Let it all out: Tears for Fears finally performs in the Philippines
It is a thrill and an honor to be here in Manila.” So said Roland Orzabal of Tears for Fears last Sunday, May 2, at the Araneta Coliseum, in between Sowing the Seeds of Love and Call Me Mellow. “We’ve been all around the world quite a few times: across America, into the plains of Siberia, the deserts of Scandinavia, and I don’t know why it has taken us so long...”
At this point, he was met by a typhoon of enthusiastic screaming from the utterly packed coliseum, the sound of a quarter-century of pent-up fangasmic glee. For many a music fan who grew up in the ‘80s, the idea of TFF playing here raised at the very least a nostalgic tremble, and for some it was the full-blown fulfillment of a fond and long-held wish. Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith, the duo who soundtracked the ups and downs and angst and aspirations of a generation, had finally arrived, and we welcomed them with all the noise our throats and hands could muster.
They started their 19-song set with a short string-laden version of Mad World, and then launched right into the magnificent memory-sparking monster Everybody Wants to Rule the World, sending the audience into throes of delirious appreciation. “Welcome to your life/There’s no turning back.” Then they did Secret World, my favorite song from their sixth album, 2004’s somewhat underappreciated “Everybody Loves a Happy Ending.”
The middle of their set was mostly unfamiliar to the audience (I still can’t believe they performed something from “Raoul And The Kings Of Spain,” quite possibly their least loved album, and no less than five songs from “Everybody Loves...”). Curt Smith talked to the crowd for a bit after their 12th song — he started off with “Mabuhay!” — and he mentioned that their Philippine visit had resulted in him being deluged with the most Twitter messages he had ever received. He then proceeded to deliver a sweet, haunting, and surprisingly touching number that almost no one recognized, but which won over the audience by the time it hit the chorus. This turned out to be Seven of Sundays, a song from his solo career. Roland followed up with an unexpected and somewhat bizarre cover of Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean (in response to the chants of “Eighties! Eighties!” perhaps?).
Pale Shelter from their cathartic first album “The Hurting” announced that they were through with the obscurities and ready to give the people what they were clamoring for. Break It Down Again launched the screams into the stratosphere, and then Head Over Heels sustained the frenzy. And then they left for a while, but came back of course for an encore after we shouted and stomped and seemed ready to bring the whole structure down, and ended strong with Woman in Chains and — fittingly — Shout.
There were a lot of songs I wish they had played: Advice for the Young at Heart, Change, Watch Me Bleed, Start of the Breakdown, The Working Hour, Mothers Talk, I Believe, Broken, Year of the Knife, Goodnight Song, Famous Last Words. Songs that the 10-year-old and 15-year-old and early-20s fan in me missed. Still, my current and past selves were satisfied: they may not have played everything we wanted, but what we did get was amazing.
Walking out of the concert venue and noticing all the people with ’80s T-shirts on (Rubik’s Cube and The Breakfast Club and Bagets, among other decade-centric designs), I found myself simultaneously fascinated and slightly disturbed. My memories associated with this music seem to me so specific, so personal — car rides as a child with my father and older brother to Greenhills on Sundays, a meticulously assembled mixtape to a quirky girl in high school, writing a letter in a college classroom to a best friend who had moved to the States — was it possible that we had all been equally affected by these songs? That balding overdressed businessman-type, that high-heeled girl with the loudspeaker voice and equally attention-hungry friends, that bespectacled dork with the dance moves who was standing next to me during the concert? I’m sure they all had specific and personal TFF-related memories of their own. Perhaps my personal prejudices didn’t matter as much as the fact that we were all there for the music, whatever it meant to us.
Curt Smith posted this message on his Twitter account the day after the concert: “Doesn’t happen very often but... I’m speechless. Manila, what a night! Thank you so much, we’ve now officially peaked.”
You’re welcome, Curt. Hope to see you and Roland and the rest of the band again soon.
