SWEET // STOCKTON ARC THEATRE

Glam survivors roll into Teesside with riffs intact, volume high and memories firing

⭐⭐⭐⭐(4/5)

Sweet @ Stockton ARC Theatre. Photocredit - John Hayhurst

Stockton ARC isn’t a polite, sit-down affair – not on the ground floor, anyway. The large standing area is already filling up when the lights dip, bodies pressed forward, anticipation buzzing. The second level might be seated, but down here it’s a proper crowd, ready to be hit head-on. There’s a guy stood next to me who has seen them over 200 times and Sweet don’t disappoint.

John Otway opens proceedings like a man who’s never acknowledged a rulebook. Fifty years on, he’s still running his comedy-routine-meets-gig with gleeful disregard for convention. His roadie “Deadly” takes a steady stream of comedy abuse, Otway himself veers between chaos and charm, and the whole thing is deliberately unpolished and unhinged. His talky version of Sweet’s ‘Blockbuster’, played on that ridiculous double mirrored-neck guitar, is both tribute and send-up – a reminder that British pop music has always thrived on characters, and John Otway is up there with the best, the Tommy Cooper of pop music.

Sweet arrive without ceremony and immediately hit ‘Action’. From the front of the standing area, the impact is physical. This band are loud, tight, and far heavier than their glittery reputation suggests. Andy Scott – the sole original member remaining – stands firm and drives the sound, his guitar tone sharp and assertive. There’s nothing tentative here, no sense of easing an audience through the decades. ‘Hellraiser’ is second up, and that tone continues - The Sweet were always a hard rock band underneath the glitter and glam.

Paul Manzi (singer) doesn’t resemble Brian Connolly either, but that’s irrelevant. He looks more Chris Cornell than glam idol, and more importantly, he sings like someone fronting a rock band rather than reenacting a past life. The result is a set that feels robust and grounded, with the band clearly more interested in muscle than nostalgia.

There’s a neat bit of house-cleaning midway through. The lighter early naffpop – ‘Funny Funny’, ‘Poppa Joe’, ‘Co-Co’ – is bundled into a quick medley, played without Andy Scott onstage. It feels pointed. These songs get their moment, then make way for the heavier material Scott clearly prefers. When he’s back, the sound thickens immediately.

From where I’m stood, right at the front, Scott’s guitar work still bites. It’s punchy, controlled, and confident, giving the songs a weight that rewrites how they’re often remembered. Sweet sound like a band who always had more grit than they were credited for, now free to play it their way.

‘Little Willy’ was the first single I ever bought with my own pocket money in the early 70’s, and hearing it live brings a flood of half-buried memories. Judging by the reaction around me, I’m not alone. This is shared history, surfacing now with added sentimentality.

The main set signs off with a blisteringly cool ‘Love is like Oxygen’ and then fan favourite ‘Fox on the Run’, played lean and direct, its cool propulsion reminding you just how well this band understood momentum.

Then for the encore they know exactly what’s required. ‘Blockbuster’ kicks off and suddenly the decades fall away. That stop-start stomp, those gang vocals, that swagger – it sounds enormous in this room, less novelty smash than blueprint. From the front of the standing area, you can feel how much DNA this song has passed down the line. It’s impossible not to hear the roots of 80s hair metal here: the punchy riffs, the cartoon bravado, the sense that rock should be fun, flashy and loud. Motley Crue once admitted they just wanted to be The Sweet, and standing here, it’s obvious why. Strip away the eyeliner and pyro, and the attitude is already right there.

Then comes ‘The Ballroom Blitz’, and the place properly lifts. It’s chaos by design, all call-and-response and adrenalised drama, delivered with conviction rather than irony. This is the song that connects the dots most clearly – between British glam and the stadium-sized US excess that followed. You can hear why Gene Simmons reportedly said, “Without The Sweet there would be no KISS.” The theatricality, the sense of occasion, the idea that a rock song can feel like an event – it’s all present and accounted for. The crowd roars every line back, arms in the air, grins everywhere. As the final notes crash out, it’s clear that Sweet were never just cliche pop hitmakers – they were influencers of the next generation of guitar heroes. And in Teesside, on a loud December night, that legacy still feels gloriously alive.

Words and Photos - John Hayhurst