return to Ida

I DO ENJOY reunions, if only to see what age has done to pop stars we haven’t seen for a while. It has been a shock seeing how fat the Pixies are a decade on. Clearly they spent all those royalties on pies, in which case be wary of supporting their comeback, for the good of their health. T in the Park caterers take note: no chips and cheese for Frank Black on Sunday, or you might lose another headliner.

At the other end of the weight scale, it turned out this week, are Wet Wet Wet. Cynics will suggest the reunion has more to do with money than a touching rediscovery of lost friendship (they could have just got together and played cards, after all). If that turns out to be the case, though, I say buy your tickets for the December gigs now. They look like they haven’t eaten since the split. Marti Pellow, in particular, is a skull on a stick. A happy skull who looks like he’s recently been on a beach holiday, admittedly, but still, someone feed the man. As for Graeme Clark and Neil Mitchell, the words "Kiefer Sutherland near the end of 24" and "Catweazle" sprang to mind.

The exception, funnily enough, was Tommy Cunningham. The last time I interviewed him he’d just walked out of the band, after his three childhood friends suggested they should be paid more than him from now on. He was, understandably, a little bitter. So what are we to make of his appearance on Wednesday - well fed, well rested, and looking chirpier than any of his bandmates? Who knows, but I’d guess he’s making 25 per cent this time. Good for him.

So far, then, the return of Wet Wet Wet has been very dignified, even if they did choose to do it on Love is All Around’s tenth anniversary. They will, they warn, be playing it again. I think they should do it as Christmas is All Around, like Billy Mack in Love Actually. It’d be fitting - a reformed alcoholic, a festive comeback. Perhaps Bill Nighy could duet.

I suggest this only because dignity and integrity, if we’re honest with ourselves, are not what we want from comebacks. Greed, desperation and receding hairlines are more fun, since they make us feel better about what sell-outs we all are, while giving us a warm nostalgic glow, bringing back memories of losing our virginity and fighting someone in a playing field (if not necessarily at the same time). Yes, we all admire David Byrne for singing opera tunes instead of reforming Talking Heads, but really, what fan leaves happy if he doesn’t at least do Road To Nowhere as an encore?

My personal favourite comeback of recent times has been the ludicrously named Doors of the 21st Century, due to play the SECC in Glasgow next week. TDOT21C - aka Ray Manzarek, Robby Krieger plus Ian Astbury of the Cult, pretending to be Jim Morrison for want of something more useful to do with his life - would probably just have been called the Doors, but drummer John Densmore objected, on the grounds that it was tacky. (Yes, it is ... and?) As you read this, Densmore is taking his former bandmates to court in an attempt to stop them using the Doors name at all. Densmore recently set out his ethical stall in an eloquent article for the Nation (www.thenation.com). It’s a revealing if slightly self-righteous history of the offers that the Doors have been made over the years (£1 million to endorse a "weight loss, diet and exercise program", Densmore claims). One quote leaps out. "Many kids have said to me that Light My Fire, for example, was playing when they first made love, or were fighting in ’Nam, or got high - pivotal moments in their lives," writes Densmore, arguing for keeping the songs sacred.

I very much doubt he’d care what I think, but here’s my tuppence worth. Yes, that’s an argument for not letting your songs advertise BMWs, but just let your bandmates play their gigs. Not even the worst 1960s casualties at the SECC really think that’s Jim on stage. Their opinions about Vietnam probably changed five or six times as they got older. Now they just want to hear the songs again, and see what the band look like these days.

This is how pop works. For a few moments, for whatever reason, a particular song seems very important, a soundtrack to your life. Later on other things become important, and the song becomes just a song, but it’s nice to be reminded of a time when it wasn’t. Simple as that. There will be music snobs who hate me for this, but really, the Wet Wet Wet gig and the Doors gig will serve much the same purpose. In the end, dignity is irrelevant. It’s about us, our songs and our memories. Please don’t play any new songs. We’ve got new bands for that.