Keane Was Transcendent in Its First Dallas Show in More Than a Decade

Any concerns Keane had stayed away too long were obliterated the moment the quartet stepped on stage.

The four men of Keane — Tom Chaplin, Tim Rice-Oxley, Richard Hughes and Jesse Quin — walked into the Majestic Theatre Wednesday night, marking the first time the foursome had set foot inside a North Texas venue in 11 years.

The audience’s reaction was — thrillingly, shockingly — instantaneous. The entire venue, which seemed, from my vantage point, to be a hair’s breadth from completely sold out, stood, giving the first of many raucous ovations.

Then, the crowd kept standing.

Such a sight in Dallas — and especially at the Majestic, with its inviting, plush seats — is vanishingly rare. “Here we are now, entertain us” is the default setting for nearly every North Texas audience of which I’ve been a part over the last two decades, but such a sentiment was nowhere to be found Wednesday. If anything, the audience was as essential an ingredient to the night’s ecstatic feeling as the musicians and songs themselves.

As is the custom these days, Keane is touring behind the 20th anniversary of its debut album, 2004’s Hopes and Fears, a vivid collection of songs that catapulted the lads from Battle, England into the stratosphere.

On the strength of singles like “Somewhere Only We Know,” “This is the Last Time” and “Everybody’s Changing,” the album sold many millions of copies worldwide, birthed a rabidly faithful fan base and cemented the foursome as skilled practitioners of sophisticated pop-rock.

“It’s just so lovely for us being back in America,” Chaplin said early on. “We’re here to celebrate 20 years of Hopes and Fears. America was one of the first places that embraced our music. There’s a lovely, family vibe every time we come to America.”

Over the ensuing decades, the band turned out two more masterpieces — 2006’s Under the Iron Sea and 2008’s Perfect Symmetry; an unimpeachable opening trio, punched out in two-year intervals — and then wobbled mightily under the weight of industry expectations, the pressures of fame, interest in solo careers and Chaplin's grappling with drug addiction.

A six-year hiatus began in 2013, and ended with 2019’s Cause and Effect, the band’s fifth and, to date, latest studio album. Beyond this anniversary tour, it’s unclear what future, if any, Keane will have (Chaplin, it should be noted, has maintained his solo career throughout). This mild uncertainty did add a faintly valedictory undertone to Wednesday’s show — to twist one of the band’s song titles, is this the last time?

But regardless of the circumstances, the near-familial bond between them has endured, and the passing of years has only deepened the appreciation for the songs the four men have made. Much of Wednesday’s response from the crowd felt like a release of profound gratitude for art that has altered lives — an opportunity to show, through actions, how meaningful Keane’s output was and is.

And indeed, it is remarkable, especially in hindsight, how Keane arrived fully formed on the world stage. The bulk of Hopes and Fears was performed during Wednesday’s 90-minute set, and the cinematic sweep of “Bend and Break,” “Sunshine” or “She Has No Time” (the latter of which Chaplin said Wednesday was the first song Keane wrote and thought was “a good song”) was undeniable.

Standing on a relatively spartan stage — lights in the rigging; a vaguely European-flavored backdrop showcasing an anonymous collection of buildings arrayed behind them — the band pulled from all five albums in its catalog, and it was striking how consistently muscular and kinetic the material felt.

A Keane concert is a visceral experience, as Rice-Oxley, seated for much of it at the piano, stomped his feet and punched the air, feeling the music as much as egging on the audience singing along at top volume. Meanwhile, Chaplin, whose multi-octave tenor has lost precious little of its potency, restlessly traversed the breadth of the stage, moving from bass to drums to piano and back again.

That musical presentation can belie how delicate and vulnerable the lyrics often are: “And it’s the voices in your head now/Saying there’s something wrong about the way I feel,” intoned Chaplin, as a riot of lights dazzled amid the fog hanging in the air. To gaze around Wednesday was to behold people from all walks of life — young and old; healthy and ailing — captivated by the music, and in thrall to the artists performing.

Such was the intensity of goodwill that Chaplin’s ask near the top of the show (“Just do some dancing for us, plenty of clapping, but mostly what we need from every single person here is to sing your hearts out”) was almost comically superfluous.

The Majestic Theatre audience was primed to meet the band at its energy level, which never flagged on either side of the stage. As “Crystal Ball,” from 2006’s Under the Iron Sea, thundered to its close, late in the set, even the band seemed a bit taken aback by just how acute the crowd’s enthusiasm remained: “That was incredible,” Chaplin remarked, gazing around as the applause and joyful shouts just kept building.

Sustaining transcendence is a tall order for any musical act — you might get a flicker, or possibly a few moments of it here and there, during any given performance. But to stand inside a venue and be met with this sort of fervid reception — before a single note was played — has to feel like something else altogether.

It was, simply, an extraordinary night, full of well-aged music that felt vital and intoxicating. “Music is a great way to connect,” Chaplin observed midway through, and Wednesday’s performance felt like nothing less than an undeniable confirmation of that fact.