There are times when all we need is a little something to take us out of ourselves – some small affirmation that the world is in fact a fabulous place and not out to kick you while you’re down; a little catharsis, a little encouragement. In a singular moment of perfect timing, David Bowie came out to play last night, and I was there.
The last time I saw Bowie live on stage was during the Glass Spider Tour, back in 1987. I saw it twice: once in Toronto with Duran Duran opening (from the nosebleeds); once in Detroit with Erasure opening (from the ninth row). The show was one of the more amazing things I’ve ever experienced. It was an enormous production with a cast of thousands (looked that way, at least) – set pieces moved, lighting was overwhelmingly cool; in addition to the band, there was a troupe of dancers choreographed and led by the amazing Toni Basil. It was a little bit circus, a little bit rock & roll, and 100% spectacle. I remember it well – better than a lot of stuff that happened last year, probably. I remember Bowie entering on a moving platform from stage left, singing Fashion. I’m pretty sure the last song in Detroit was Heroes.
Anyway, last night’s show was in many ways the antithesis of that tour. Nothing moved except the lights; the set was minimal and organic. There were 7 musicians on stage, no superfluous backup singers or dancers. Bowie himself was relaxed and charming, stylish and utterly at ease, moving effortlessly through the moods and characters of his music. He joked with us. He capered about and knocked things over and then made fun of himself for it. By all appearances, he was enjoying himself every bit as much as we were. But oh, the music. Performed by everyone with so much love and joy, with no complex overblown rearrangements, the music (and please forgive the cliché here, but I’ve got no other words for it) was a ticket straight out of this world. Walking in, I didn’t think I could love the man any more than I already did. I was mistaken.
He opened with Rebel Rebel, and we were all on our feet before the first word was sung. What’s more, we stayed that way for most of the show, which is not exactly par for the course with Chicago crowds (remember the Peter Gabriel tour last year? I almost got kicked out of the United Center for dancing. In the 5th row).
We sang along to All the Young Dudes; he decided we were in charge of the vocals from then onward. Of course, we got fired when we missed the opening of China Girl. Bowie, who’d been sitting cross-legged on the stage, got up, stopped the music and came back to the edge of the stage.
“That was fucking awful.” [sigh] “All right then, I can take this one. But I’m going to have to leave you on your own eventually… I’ve got things to do, you know.”
He played everything i’d hoped to hear (ok, except for TVC15, but if he’d actually pulled that one out i might have died of shock) – and every last song had an unbelievable vibrance and freshness to it, from the oldest to the most recent. The tracks from Ziggy Stardust, featuring the original keyboardist from the 1972 tour, were every bit as powerful as they were the first time around, despite the fact that we’ve all heard them a thousand times. Under Pressure reduced me to a shaking, grinning, weeping mess. Back to back renditions of I’m Afraid of Americans and Heroes, which ended the main set, brought both songs home in a way I hadn’t felt since the first few times I heard them. Changes, straightforward and unembellished, is every bit as true as it’s ever been. And the encore set, which began with Pablo Picasso by Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers (!!!), moved on through Five Years and a roof-raising Suffragette City, and closed with Ziggy and his guitar, left everyone (in our group at least) utterly speechless.
Coz, who is forever blessed for having procured our tickets, says he offered the second pair to at least 10 people before asking me for help unloading them. I myself got no-thank-yous from a few fairly serious fans. All I can do is shake my head at anyone who had an opportunity to see this and didn’t take it. Yeah, it was expensive. Yeah, it was at the (4,300 seat) Rosemont Theatre and not, say, the Aragon. But seriously? If I could go again tonight, I would. Friday, too. Anybody got a spare ticket?
Nothing’s really changed since yesterday. Most things in my life are still up in the air and beyond my control and frankly scary as hell. But somehow, I feel better. Such is the power of music. If nothing else, it reminds us that on some level, we’re all in this together. I wish I could have 30 seconds with the man, just to say thanks.