Glenn Tillbrook

During the late seventies and early eighties it was the three minute pop songs created by Glenn Tilbrook and Chris Difford that became the soundtrack to my life. Hailed by some as the next Lennon and McCartney, their lyrical slices of South London life were set to melodies so catchy that even now, forty years later, I still find myself singing along every time a Squeeze song comes on the radio. All I still remember all the words.

The audience lined up outside Open in Norwich on Friday evening are largely of the same era, and all hoping for their memories to come flooding back in the company of Squeeze's lead singer Glenn Tilbrook. He and Difford do still perform together, either as a duo, or as a re-assembled version of Squeeze, and continue to release albums – The Knowledge was released as a band album in 2017, and Tilbrook's own Happy Ending came out three years earlier. This year's solo tour is supporting The Trussell Trust, a charity aiming to end UK hunger, and it is good to see that some of those queuing have responded to Tilbrook's call-out and have brought along bags containing items for local food-banks. Cash is also donated into collection buckets, and proceeds from sales of an exclusive 4-track EP are also going to The Trussell Trust.

The opening set comes from Tilbrook's son, Leon. Now I can sometimes be cynical and sceptical when it comes to progeny of famous musicians being given nepotistic leg-ups into the business, but I am forced to admit young Leon deserves his place on merit (Besides, how cool is it for any father and son to be touring together in a massive RV camper van?). Leon switches between six and twelve string guitars (adding some nice Spanish flourishes along the way), writes his own material (which turns out to be rather good); and possesses a singing voice that lies somewhere between his father's and Jake Bugg. The audience at Open certainly warm to him, and the applause at the end is genuine and heartfelt.

It is a seated audience in Open's Banking Hall tonight, with most spaces taken and even more  standing at the back by the time Glenn Tilbrook arrives on stage. He sports waistcoat and trousers, and a shirt unbuttoned at the collar and with sleeves rolled up. These days he looks less the cheeky Deptford lad and, between contrasting glare and shadow of the lights, more like an Ever Decreasing Circles era Richard Briers. Yet when he begins to sing, and from the very first guitar chord, it is as if time itself has frozen. As he performs the first of many Squeeze hits of the evening, the audience discover that they, too, remember all the words, and are gently but audibly joining in.

The set splits into two halves, with Tilbrook playing acoustically initially before switching to electric. In the changeover there is what Tilbrook himself describes as a 'rant' about how the music business has changed over forty years, and how young singers now expect to come on stage and sing to a backing track. Rather bizarrely, he then sings Mud Island, a song from the Happy Ending album, but to his own badly-cued backing track. It gets polite applause from the audience, but the vocals seemed slightly shaky, leaving me wondering if this was intended as some kind of Banksy-style 'Love is in the Bin' statement?