Bryan Adams at the 3Arena

The cool kids may mock, but I still have a soft spot for Bryan Adams’ Reckless album – and by that I mean I don’t skip over it when it randomly comes up in the car. Far from it, I drum the shit out of the steering wheel and give it the full rock roar out the window, to a doubtless grateful public, as I fondly remember Fab Vinny’s moustache and grin introducing Adams to us all on Sunday afternoon’s MT USA (go ask your grandparents). Those same cool kids might loudly decry the fact that I’m here in the 3Arena rather than down in some basement scratching my chin at, I dunno, The Arse Giraffes’ latest E.P. launch. But these two consecutive sold out nights are just as worthy of report as anything else. Music is a broad church, and there is a pew for everyone.

Talking of pews, Hot Press is given the best seat in the house – front and centre. Why do the ones we love the least treat us the best? I was half a football field from The Rolling Stones the other night. C’est la vie, but it’s a bon vie, I’m not complaining.

If you’re an Adams fan, and I don’t completely hate him, the Lothario from Ontario gives you what you want. There are new songs played tonight – ‘Ultimate Love’ and ‘Please Stay’ from his most recent hits collection, which is the reason we’re here – but, frankly, they’re far from great, so ignore them and shake that place where your mullet once was to the rest instead. Don’t like this number? Not to worry, there’ll be another one along in a minute of two. It’s that kind of show. The man has more hits than most, and, unlike many lesser acts, he has no problem with knocking them out.

The ball gets rolling with ‘Can’t Stop This Thing We Started’ which has a particularly fabulous middle eight. ‘Run To You’ is equally great – it’s far too early to tear off your shirt, wave it in the air, and go screaming the deathless chorus up and down the aisle, but that doesn’t stop Hot Press from thinking about it. The drop out to just the rhythm guitar remains as tasty as it was thirty-four(!) years ago.

After telling us about stopping in Skerries, and going to see Ed Sheeran, and having a pint, and blah, blah, blah, Adams launches into ‘Go Down Rockin’. This is, of course, an admirable sentiment, and a fine life plan, and in the hands of an AC/DC or a Tom Petty, it would be rightly lauded. Here, it seems ever so slightly forced, almost as if it was designed in a lab to appeal to those of us who should have retired the leather trousers a few years back. But I’m the only one in the building even contemplating this - everyone else is far too busy rockin’ out and having a good time.

Did they make power ballads like ‘Heaven’ illegal sometime around the early nineties? Perhaps the likes of Def Leppard et al realised that Adams had perfected the form with this tune, and gave up in despair. The mirroball lights are out, and the crowd are in fine voice, but not as fine as Adams’ itself, which hasn’t lost a semitone since his stonewashed-denim clad glory days. He offers further proof with a larynx shredding go at ‘It’s Only Love’. Tina Turner, alas, doesn’t show up, but guitar player Keith Scott, who’s been with Adams since the 70s, uses the opportunity for a full wah-wah, Stevie Ray Vaughan freak out, and finishes by spinning the guitar around his neck – a move that will always, always warrant a bualadh bos.

The appeal of ‘Cloud #9’ is lost on me, although the crowd love it, but the rockabilly ‘You Belong To Me’ is better. If someone told you it was a long lost Springsteen outtake, you’d almost believe them. The band, just five of them, suited, on a bare stage, in front of some expensive looking videos, resemble a wedding crew at times, albeit a better one than any wedding I’ve ever been at. Couples are jiving, laughing, and having fun, enjoying a proper night out.

The opening bars of ‘Summer Of ‘69’ opens a portal in time for everyone here, including your correspondent. Many of us probably played this in their first band, or threw a shape to it at a school disco, or fumbled around on the couch with some young one/lad at an innocent house party while it blasted in the background. I did all three (apart from the young lad), so allow me my Proustian grin when the band goes for that tricky Bb behind the glorious “Young and Restless” section.

Following that with ‘Here I Am’- apparently nominated for Golden Globe for best original song as it featured in Spirit: Stallion Of The Cimarron (no, me neither) – seems slightly misjudged but Adams redeems himself with the proper pop of ‘When You’re Gone’. That abomination from the Robin Hood movie that felt like it was number one from around 1991 until the middle of 2005 is next – give me the Fatima Mansions version any day of the week – and it earns an ovation that threatens to go on almost as long. ‘Back To You’ isn’t great either, but ‘Somebody’ is fantastic. If Hot Press was wearing a tie, it would already be wrapped around my head.

‘Have You Ever Loved A Woman’ is still endearingly daft. We only get half of ‘The Only Thing That Looks Good On Me Is You’ – which is a shame, as it’s a fine song - before it merges into ‘Cuts Like A Knife’. Adams pulls out all the stops here, breaking the song down to just a bass drum and the “nah, nah, nah” refrain. He gets a deservedly huge foot-stomping cheer. This song, along with an earlier ‘This Time’ and the encore’s ‘Straight From The Heart’, all come from the same place and mark Adams out as an heir to the mighty Bob Segar as much as anyone else.

‘18 ‘Til I Die’ is perfectly fine, but the acoustic ‘I’m Ready’ seems to be the only real misstep of the night, Adams having to encourage the crowd to sing along. The set closes with ‘Brand New Day’, another obviously popular song that was regrettably unfamiliar to me, although you can spot the influece of producer Jeff Lynne a mile off.

The encore starts with ‘I Could Get Used To This’ – a new number as far as I know, although it’s more a riff looking for a tune than a song - before the band play ‘I Fought The Law’ much closer to its poppier origins than The Clash’s rock n’ roll make over. Sending a camera in to the crowd for this is a lovely touch, the myriad of smiling faces telling you far more about the success of this show than any of my waffling ever could. It’s just Adams and his acoustic guitar now and if ‘Whiskey In The Jar’ is barrelled fish shooting of the most obvious kind, well, what harm? He gets the crowd to take a break from eating out of his hand to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to his manager before sending everyone home happy with 'All For Love’.

I had never seen Adams live before – yes, I was at Féile fadó fadó, but I was out-through-the-hedge-and-in-to-the-trees away with the fairies for the entire week, so I have more chance of remembering a past life – and I was genuinely impressed. There were hints of Springsteen here and Tom Petty there, although, for whatever reason, the critics are never likely to mention him in the same breath (although I just did). I’m sure he’s long past giving a shit, if he ever did, and his adoring crowd certainly wouldn’t give it a second thought. There were a lot of rural accents, like mine, in the room, and I mention this only to illustrate the fact that people went out of their way to get to this show, on a Monday night. The audience truly cares about Adams, and he obviously reciprocates that feeling. There was never any sense of him going through the motions, he gave it everything he had, and the crowd responded in kind. You can’t ask for fairer than that from a rock n’ roll show. Hats off.