NASHVILLE |SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE
Saturday, January 11, 1997
"High-Flying Bowie Toasts 50 Years on Earth"
by Dave Ford
Special to the Chronicle
New York- Say you're a globally renowned, artistically adventurous, alternately loathed and loved multimedia superstar. How do you celebrate the half-century mark?
If you're David Bowie, you grab your band, a video crew, a few prespicaciously selected guests, your song catalog–including judiciously chosen oldies and daringly edgy new stuff–and you invite 18,000 paying fans to throw you a giant birthday party at Madison Square Garden.
Oh, and you rock hard enough to kick 50 in the face.
Bowie's two-hour-plus, 24-song show here Thursday, a benefit for Save the Children, was a volatile musical cocktail: shrieking sonic maelstroms, poignant ancient ballads, deep jungle grooves, startling duets. It was enough to please even the most hardened skeptic in an audience spanning a quarter-century in age and a fashion spread from dyed-hair-and-pierced-whatevers to his-and-hers Banana Republic.
No suprise. Bowie surfed the mainstream with 1983's "Let's Dance." But it is in his travels in the brackish backwaters of avant-garde experimentation–both before and after hitting it big–that have won him the reputation of parameter-defying artist. Even crashing on the shoals of aesthetic bankruptcy in music, film, painting, and writing, Bowie always has managed to remain, at the very least, intriguing.
True to form, he kicked off his party with "Little Wonder," an aggressive little number from "Earthling," an album due to be released February 11. That segued into "Heart's Filthy Lesson" from the 1995 album "Outside," a monster techno-funk workout seasoned with "Diamond Dogs"-era pianist Mike Garson's ringing piano and Gail Ann Dorsey's chunky bass.
Whether executing mod dance moves or smoking coolly, Bowie appeared relaxed and engaged. "We're your rock band for the evening," he gushed, "and we're gonna get partified." Wire-thin, dressed in black–pointy, stack-heeled boots, sleek trousers, frilly shirt, vest and a swirling collection of seriously outrò, ankle-length frock coats–Bowie played the ageless English dandy. With a tasteful stage makeup (a little foundation, a little eyeshadow, a little blush), goatee and Ziggylike orange flattop, he made 50 look fun–and fabulous.
To underscore the point, Bowie yanked out the classic "Fashion" for a duet with ex-Pixies front man Frank Black. "I see you dressed for this one, Frank," Bowie smirked to the casual denim-sporting vocalist. But sartorial concerns be damned: the two had already laid to rest a roof-raising "Scary Monsters," and the booted "Fashion" into the bin with alluring panache.
Moments later, alterna-rockers helped Bowie scorch "Hallo Spaceboy," also from "Outside": three drummers (Including Foo front man and ex-Nirvana member Dave Grohl) pounding, three guitars shrieking, two basses booming and Bowie caterwauling gloomily–an unholy racket.
Not one to coast completely, however–even on a slipstream of scathing rock–Bowie tossed out no fewer than seven songs from "Earthling." They included "Seven Years in Tibet," with the goateed-and-bowl-cut Grohl on guitar; "I'm Afraid of Americans," with Sonic Youth's teeth-gnashing feedback accompaniment; and "the Last Thing You Should Do," with the Cure's Robert Smith (whose fright wig, ghoulish eyeshadow, lipstick and girth make him look like the Liz Taylor of the '80s).
Bowie also honored his past, resurrecting a haunting, acoustic "Quicksand," from the 1970 "Hunky Dory" (again with Smith). On "Under Pressure," the luminous Dorsey's vocals recalled the last, lamented Freddie Mercury.
Smashing Pumpkin's Billy Corgan helped Bowie juice ferocious versions of "All the Young Dudes" and "Jean Genie." With hi four-piece band, including the unstoppably wicked Reeves Gabrels on guitar, Bowie also blasted out a squalling "Moonage Daydream" and a spine-tingling "Heroes."
For the partisan hometown throng, the appearance of Lou Reed (whom Bowie dubbed "the king of New York himself") marked the show's zenith. Longtime friends, musical and sociocultural fellow travelers and parallel weirdoes, the two celebrated time's march with hellacious versions of Bowie's "Queen Bitch," Velvet Underground's "Waiting for the Man" and Reed's classic "Dirty Boulevard." Their capper version of Reed's VU classic "White Light/White Heat" was–there's no other word for it–incendiary.
After a lights-up "Happy Birthday," Bowie thanked the audience: "It's been a great ride. I have no idea where I'm going from here, but I promise I won't bore you." Moments later, he closed his show with "Space Oddity," accompanying himself on acoustic guitar and bathed in a single white spotlight.
It was Bowie, alone on-stage at 50, winging a familiar song and staring into the harsh bright glare of the unknown.
# # #
http://
