Magnum

KK's Steel Mill, Wolverhampton

26 January 2025

Some evenings are more than just the music.

I have seen Magnum in Wolverhampton before. Their "final" show in 1995, after they announced they would split. A hugely emotional evening for everyone, on stage and off. But it wasn't the end. After a few years' hiatus, Tony Clarkin put the band back together, and for another two decades they had a new lease of life, regularly releasing new music and touring for an audience that just wants to grow old and listen to Magnum forever. "We're never going to stop," said Bob Catley, last time I saw him on stage. And we didn't want them to.

And then, a year ago, Tony Clarkin died. Bob made an emotional statement saying he wasn't carrying on, and you can understand how he must have felt, losing a friend of 50 years. And for the fans, could it still be Magnum without Tony Clarkin? I think we all accepted it, and agreed, and approved of the decision.

Then, a few months later, Bob unexpectedly announced a few dates, not a continuation of Magnum, but a few final shows as a tribute to Tony Clarkin, and ending, appropriately, in Wolverhampton. And I think we all accepted it, and agreed, and approved of the decision. Thirty years ago, we thought it was the end. This weekend, we know it really will be. It has to be, because it's not Magnum without Tony.

Magnum was the second band I ever saw, in 1985, back when the New Street Odeon was still a concert venue. A year later, it was the first band I ever saw at Newcastle City Hall, and the first of many concerts I saw together with my friend Stuart over many years. So many memories over four decades with the band I perhaps love more than all others. And here we are again this weekend, older and maybe a little wiser, here at the end of all things.

KK's Steelmill is a huge cavernous space, a converted old factory in the industrial heart of England, that holds around 2000 people. This weekend it's packed to capacity on both nights. I haven't seen a Magnum audience this big for decades, if ever. But I look round the audience and know these are people who have loved this band as much as I have, for as long or longer than I have, and have travelled from all over Europe and maybe beyond for this.

House lights go down, and there's the usual euphoric roar of anticipation that you know will get louder as the band takes the stage, and then louder still as the first song is recognised. But then there's something I have never experienced before at a concert: the stage backdrop shows a montage of photos of Tony Clarkin throughout his life, and the whole crowd falls into a respectful silence. It's beyond magical, and beyond emotional.

Then there's the hooded, mirror-masked figure they used back in 1985 on the Stroyteller's tour, heralding a basic but beautiful light show, the arrival of the band, and the opening song of (we already know what it will be) How Far Jerusalem, and the crowd lifts the roof of this old building.

And from there, there's no let-up in the momentum of the set. Two hours of Tony's songs cherry-picked to please any fan of the band. We could quibble about what was missing, because there's only two hours and Tony wrote a lot of songs, but there's no denying that every song deserved its place in the set. From a couple of well-chosen recent examples, to a handful of unexpected deep cuts (The Tall Ships? oh my god) to pretty much every mandatory "hit". It's just perfect.

The band sounds as good as they always do. Filling Tony Clarkin's place on guitar is Brendon Riley, a name that is new to probably most of us in the audience. They could have gone to an experienced session player, or asked a well-known face from the rock scene to step in, but they went with the man who had been Tony's touring guitar tech for many years, and obviously a close friend of Tony and the band. Maybe a surprising choice, but as soon as he starts playing it's obviously the right choice. He's got Tony's "sound" perfectly (probably not surprising) and he plays the material flawlessly, faithful to the songs but not slavishly so, and smoothly meshing with the rest of the band. When Bob introduces the players at the end, Brendon Riley gets the biggest cheer, and deservedly so.

I don't know how Bob keeps his composure through the evening (when most of the audience aren't able to), but he treats it as another gig, breaking the flow only occasionally and briefly to share some words that tell us it's not just another gig. He's content to honour Tony the way he always has: by singing these songs written specifically for his voice, and by acknowledging that we're all going to sing every single word along with him, whether he tells us to or not. And he doesn't need to make a big fuss for us to plainly see and hear what this means to him.

Magnum concerts are always emotional. Probably the most emotional concerts I ever go to. The combination of the greatest body of songs by any writer, sung by that voice, in an audience with that much love and shared memories, is unbeatable. And these final dates have been ...

Forty years ago, I promised myself I would learn the words to The Spirit so I could sing it every time. Tonight, I sang it for the last time, along with 2000 friends, and I can't describe how it felt.

I don't think I want Bob to carry on. But I'm immensely happy he did this for us, for the fans. We've said goodbye, and ended it in the best possible way. I think I asked, can it still be Magnum without Tony Clarkin? The question is silly, because it assumes Tony wasn't there. He was there, in every word we sang, and he always will be as long as we keep singing these songs.

I'm not going to tell you this was the best concert I've ever seen, because I don't know if it's true. I don't know how I feel. Exhilerated, and joyful, as I always am at a Magnum concert, but also, just empty and crushed. It's too complicated to sort out. So I don't know what I should say now.

I'll shut up, and leave the final words to a man who was a far better writer than I will ever be: