You can infer everything you need to know about the British attitude to Johnny Hallyday from the fact that he's waited until 52 years into his career, indeed until after his official retirement from live performance, to play here. His name provokes little more from UK audiences than one of those indifferent shrugs his countrymen are so eager to deploy. His oeuvre – which tops 75 albums, not including umpteen volumes of a greatest hits series called Disque D'Or – has proved stubbornly resistant to Anglophone critical reappraisal.
In fairness, the standard line trotted out about Hallyday – that he's France's answer to Cliff Richard – is pretty wide of the mark. Hallyday's backing band are all studded leather, guyliner and guitar solos. His voice is flatly remarkable for a man of his years: raw, full-throated and hugely powerful. The music slaloms between genres – hard rock, big ballads with a hint of the declamatory vocals of chanson about them, unreconstructed 50s rock'n'roll, 70s stuff decorated with proggy keyboard arpeggios – which tells you something about the sheer length of his career.
Some of it feels oddly familiar: fans of 70s bubblegum pop might recognise Ne Joue Pas De Rock'n'Roll Pour Moi as Smokie's Don't Play Your Rock'n'Roll to Me. But some of his disques d'or sound completement insensé to British ears. One starts out like the upbeat soundtrack to the finale of an 80s teen film, then plunges suddenly into moody blues-rock, during which Hallyday, who is 69 years old, drops to his knees, rolls on his back and pretends to have it off with his microphone stand.
His version of I (Who Have Nothing) leaves its most famous interpreter, the celebrated master of restraint Tom Jones, sounding as understated as the XX, its drama heightened by Hallyday's chewy vowels: "'E can tek you any place 'ee wants," he avers, "fancy cleurbs and restaurants." But he's hugely engaging, partly because the crowd are going so crackers – at one point, when Hallyday throws his sweaty towel into the crowd, it looks like an actual fight is going to break out between two middle-aged men over its ownership. His gig doesn't feel alien simply because the audience know every word of songs you've never heard, but because the subject of their adoration is like nothing British pop has to offer.
