For all their early gender-bending pretensions - Annie Lennox's butch androgyne caricature, lyrics about nasty sex and fascism - the Eurythmics' claim to artistic credibility never entirely convinced; those brooding album covers shoots and faux-Orwellian videos sitting uneasily beside their saccharine sub-Pretenders singalongs. It's hardly surprising then that this comeback tour sees the duo succumb to the hoary rock star's equivalent of senile dementia: the love and peace vibe.
In the foyer, we are overwhelmed with Amnesty International literature. Further on, hulking video screens loom over the stage, urging the audience - with overtones of dystopian menace oddly redolent of 1984 - to "make a difference". How? By sending money to Greenpeace - silly! Later on Lennox will tell us she thinks the Northern Ireland Peace process is a great idea. Cheers Annie. We'll pass it on.
Beneath all the matey earnestness and flower waving, the Eurythmics remain a clever pub band made good, a sexless Depeche Mode for the cappuccino supping Ben Sherman clad masses.
Thorn in my Side remains the best slush-core anthem Chrissie Hynde never wrote. There Must be an Angel - stripped down to a skeletal essence during a brief mid-show acoustic hiatus - is, depending on your stomach for bubblegum sentimentality, either genuinely affecting or a load of maudlin old tripe. Only Sweet Dreams, tonight's send 'em home happy showstopper, retains its dignity. Buzzsaw sequencers. Blunted Kraftwerk vocals. Nice. The new stuff rapidly coalesces into an indistinguishable ooze of mushed-up bass lines and blustering keyboards while Lennox does herself few favours by attempting to sing Danny Boy just before the final curtain.
