Move over, The Greatest Showman: Robbie Williams is in town.
We’re standing in the middle of London’s Hyde Park and we’re completely at the mercy of a man who looks like he’s having just as much fun as anyone else in the field. This human ball of charisma has spent the last hour blasting out the kind of bombastic, yet oft emotional pop belters that he’s spent twenty-odd years producing, and there’s not a soul here that isn’t completely under his spell. If he were to ask the crowd to storm Parliament right now, they would. That’s how much control he has here.
But who could blame them, really? They sometimes say that there’s something in the water; but if you ask us, there’s something in Rock DJ. And Come Undone. And Strong. And a surprise cover of Blur’s Parklife, featuring the inimitable Danny Dyer. Oh, and Supreme, Love My Life, Feel, and even the so-catchy-it’s-almost-unbearable Candy.
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In fact, we’d defy even the most stoic of dragged-along boyfriends not to have the time of their lives at a Robbie Williams show.
After all, it’s quite hard not to warm to the man. When he’s not belting out the kind of stadium-sized pop bangers that lesser Pop Stars have spent the last two decades trying, and failing, to emulate, he’s looking visibly emotional at the sheer scale of the spectacle before him.
And there’s a lot to be said for a place like Hyde Park, too. Taking place as part of the already legendary British Summer Time series of one-day shows in the heart of London, this spot is as iconic as any gig venue you could hope to get to.
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By the time we reach the closing segment of the gig, Williams could safely choose to cruise towards a home run.
But instead, he chooses to end with a power ballad sucker-punch of She’s The One and Angels. Because of course he does. He’s Robbie bloody Williams, British-born master of bombast, and the closest thing this fine nation has to the human embodiment of charisma. He’s gone through the dark times and earned the title of National Treasure through little more than sheer willpower, the occasional bout of chronic self-confidence, and the kind of irresistible sonic repertoire that even your Gran has to admit is packed full of more bangers than your average butcher’s window.
Let Me Entertain You? Let’s not pretend that we ever had a choice.
