Ah, Kim Wilde! One would have liked to say so many things to her, on the occasion of her concert yesterday, the very first of her tour. First of all that she would make well to separate forthwith from this bass player, blonde and hairy, wearing black socks under a completely inadmissible leather skirt. Then that she should avoid tackling the immense 'Enjoy the silence' of Depeche Mode, which did not deserve this calamitous rehash played by a group of needy under-Scorpions. And then also that the black leather suit with the deadhead on her back is not very sensible anymore at her age. Finally, one would have perhaps said nothing to her, to this particularly touching Kim Wilde, who overflowed of energy in her will to give in to a public so fully delirious of nostalgia, boosted while hearing again for example 'You keep me hangin' on' after all these years. !Interpreter without artifice Because yesterday evening, rather than the mother of familie in full crisis of youth, it is the icon of another time which returned to the spirit, that one time, had engraved so many hits on a disc which one then called 45 rpm's. One remembered adolescent fantasies suddenly on his pretty little face approximately plane, black and white on the small pocket of the furious 'Kids in America' which buckled the concert yesterday evening, or of the strange environment of the excellent 'Cambodia', great moment of the evening. One would profit from getting reacquainted with old songs like 'Chequered love', sung by the entier audience in the hall. Then inevitably, yesterday evening, one forgave much Kim Wilde, her useless show of force, her wall of sound little elegantly trying to convince in force of the audience she had acquired for her cause. She was liked more fragile, pouring a small tear during 'Someday', interprete without artifice in the moving 'Chasing cars', endeavouring to genuinely speak in French, the arm raised, proud to be still there in spite of the weight of the years. It is already that.
Le Parisien (France)