Def Leppard are a band that struggles with the FM radio effect. They were founded during the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal, yet they found their greatest success with radio-friendly pop metal hits in the ‘80s. As such their audience is 90% people who know their stuff from the radio and 10 per cent people who have everything they’ve ever done, and maybe an On Through The Night tattoo.
It stands to reason that the band is obliged to focus on the big hits so as to not alienate about 13,000 fans just to please the other 1,000. But instead, Def Leppard ignored all such concerns and played the set they wanted to play. The first half of the show was heavily stocked with more playful material (the new tracks Let’s Go and Dangerous, the 2011 bonus track Undefeated, a cover of David Essex’s Rock On), with a few megahits thrown in for good measure. But from Joe Elliott’s solo rendition of Two Steps Behind onwards it was pretty much an onslaught of smashes.
In terms of performance, Def Leppard are crazy slick, and I’m not referring to Phil Collen’s oiled-up shirtless torso. It’s refreshing to hear a band that performs complex backing vocal harmonies live instead of leaving that stuff to pre-recorded tracks. And Phil Collen and Vivian Campbell have distilled the Def Leppard overdubbed guitar army approach down into two parts in a rather clever way. It’s also interesting to note that the higher range of Elliott’s voice is still all there, even if his voice has taken on a little more of a Brian Johnson hue over the years.
In terms of being really fucking good at what they do, and playing every show as if it’s the most important gig of their lives, Def Leppard are still world-class. Whether you’re a fan or not, and especially if you’re a musician, you really should see these guys next time they come down because it’s rare to see a big arena show that’s all about the music.
BY PETER HODGSON
Photo by Ian Laidlaw
Loved: Vivian Campbell’s ’70s-meets-’80s guitar genius.
Hated: Absence of Bringin’ On The Heartbreak.
Drank: A few stray flecks of whatever they grease Phil Collen’s pecks with.
