Todd Rundgren, London Palladium review - bold, soul-inclined makeover charms and enthrals

The first words are spoken after “Worldwide Epiphany,” the 20th song. “Thank you” is all Todd Rundgren says. With this, the set ends.

It wasn’t that he was inscrutable or failing to acknowledge the audience during the previous hour and 50 minutes. A couple of lower-level sections like a catwalk parallel the stage before the front row of the stalls. Rundgren often paced this space, breaching the barrier between those who were there to see him and the performance. But, still, there are no introductions, no badinage.

This show is about the songs, and their resonance today

Performing a song like “Fascist Christ” – the set’s 18th – maybe said more than what could be expressed between songs. Originally on his 1993 album No World Order, its third line is “We've got to separate the Church and the state.” It goes on: “Jesus and money make a man speak in tongues, Scream out his lungs, roll in the dung.”

Earlier, the a cappella “Honest Work,” originally on 1985’s A Cappella album, declares “The prophets of a brave new world, Captains of industry, Have visions grand and great designs, But none have room for me.”

This London show, a stop on what’s dubbed to Me / We tour, is about the songs then, and their resonance today. It is also about the Hawaii-resident Rundgren’s voice. He’s 77, obviously in great shape and sings like a dream – during “Lost Horizon” and “Kindness” he adopts a Philly soul falsetto. And, up to the sea shanty-like, edging-on klezmer “Down With the Ship” it is soul which courses through this extraordinary evening. Well-known, and many less recognisable, songs are reconfigured to reflect a yen for the soul of his birth-place Philadelphia and a glossy, sax-infused early Eighties form of the genre, and to incorporate a yearning delivery akin to Billy Paul.

There may be a spur for this. Over the last few years, Rundgren has been performing and playing with soul stylist Daryl Hall: he produced Daryl Hall and John Oates' 1974 album War Babies. It’s one amongst Rundgren's masses of production credits – including The Band, Meat Loaf, New York Dolls, The Psychedelic Furs and XTC. Nonetheless, despite the depth of the well which could be drawn from, also including 27 solo albums, ten with Utopia and three with his old band The Nazz, soul seems to be where Rundgren is at right now.

Of course, it’s never instantly apparent which Todd Rundgren is going to bubble up at any given moment. It could be the prog-rock model, the straight-ahead power-popper, the Robert Johnson-covering blues man or the technology assisted futurist. So it follows that waywardness is priced in. Accordingly, the off-the-wall “Down With the Ship” is followed by “Honest Work” – a segment telegraphing there’s always room for excursions into other territory. Six songs in, “Buffalo Grass” is the first sign that Rundgren the rocker hasn’t been abandoned; there is a hint of Neil Young in tonight’s interpretation of this relatively recent song (after being on his subscription-only internet platform, it was issued on 2000’s One Long Year album). Set closer “Worldwide Epiphany” rocks as such.

So charming, so enthralling a show confirms Todd Rundgren’s distinctiveness

Naturally, it helps that Rundgren’s regular live band is as malleable as the songs. Also on stage are Gil Assayas (keyboards), Bruce McDaniel (guitar), Prairie Prince (drums), Bobby Strickland (keyboards and wind instruments) and Kasim Sulton (bass). McDaniel and Sulton step forward to add vocals to “Honest Work” but otherwise – Strickland’s leg-wobbling, Fine Young Cannibals-ish dancing aside – and despite their technical heft, the band are unassuming, sticking to making the music as fine-tuned as possible. The guitar solos – linear and to the point – are in Rundgren’s hands. The staging is minimal, uncluttered and, conspicuously, without monitors facing each player. Presumably, in-ear monitoring takes care of what’s needed.

Come the encore, Rundgren talks. “You know the words,” he says, inviting audience participation. It’s the time to air the perennials: “I Saw the Light,” “Can we Still be Friends, “Hello it's me” (with Rundgren waving at the audience). When it ends, everyone on stage comes forward, beaming and enthused, connecting with those at the front.

The encore compelled a comparison to the main set, with its Seventies and Eighties soul reframing, its complete lack of traditional presentation. Such audaciousness confirms an assurance that being on stage and performing the songs is enough. That this is the case, and that this is so charming, so enthralling a show confirms Todd Rundgren’s distinctiveness. Long may such boldness flourish.

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