and in no way am I trying to devalue that. Hell, I recognised his talent when I first saw him in 1978, it stood out a mile. At the height of punk, here was this normal-looking bloke with a funny haircut, playing in a way no one had ever heard before. It got your attention, let me tell you.
Now, assuming you got a starter question, ask them to name anything that Knopfler has done outside Dire Straits; five points for each correct answer. Some people will know about things like Local Hero, Princess Bride, and his other soundtrack output, others will know Sailing to Philadelphia, maybe even Golden Heart, or Ragpicker’s Dream, and someone is surely bound to remember The Notting Hillbillies, (but probably only from some 2-CD Greatest Hits package).
I can hear the little cogs in your brains turning, my little pitbulls. What the bloody hell is this horse’s ass ranting about? That is what you are thinking. Well, you see, Knopfler is a prime example of a particular type of performer. He is very hard to dislike, and equally hard to pinpoint for 90% of his fanbase. Naturally, some portion of his following will be colossal, collect everything, anally-retentive, anorak-wearing, sprout-eating, Birkenstock-wearing sadsacks, but the majority will be there because they just like his stuff. More to the point, they don’t dislike it. Now are you with me? After Sultans of Swing, Brothers in Arms, Romeo and Juliet, and Private Investigations etc, you only know songs because you have heard them before, but couldn’t name them if your life depended on it. It is hardly the sort of thing that you would want Chris Tarrant to ask you for a million pounds.
All that pontification aside, the guy is a guitar God, has a truly unique sound, and has written some fantastic songs over the years, and in no way am I trying to devalue that. Hell, I recognised his talent when I first saw him in 1978, it stood out a mile. At the height of punk, here was this normal-looking bloke with a funny haircut, playing in a way no one had ever heard before. It got your attention, let me tell you.
Gigs like these are different from your average heads down, no-nonsense, mindless boogie kind of affair. People who turn up to, off the top of my head, say, an Ace Frehley gig, generally know what they are going to see and hear. It’s not rocket science. It will not be subtle, but it will be loud. He is unikely to play anything you haven’t heard before, many times. No one is going to go and see Ace live just because they heard one of his songs on the radio as they were picking the groceries up from Käfer. With Mr Knopfler, on the other trotter, this is entirely possible. Scoping out the punters, I could see:
- old folks (yes, way older than me!)
- young people (probably dragged along cos their parents were Dire Straits fans in the ‘80s, but little Hans and Lotte would much rather be sniffing Crystal Meth, playing with firearms, and having sex, whilst listening to loud Drum ‘n’ Bass music)
- obvious fanatical fans (like the guy next to me obviously bootlegging the gig on a small piece of electronic equipment secreted in some deep recess of his person (when you could spend a measly 20 of your comical Europounds on a genuine, high quality USB stick, or CD, recording of the concert))
- cool, good-looking types, educated, refined, sophisticated, and well-filled of trouser-frontage (no wait, that was my reflection in the LCD screen of my camera)
- people who were there because someone else bought the tickets and there was one going free now that Bernd had to go to Dusseldorf on business
- normal-looking people (I think I saw one of them... but don’t quote me on that)
Is this coming across as a little mephitic? A tad vituperative? Leaning towards the vitriolic? It shouldn’t. For once, it isn’t meant to…
You know what? It had never really occurred to me before just how much space there was once you had cordoned off Königsplatz. It’s really big! I’ve been to festivals that have been more cramped! However, once you’ve erected a stage at one end, put in some [really, really, uncomfortable] seats, and equipped polo-shirted young folks with beer-barrel backpacks to refresh the punters at 4€ a [plastic] glass, all you need is a band (and, obviously, all the stuff that goes with that!)
Around 8pm, or 20.00 for you continental Johnny’s, a very motley crew took to the stage with little to no fanfare and, pretty much, just started playing. To paraphrase David Coleman’s most famous foot-and-mouth moment, this was very much a concert of two halves. The first half was very pleasant; sitting in the late evening summer sunshine, listening to some good tunes, necking a Helles; we sat in the sun and the band played on, as it were. It was very copasetic.
Border Reiver, Why Aye Man, through Sailing to Philadelphia (one of my personal favourites) up to, and including, Romeo and Juliet and Sultans of Swing, comprised part one of the evening’s entertainment, for my money. Done With Bonaparte, through Telegraph Road, plus the encores, comprised Teil zwei. Once the sun had gone in and the stage lights came in to their own, things got a bit heavier, people started to stand up and move around, largely to stave off the biting wind that had suddenly started blowing. The intensity on stage was, definitely, ramped up. Knopfler even started to talk to the audience, something I thought he was never going to do.
In many ways, these types of concerts are really difficult to write about. Short of Knopfler forgetting how to play guitar, some injury or illness, or Cat of Dog (sorry, Act of God; I came over all dyslexic) it’s going to be faultless. The band consists of top notch pro musicians, as good as any in the business. The songs are beyond criticism. The only thing it could possibly be is dull and it wasn’t. I suppose the most I can say is that it was everything I expected it to be, plus a little bit I hadn’t expected. It was a great night of superbly played music. Simples!
Was I disappointed that they didn’t do Money For Nothing? Not really. Apart from a good riff, I never really cared for the song, to be perfectly honest. If Sonny Landreth had been a guest on Cannibals, or Riding on the Gravy Train, now that would have made it stellar, but I have no complaints. Would I go and see him again? For sure! Next time I might even remember to take the memory card for my camera so that the photos aren’t as crap as this batch.
Why Aye Man!
Mark L. Potts
The God of Thunder
7th July 2010
P.S. I know the photos are crap. I screwed up and took the camera, but forgot to take the memory card. Long story short, I ended up with the crapest set of photos I've taken at a gig in the ten years I've been doing it. Sorry.
You know what? It had never really occurred to me before just how much space there was once you had cordoned off Königsplatz. It’s really big! I’ve been to festivals that have been more cramped! However, once you’ve erected a stage at one end, put in some [really, really, uncomfortable] seats, and equipped polo-shirted young folks with beer-barrel backpacks to refresh the punters at 4€ a [plastic] glass, all you need is a band (and, obviously, all the stuff that goes with that!)
Around 8pm, or 20.00 for you continental Johnny’s, a very motley crew took to the stage with little to no fanfare and, pretty much, just started playing. To paraphrase David Coleman’s most famous foot-and-mouth moment, this was very much a concert of two halves. The first half was very pleasant; sitting in the late evening summer sunshine, listening to some good tunes, necking a Helles; we sat in the sun and the band played on, as it were. It was very copasetic.
Border Reiver, Why Aye Man, through Sailing to Philadelphia (one of my personal favourites) up to, and including, Romeo and Juliet and Sultans of Swing, comprised part one of the evening’s entertainment, for my money. Done With Bonaparte, through Telegraph Road, plus the encores, comprised Teil zwei. Once the sun had gone in and the stage lights came in to their own, things got a bit heavier, people started to stand up and move around, largely to stave off the biting wind that had suddenly started blowing. The intensity on stage was, definitely, ramped up. Knopfler even started to talk to the audience, something I thought he was never going to do.
In many ways, these types of concerts are really difficult to write about. Short of Knopfler forgetting how to play guitar, some injury or illness, or Cat of Dog (sorry, Act of God; I came over all dyslexic) it’s going to be faultless. The band consists of top notch pro musicians, as good as any in the business. The songs are beyond criticism. The only thing it could possibly be is dull and it wasn’t. I suppose the most I can say is that it was everything I expected it to be, plus a little bit I hadn’t expected. It was a great night of superbly played music. Simples!
Was I disappointed that they didn’t do Money For Nothing? Not really. Apart from a good riff, I never really cared for the song, to be perfectly honest. If Sonny Landreth had been a guest on Cannibals, or Riding on the Gravy Train, now that would have made it stellar, but I have no complaints. Would I go and see him again? For sure! Next time I might even remember to take the memory card for my camera so that the photos aren’t as crap as this batch.
Why Aye Man!
Mark L. Potts
The God of Thunder
7th July 2010
P.S. I know the photos are crap. I screwed up and took the camera, but forgot to take the memory card. Long story short, I ended up with the crapest set of photos I've taken at a gig in the ten years I've been doing it. Sorry.