Last Friday I had the pleasure of going to see Adam Rickitt sing at Revenge, the gay club round the corner from my house.
“Pleasure?” you may say. “Adam Rickitt?” you may say. “Sing?” you may also say.
But yes I can confirm it was Adam Rickitt of Coronation Street fame; he was singing, on stage, non-ironically; and I did actually quite enjoy it.
I realise that some people are not fans of Adam Rickitt and will have recoiled in horror at the prospect of paying £5 to hear him sing, so let me justify myself briefly. When Adam was in Coronation Street originally, he was 19, blond and floppy-haired, rather muscly, and frequently topless (usually under the pretext of washing a car or something). I was 16, homosexual and frustrated, so naturally I found him rather appealing. Despite the fact that he is now 32, my memories of his hotness still linger on and I will always see him in a favourable light. I even quite liked his single I Breathe Again (another reason why some people may dislike him), not only because of the gratuitous nudity in the video but also because it’s quite poppy and upbeat and you can dance to it. And yes yes I am aware that he’s a member of the Conservative Party, but if you think that’s going to bother me then you haven’t been reading this blog long enough.
If you’re wondering why Adam Rickitt is suddenly giving musical performances at Brighton gay clubs (and seemingly every Gay Pride festival in the UK that he can make it to), it is because he has recently returned from New Zealand in order to relaunch his pop career and to work on some as yet unspecified ‘TV and film projects’ here and in Hollywood. So for the pop career part, that involves a 2010 clubby remix of I Breathe Again, and I think another single at some point.
I was expecting Revenge to be quite packed full of adoring homos, but actually it was only about two thirds full. It was more busy when Same Difference were there, and I’m told Lloyd Daniel’s turn there verged on a terrifying gropey stampede. So that was a shame for Adam that it wasn’t full, but it was a respectable size crowd at least.
And yes I know he’s not the best vocalist ever to record anything, but I thought his singing was fine on Friday – in tune, in key, and when he got out of time with the music he noticed and caught up again. He knows his audience too, because although initially he was in a zipped-up jacket, it quickly became unzipped:
and even more quickly came off altogether:
He still has a very good body, and he knows that’s what people want to see (even if that tubby man looks deeply unimpressed).
I have to confess that I can’t really tell the difference between the original version of I Breathe Again and the new one. I think the new one hasn’t got verses in it or something, and has more of a beat to it. It was fine though. Adam did his best, bless him, to work the crowd up a bit, with various calls of “Put your hands in the air!” and “Let me hear you scream!”, but people weren’t really having it. That’s not his fault though, and I obediently screamed when instructed to. He also swore at the end and said “Thanks, you’re all fucking awesome!”, which I quite liked as it made him seem more human and less of a good-boy-off-the-telly.
We didn’t hang around for the meet-and-greet-and-autographs, but I wasn’t that fussed about seeing him write his name anyway.
I’m not sure how successful his pop career is going to be, but at least he’s marketing himself right and to the people that are likely to buy his music.
The rest of my bank holiday weekend consisted of drinking too much three nights in a row, having a not unpleasant meal with Chris’ Dad (made less unpleasant by him paying for it), and having a bit of a wander around in the sunshine on Monday when the sun FINALLY decided to appear for the first time in about four weeks. It was quite a nice weekend really, but now the summer is at an end and I’ve not got any time off booked until Christmas, so it’s all rather depressing.
Mum has settled down a bit now after losing her cat. She can at least talk about it without crying now, and can talk to me about other things, but I know she’s still thinking about it a lot. She’s had me go to an engravers in Brighton to order a brass memorial plaque that she can put up in the garden where Cleo used to sit – which is one of the odder demands she has made of me. I think the engraver woman was a bit bemused when I described what she wanted.
I am still feeling a bit unfairly put upon though, not just because of the cat but more broadly. Whenever something happens that throws Mum out of whack (i.e. every other day), it’s always me that has to pick up the slack and give her the extra support she needs in terms of phone calls, and being there to listen to her, and doing silly little jobs like ordering plaques. It’s never my brother, and I find that rather unfair. He gets off so lightly by basically ignoring Mum’s issues (that’s a polite word for her myriad demands) and it’s quite annoying. Even at our weddings it wasn’t fair: I asked him to take care of Mum on my wedding day so I didn’t have to worry about her; did he do it? No. Then on his wedding day I spent the whole day shielding him from her and sorting her out so he could enjoy his day. It’s just typical.
Anyway, I digressed a bit there.
In summary: Adam Rickitt = fit, naked and fairly entertaining.
I may even purchase his single when it comes out, especially if it means those jeans get any lower.