Within twelve months of announcing their ‘reunion’ tour in late 2005, Take That had completed the biggest come-back in pop history. At the time of writing they can sell tickets faster than any other pop artist in the UK; they have topped the singles charts two more times and produced one of the biggest selling albums of the last decade; their own TV special enjoyed one of the highest ratings for an entertainment show in years…it seems there is no limit to what they can now achieve.
How have they done it?
On the surface, there are three key reasons. Firstly, the cultural impact from their original career has proved to have far longer lasting resonance than anyone—probably even the band themselves—realised. Pop is a fickle beast and for a band in that genre to have any lasting validity is unusual. Take That was not a pioneering fashion band, far from it. They were not musical innovators. They were certainly not the critics’ band of choice. Yet what the colossal success of their come-back tour tells us is that they clearly made an indelible mark on British music and cultural history. The broadsheets might not like to think so, but it is a fact. Among the thousands of bands that spilled out of the Nineties, the importance of the majority would fade with time. Take That’s legacy, however, was clearly a sleeping giant.
This pop behemoth was first awakened by an ITV1 documentary and then established on the high streets of Britain by a series of come-back shows that captured the nation’s imagination on an unprecedented scale. The band’s famously energetic and explosive original live shows have been surpassed by a new tour of stunning proportions. Filling some of the UK’s biggest venues was one thing, entertaining in them quite another. They did both with aplomb. Why would so many thousands of people chase tickets to see a band from their childhood? Partly because they wanted a good time; partly because the shows themselves were sensational; but mainly because to millions of people, Take That matter.
Finally, the band has produced an album of new material that is genuinely polished, well-crafted and hugely popular. A live show alone does not qualify Take That for the accolade of pop’s biggest come-back. Of course, nostalgia plays a part, but the band has brilliantly complemented this revival with a slew of superb new songs. Opening single ‘Patience’ was a new classic in the ‘Back For Good’ vein, while follow-up ‘Shine’ was an addictive curve-ball. Both were No. 1. The album, Beautiful World, silenced all but the very harshest of critics.
That, it appears, is how they have done it.
It is rare for a pop band to get a second bite of the cherry—rarer still for any come-back to have greater commercial potential than the first time around. That’s what Take That appear to have done. The biggest pop band of the Nineties can now add the biggest come-back in pop history to their list of achievements.
From childhood days in bedrooms writing songs, to thanking audiences of 60,000 in football stadiums over twenty years later, this is how it all happened…
Martin Roach March 2007
Gary Barlow was washing his Ford Orion outside his parents’ house when his mum shouted that someone was on the phone for him. It was a local model-agency owner called Nigel Martin-Smith whom Gary had been to see that very afternoon. The 19-year-old Gary had wanted to speak with Nigel about getting small acting roles now that he had an Equity Card. At the end of their meeting, Gary had given Nigel a demo tape of some songs he’d been writing and recording in his bedroom.
Drying his hands, Gary picked up the phone.
‘Hello Gary, it’s Nigel Martin-Smith here. I’ve listened to that tape you gave me and I just wondered who is singing on it?’
‘It’s me, Nigel.’
‘OK, but who is playing the music and made the arrangements and everything?’
‘I did, Nigel, I did it all in my bedroom.’
‘Er…right. Can you come back to see me straight away, Gary? Tonight…’
At that precise moment, Take That, arguably the biggest British boy band ever, was born.
***
Regardless of Gary’s latter-day solo success and irrespective of the public’s perception of Take That’s key players, it is a simple fact that the very heart of the band always was—and always will be—Gary Barlow. Of the thirty-three original tracks on the band’s three studio albums, Gary was solely credited for writing twenty-five of them and co-writing a further seven.
Born 20 January 1971, Gary shares his birthday with punk svengali and cultural icon Malcolm McLaren, twenty-five years his senior. He was brought up in Frodsham, Cheshire, a small town with some big money, filled with sandstone brick buildings, a couple of housing estates, an old church, scatterings of hills and good walking country. It has been said that Frodsham people think they are a bit above their neighbours—and they are, overlooking as they do the chemical and petrol plants around Runcorn.
Gary was born to parents Marge and Colin Barlow, with one older brother, Ian (who now runs his own building firm). As a baby, Gary cried so much that his mother wondered if there was something seriously wrong with his health, but then they realised he was just a tiny baby who liked to make a lot of noise. His primary education was at Weaver Vale, where a final-year primary-school production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat saw him take the lead role. However, the first real signs of a future life in entertainment came when Gary was just 11 years old and chose a keyboard for Christmas, having been given the choice of either that or a BMX bike. Remarkably—and there are numerous first-hand sources to back this up—the pre-teen Gary was very quickly writing his own material.
Gary’s school life carried on at Frodsham High School, where his mother was a science technician. Perhaps surprisingly, given his young age, the schoolboy Gary had started performing professionally at social clubs in the local area. At this early stage, in true Phoenix Nights-style, he incorporated a handful of jokes into his routine. Notably, his musical influences were generally older than those of most teens—although his first record was ‘Living Next Door to Alice’ by Smokie, he was a big Motown fan, and liked artists such as Elton John and Stevie Wonder. His main song-writing inspirations were The Beatles and Adam Ant, an odd mix but obviously not one that stifled his creativity.
As early as age 13, Gary was playing solo every Saturday for ?8 a night at Connahs Quay Labour Club in North Wales, performing classic working-men’s standards such as ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’. He’d been offered the job after coming second in a talent competition at the venue with a cover of the surreal classic, ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’. Gary’s slot at the Labour Club lasted two years, during which time he also formed a duo with a friend known only as Heather. Together they played the pubs and clubs circuit for a further two years. He also formed a short-lived band inspired by Adam and the Ants. His rudimentary keyboard was soon replaced with a £600 organ with foot-pedals, which offered the budding songwriter far more musical possibilities.
One of the most significant jobs he secured was a ‘residency’ fronting a small, middle-aged band at the Halton British Legion in Widnes, near Runcorn, which included four gigs every weekend until well after midnight. By then, the mid-teenage Gary was earning up to £140 a night, which was no small accomplishment. Inevitably, late working hours and early school schedules were exhausting for him, but all he wanted to do was play and write and perform. He even gave up his beloved karate lessons because he broke his fingers twice and was concerned about jeopardising his piano-playing.
Gary supported some notable performers, including Ken Dodd and Bobby Davro, and, perhaps more importantly, began to slip his original compositions into his set alongside the staple club standards. One of those original songs had taken him six minutes to write and was entitled ‘A Million Love Songs’. Another two were called ‘Another Crack in My Heart’ and ‘Why Can’t I Wake Up with You?’.