It’s a tale as old as time, but because brown-eyed international heartthrob and all-round daycent felleh Danny O’Donoghue is telling it, a stadium hangs on his every word. “This time two years ago,” he booms, in full rags-to-riches gush, “we sold 28 tickets to the Sugar Club across the water, and here we are now with 16,000 of our closest friends!” (actually it was more like three years Danny but we won’t argue!). With a sizeable repertoire of top-notch pop, lashings of singable melodies and O’Donoghue’s designer stubble on their side, you have to wonder: how could the Script not sell out a show?
That’s not the only head-scratching perplexity thrown up over the next hour, though. Where’s the obnoxious 15ft Script sign I was hoping for? Does YouTube really need 2,000 shaky videos of Mark Sheehan wrestling his guitar to the floor? Is drummer Glen Power wearing any trousers? All valid queries, but there’s one question that I just can’t seem to shake: who are The Script when they’re at home?
“This is your song, Dublin,“ O’Donoghue smoulders before launching into anthemic hit ‘For The First Time‘, but there’s absolutely nothing about the loved-up ballad that suggests Dublin to these ears. Like the rest of their honeyed chart-toppers, it’s a completely universal song. Equally, the hip-hop flow of ‘We Cry’ couldn’t be further from your typical stab at rugged Irish rock, and teamed with moving images of some unidentifiable urban cityscape, the whole thing is wildly generic. At its climax, O’Donoghue announces that it’s time for an “old-fashioned Dublin singsong“, slipping down into the pit to solicit a few bars from the revellers in the front row. All good. But hollers of “Sing it, girl!” and “Represent!” hardly evoke a night down the local pub in the Liberties. Later, he’ll spread open the lapels of his blazer to reveal an Irish flag in its lining – a cheesier move, you will not see on the O2 stage, even when Black Eyed Peas and Usher next land here.
Still, as non-place specific choonage goes, The Script can’t be touched. O’Donoghue has all the frontman swag you could pine for and his pseudo rap vocals never veer off form. ‘If You See Kay’ is alone in being thoroughly unconvincing – for the most part, the vibes are slick and the tunes are superbly delivered. The stage set-up is flashy, but appropriately so, and as for gusto, these three musicians have it in spades. When not twiddling away on his allocated illuminated platform – made popular by considerably more annoying popstars like Tinchy Stryder – Sheehan ducks and dives about the stage like a military sniper, while O’Donoghue (now sporting a fine mullet, FYI) frequently throws open his arms to embrace the crowd. I could have done without the acoustic portion of the show, during which the corner of the stage was transformed, I kid you not, into a replica of the lads’ old sitting room. For my money, this was a thoroughly odd way to strip things down, but I suppose if calling around to casa de Script for tea and a bit of a croon interests you, you’ll have enjoyed it.
The show finishes with the all-conquering ‘Breakeven’, by far The Script’s most potent hit, which deservedly elicits elated yelping from the crowd. Visibly moved, O’Donogue and co. exit the stage chanting ‘Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole’, as if to hammer home the idea that for all the TV show appearances and gold records, they’re still just a group of proud Dubliners. The Script are accessible. Accessible sells records. And in this case, it also makes for an eminently solid show. QED.