It makes me want to laugh and be sick at the same time. Barely three songs into the set, when Kim Wilde sings a quieter note, the flames of cigarette lighters appear dotted about in this great cavern, the young Germans reserving that rare gesture of appreciation for the great lady onstage. I guess we Brits should feel lucky and proud that we've produced such an outstanding enigma like Kim Wilde.
Yes - Kim Wilde is the goddess over here in Germany. I couldn't work out whether the mass mania taking hold in the concert hall was over the hummable tunes that emanated from the stage or the way she flicked her bum to and fro now and again in personal jubilation. In either case, the row of lads in front of me could barely contain themselves.
Kim Wilde is just your average girl next door with a pair of tight faded denims and waistcoat stretched over her ample shape and a peroxide rinse in her hair. Sure she can move well - tonight's stint shows a feminine grace in all her bodily actions - but then every girl knows how to flirt. And Kim's singing? Why bother to ask. She can sing, but only just.
Her songs are nice, singalong hits. I'd forgotten till tonight just how many hits she has under her leather, studded belt. They're all brought out and dusted off for our benefit tonight - but why do they all sound the same? I guess it could be due to that grating voice of hers. Only one song stood out and let her voice ride easy and confidently over the heavy backdrop. "Cambodia" rang deep, rich and haunting unlike its vinyl production. Then it was back to the average safe melodies - and "Love blonde".
Kim reckons the song's a parody, tongue-in-cheek - but she's got the last laugh. She puts her image where it sells. "Love blonde" is also a sickening self-glorification.
Crushed and fanatical boys had to be dragged manfully by the bouncers from the front of the stage - bouquets and red roses fell at Kim Wilde's adorable little feet. This was her first concert in Germany; I guess she ought to feel pleased with herself.