“Pet Shop Boys are akin to gods that have descended from a high to pump out banger after banger.”
George’s personal review of accessibility and performance.
‘Obscure’ not only celebrated the 40th anniversary of their debut album ‘Please’, but paid homage to hard core fans (from all backgrounds, known as PetHeads).
“Since becoming part of Eye Matter in 2024, there has been a shift, a growing confidence to go out more, try more, say yes to experiences that might once have felt out of reach.”
George, who has been a fan, since last October said, “Neil Tennant, the singer-songwriter and Chris Lowe have been a revelation to me ever since I heard Breathing Space, Miracles, and Left to My Own Devices. Despite being only a twinkle in my parent’s eye, when they first appeared on the scene, I really enjoyed this concert. I like their angelic voices, hypnotic rhythm, and the wonderful words that somehow are placed just right. At 71 years of age, Niel Tennant has preserved that unmistakable voice he has as if he is still in his 20s.”
About accessibility, George said, “Sometimes access is not complicated. Sometimes it is just having someone nearby to steady a walking frame or offer an arm when needed.”
Like many Eye Matter events, adventures begin with using public transport. Staff at Edgware Tube Station and Camden Town were notably helpful. Similarly, from the start, George felt his needs were met at the Electric Ballroom. He was paired with an assistant, “Mel who was helpful, charming, lovely, responsive, and quietly efficient.” Venue staff, who had stored his walking frame upon arrival, promptly returned it once the show finished.
As for the performance itself, nothing felt lost due to his sight-loss. The visuals were low-key, in harmony with the music rather than competing with it. The performance was about sound, mood and presence. From the balcony, the stage would normally have been too far to see clearly, but something interesting happened. There were faint outlines, Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe in silhouette, and the mind did the rest: the glasses, the posture, the stillness of Lowe, the enthralling stage presence of Tennant. The image formed by itself.
“One April evening within the Electric Ballroom, a venue more accustomed to sweat and volume than legacy and reverence, Pet Shop Boys stepped onto the stage and did the unthinkable.”
“No hits,” announced Neil Tennant, followed by a perfectly positioned pause.
Forty years of carefully crafted singles, songs that didn’t just define charts but shaped entire emotional eras, the idea of sidelining West End Girls, It’s A Sin, Always on My Mind, or Rent borders on sacrilege for some commentators. Yet within this intimate five-night residency the absence of hits became the space they left behind! Consequently, Pet Shop Boys reveal the connective tissue of their career, the songs that bridge eras, styles, and emotional registers. The result is less about spectacle and more about continuity.
Tennant and Lowe reportedly rehearsed thirty-five songs, many of them rarely or never performed live. Early in the set, Two Divided by Zero lands with unexpected force. Not because it’s louder or sharper than before, but because it feels newly contextualised. Stripped of the usual setlist hierarchy, it breathes differently. Then comes Jack the Lad, a Suburbia B-side making its live debut after nearly four decades. You could sense the room leaning forward, phones raised not just to capture the moment, but to prove it happened at all.
“It’s the softer songs that truly reshape the evening.” To Face the Truth simmers rather than bursts, Tennant holding the emotion just under the surface. Do I Have To? unfolds with a fragile tension, its piano lines, courtesy of Lowe, delicate but insistent. And King of Rome? It doesn’t so much play as envelopes. There’s a warmth to it, a kind of sonic humidity that lingers. Curiously, the absence of the “big songs” sharpens these moments.
Up close, Tennant is not the distant narrator of arena tours. He’s engaged, amused, occasionally playful, almost a host guiding the audience through an elaborate quiz of their own shared history. Seeming genuinely delighted when the crowd nails a lyric most people wouldn’t recognise. Lowe, meanwhile, remains characteristically inscrutable behind his synths, but his presence is felt in every arrangement. There’s a subtle recalibration here, less bombast, more texture. Sylvia Mason-James, the backing vocalist adds both continuity and flair.
There’s a particular energy when a room is filled with people who know. Not just the hits, but the B-sides, the remixes, the strange corners of a discography that stretches back to 1984. For years, these songs lived in private spaces: bedrooms, headphones, late-night rewinds. Here, they’re communal. Shared. Validated.
The emotional centre arrives during the encore. Your Funny Uncle, a track long associated with quiet grief, is delivered with understated gravity. Tennant at the piano, the arrangement stripped back, the room suddenly still. It’s a moment that reframes everything. These aren’t just rarities; they’re repositories. Each song holds a fragment of time, personal, cultural yet sometimes painful. Almost as a counterpoint, the set closes with something entirely new: I Dream of a Better Tomorrow. An unreleased track.
“Change is coming,” Tennant sings. It doesn’t sound like a slogan. It sounds like a quiet conviction. Anniversaries often lean toward celebration. Safe choices. Familiar narratives, but Obscure resists that instinct. Instead, it asks a more interesting question: what happens when a band of this stature chooses to highlight what’s been overlooked? The answer, it turns out, is not just novelty. It’s renewal.
George is looking forward to attending ‘Six’ and the anniversary celebration of ‘Avenue Q’ in the next few months. He like so many members are enjoying the Eye Matter Effect!
Further support:
The mbus Access Card, is a system used worldwide to help communicate access needs, both visible and less obvious.
https://app.accesscard.online/apply/access-card/form
Photos: Sue