Many of Depeche Mode’s historical promotional photos were created from a single template: Dave Gahan and Martin Gore in the front, Andy Fletcher in the back, in a slightly more secluded position. They are pictures that tell better than a thousand words the precarious balance of a band that has always played every song as if it were a matter of life and death in the truest sense of the word. With the impassive composure of his immobile and inquiring gaze, “Fletch” seemed to convey to the two turbulent teammates the only certainty that has allowed Depeche Mode to last more than forty years: Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. and , if necessary I will also clean up your mess.
In fact, Pino “Pinaxa” Pischetola, who worked as the sound engineer on “Violator” (the 1990 masterpiece CD recorded partly in Milan) in La Repubblica a few days ago, said that the keyboardist, who died prematurely last year, “didn’t contribute much .” the musical parts, but it was like he was the manager, he intervened in many artistic decisions. With Fletcher gone, Gahan and Gore are left to fend for themselves, and the 56,000-strong sold-out San Siro concert at the San Siro is three things rolled into one: a tribute, a funeral, a rebirth. A giant M dominates the system, which refers to the title of the new album “Memento mori”. The visual apparatus is minimal, an absolute black that envelops the protagonists themselves, reduced to gothic shadows for the entire duration of the first song, the very somber “My cosmos is mine”, a sophisticated catharsis in slow motion, but which, due to Das The meazza’s problem – which will drown out the dynamics of the arrangements in reverberation for much of the show – becomes an electronic whoosh in which nothing is actually understood. Listening is better with “Wagging Tongue,” a bittersweet pop that Fletcher might caress as you hear the verse, “I’ll meet you on the river bank, or might on the other side.” There are four of them on stage, but the owners stand out. Gahan continues to be one of the best performers out there: he doesn’t sing the songs, he rides them. Instead, Gore switches between guitar and synth – plus occasional interpretation on the microphone – and is the deus ex machina of the sounds. Sister of Night has a powerful look but maintains a somber, almost decadent trend. During Ghosts Again, Gahan and Gore are seen on screens playing chess in a sort of remake of the iconic sequence from Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal: Who knows how much these two have to say to each other.
“A Pain That I’m Used To” has a renewed arrangement compared to the original version, leaning more towards post-punk than electro-pop: it’s the most appropriate track of the evening. The face of “Fletch” appears on the LED screens while the band plays “World in my eyes”: The Meazza pays homage to him with a dutiful ovation. It’s true that, like all modern pop classics, coming so close to being pure fanservice, “Enjoy the silence” and the concluding “Personal Jesus” are mandatory casting decisions to live up to the expectations of those who come to the concerts. According to statistics from the website setlist.fm, they have each been played more than nine hundred times in over thirty years. Yet when Gahan is there, spreading his arms and seeming to surf the audience’s endless chorus, you perceive something other than an inevitable routine, for there are twenty-somethings and sixty-somethings singing the same refrains and filled with the same emotions. A miracle, a magic.