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23-11-2003, 12:36:27

Rebel without a pause
21 November 2003
Daily Mail

LIVE: DAVID BOWIE (MEN Arena, Manchester)
ALADDIN SANE never went on stage in jeans, sneakers and a T- shirt.The Thin White Duke, meanwhile, did not crack self- deprecating jokes about his age.
And Ziggy Stardust would have beamed himself into outer space before engaging in small-talk with his fans about rugby internationals.
But David Bowie, in 2003, now cuts a more relaxed, less enigmatic figure, and he began the UK leg of his Reality tour this week with a show that saw him get back to basics in swashbuckling style.
'Come on kids, wake up, your grandad's here,' he said.
Despite his advancing years - the 56-year-old joked that one song,The Man Who Sold The World, was 'written back in 1846' - a slimline Bowie performed with greater energy, zest and authority than most singers half his age.
Accompanied by a fluent six-piece band in which barefooted bassist Gail Ann Dorsey and indefatigable drummer Sterling Campbell were outstanding, he poured heart and soul into this opening night.
At ease with his own illustrious history, Bowie left some fans bemused as he dipped into lesser-known albums, singing Hallo Spaceboy from 1995's Outside and I'm Afraid Of Americans from 1997's Earthling.
But those who had come for the hits did not leave empty-handed.
The show began with Rebel Rebel, contained a rapturously- received Heroes, a Life On Mars which raised the roof and a nostalgic encore that featured three tracks from Ziggy Stardust.
One of British rock's most vibrant and visionary stars, who plays London and Glasgow next week, is back where he belongs.

GO - ROCK - DAVID SHOWIE.
21 November 2003
Coventry Evening Telegraph

VERY few artists have remained in rock's elite for as long as David Bowie - and nobody else has come remotely close to covering such an extraordinary range of musical styles.
That ability to constantly re-invent himself has led to strained public relations in the past, with fans turning up at a concert expecting one incarnation and being presented with an entirely different proposition, often one who stubbornly refuses to compromise his current project by responding to demands for old favourites.
But at the NEC this week he kept the customers blissfully satisfied by giving them exactly what they've always wanted, a show featuring songs from every phase of his 35-year career but leaning heavily on triumphs from that first exhilarating decade.
On a sparsely-furnished stage that might well have been plucked from Ikea's patio range, the 56-year-old singer, as fit as a butcher's whippet and sporting a lush blond fringe, looked for all the world like David Beckham's slightly older brother. And instead of the soul-weary artiste moodily treading the boards, this was the rock star lapping up the limelight and revelling in his ability to conduct the audience's emotions.
For all the intelligence and sophistication that shines through his 26 studio albums, Bowie's greatest asset is the most basic, his ability to rip out timeless riffs and choruses, so getting in early with Rebel Rebel and Jean Genie guaranteed a wave of goodwill for the rest of the evening's proceedings.
Heroes, Changes, China Girl, Ashes to Ashes and Under Pressure (with Gail Ann Dorsey proving an admirable vocal substitute for Freddie Mercury as well as supplying that unmistakable bass line) were other rapturously-received highlights - as was The Man Who Sold The World, even though he suddenly lapsed into those faux Anthony Newley tones favoured by unnumbered legions of Bowie impersonators long after they had been abandoned by the original.
And while extracts from most recent albums Heathen and Reality did not evoke the same jubilant reaction, Bring Me The Disco King, Never Get Old and, especially, The Loneliest Guy, provided a welcome change of pace before he moved on to the next instalment of his greatest hits collection - finishing with an awesome triple bill encore of Five Years, Suffragette City and Ziggy Stardust.
As ever, he treated himself to a troupe of prime quality bandmates, guitarist Earl Slick and keyboard man Mike Garson in particular adding a wonderfully keen edge to those so familiar tunes.
But it is Bowie who supplies the star quality and Bowie who, against all the odds, somehow contrives to improve with age.

Etc Etc - Pop chameleon rocks in reality.
21 November 2003
Belfast News Letter

DAVID Bowie's Reality world tour reaches Dublin and Glasgow next week and if you are lucky enough to have a ticket, then you are in for a treat.
I caught the show in Nice and Milan recently and it really is the coolest rock'n'roll show on earth. Ever!
It would not be a new Bowie tour without a character reinvention; this time around, Bowie comes as the master musician au natural; he oozes confidence and quality, remains very hip but has shed most of the overt rock star trappings. He has defined the art of growing old gracefully for rockers. This is style, not just fashion.
The current Bowie show is a simple, elegant affair; the ultra modern stage looks like a hip cosmopolitan wine bar and the opening sequence with the band in animation, jamming away on a funky 12-bar riff, sets a tone more akin to an intimate jazz gig rather than a continent-bashing rock tour.
Although there is no doubting who is in charge, the current touring line up hangs together as a working band. Guitarist Earl Slick occasionally takes limelight as he delivers startling electric embellishments, or hooks into addictive riffs with a deceptive casualness. He rather unfairly eclipses the work of guitarist Gerry Leonard, who is responsible for building much of the complex soundscape that the newer material depends on.
Gail Ann Doresy on bass looks like David's main music partner these days. She takes Freddy Mercury's role in Under Pressure.
The selection of songs changes a bit night to night as David rummages around in his musical cupboard, but contrary to what you might expect, the show's highlights are not the obvious Bowie blockbusters.
Essential classics such as Heroes, Rebel Rebel and Changes are despatched with enthusiasm. Historical treats including Ziggy Stardust and Suffragette City are fun and would usually be show-stopping events, but in a show as hip and modern as this, they seem a bit primitive (but we would complain loudly if they weren't played, so it is probably easiest just to leave them in).
Predictably, there is plug for the current product. Bowie's two latest album's Reality and Heathen have made the grade as top form studio offerings but it is still surprising just how well songs such as Slip Away, Cactus and New Killer Star have made the transition to the stage.
However, the real surprises come from the rehabilitation of material from the Outside and Earthling era that has been all but critically written off.
Perhaps they just needed to be presented the right way, or maybe we were just too cynical to pick up on them first time round but Hello Spaceboy and I'm Afraid of Americans are the undisputed highlights of the show and the haunting and atmospheric staging of The Motel really does rewrite the form book as to what it is possible to do on a live stage.
n David Bowie plays the Point Depot Dublin tomorrow and Sunday, and Glasgow SECC Friday, November 28.

MUSIC - THE WEEKEND STARTS HERE LIVE REVIEW.
21 November 2003
The Express

DAVID BOWIE Evening News Arena, Manchester
SOMEWHERE, there's a law against a man wearing a brown cap-sleeve T-shirt and looking good. And if there isn't, there should be. It goes against the laws of nature. There's a lot about David Bowie that goes against the natural laws, but really it all comes down to one thing: How can it be that at 56 he can go on stage wearing a brown cap-sleeve T-shirt, a pair of knackered grey jeans and a pair of beatup Converse All-Stars and still look that good?
Bowie's vibrancy fills the hall. For more than two hours, he doesn't stop. Bouncing around, shadow-boxing, leaping about - none of which, it should be said, affects the strength and purity of what is still one of the great voices. There are a few dark patches of sweat, but apart from that, nothing. No sign of what you or I might call humanity. At one point he rubs it in. "Come on kids, wake up, your granddad's here". I can only conclude he has made a pact with the Devil.
This is a very different David Bowie to the one who created those classics of the Seventies. That Bowie was a cocaine-fuelled freak, distant and other-worldly. This Bowie is more Dave than David. Friendly and chatty. Not so much The Man Who Fell To Earth as man of the people. He chats to us like we're mates: no mean feat in a humanity-killing arena. Is this the same person as the icemaiden who spent the Seventies in a snowstorm, living on a diet of green peppers and milk?
No one cares. The music is fantastic. It's an immaculately-paced set taking in a handful of songs from this year's album, Reality. I've seen better Bowie gigs - last year's at the Royal Festival Hall when he played the Low release in its entirety will take some beating - but this was a treat. Songs like Life On Mars, Ashes To Ashes, Rebel Rebel and Heroes are simply timeless.
For me, the song that stands out is Hallo Spaceboy from the little-regarded 1.Outside album, an absolute throbbing powerhouse of a tune, a neo-drum 'n' bass epic that kicks big time.
Drummer Sterling Campbell is a monster.
Standing ona high riser, Bowie tells us "moondust will cover you", but I think he's really talking about himself.
It helps that his band is brilliant. From pianist Mike Garson, who first played with him in 1972, guitarist Earl Slick (1974) and immaculate bassist Gail Ann Dorsey to the monster Campbell, they are tight and fluid, professional and warm.
And when he came to play the encore and slipped through Five Years, Suffragette City and Ziggy Stardust, I could have eaten him. In fairness, he looked like he could have eaten himself too.
David Bowie is on tour until November 28.

I've beaten my vices thanks to my daughter ; SceneHeard He is free from fags, booze and drugs. But clean-living David Bowie admits that staying that way will still be hard work in 10 years' time
20 November 2003
The Evening Standard

IN a very small, very hot and incredibly tidy dressing room in the bowels of Le Dome in Marseilles, the rock star who pioneered internet technology by establishing his own service provider is having a spot of bother with his computer. "I think the server's gone down," mutters David Bowie gloomily. "I can't even send an email."
He has just been trying to contact his wife and child in New York using some kind of high-tech camera-operated device called I-chat and it's all gone pear-shaped. Quite unlike Bowie himself, who looks implausibly trim, fit and healthy at the age of 56, despite having just missed a show in Toulouse due to throat trouble.
Dressed in his clean-cut, college-kid, offstage uniform of white T-shirt and blue jeans, he pours himself a cup of tea and stretches out on a sofa beneath a window with a picture-postcard view of Marseilles's old port. In fact it is a picture postcard: an illuminated photograph behind an artificial window frame. "Ridiculous, isn't it!" laughs Bowie.
He's in great humour, and even better voice when he takes the stage an hour later to play a magical two-hour set; perhaps as a result of giving up his last vice two years ago.
Alcoholfree for more than 15 years, drug-free for even longer, he finally kicked his 60 a-day cigarette habit after the birth of his three-year-old daughter, Lexi.
"It's hard," he grimaces. "And it's still going to be hard in 10 years." A self-confessed "addictive personality", he is now hooked instead on tea-tree flavoured toothpicks. He says he tries not to lecture others about their habit, though he recently took Kate Moss to task. "She's so young and smokes like a chimney," he protests. "And she's got such a gorgeous little body! It needs protecting."
Assuming his days of wild bisexual experimentation have gone the same way as the fags, booze and white powders, it's perhaps no surprise that Bowie should call his latest tour, and album, Reality. Although intended as an ironic, questioning comment on the uncertain state of the world today, it's also an appropriate description of his current clarity after 35 years of constantly shifting personas.
The latest incarnation seems to have lifted the naturally gloomy temperament that Bowie says is reflected in many of his lyrics. "I can be fairly gloomy, but as a parent, it's not something I can wallow in. Maybe in the past I allowed myself to get gloomier than I needed to be, and it did turn out to be good fodder for writing. I'm not too much like that any more. But yeah, gloom is my default attitude I suppose.
"I have to make a conscious effort sometimes to lift myself out of it.
Which I do, successfully." He laughs self-consciously. "So I don't really believe it can be termed any kind of medical problem."
Yet his happiness is tainted by the absence of his nearest and dearest while on tour. "I miss my family tremendously," he admits. Back at home in downtown New York - his only home, contrary to some reports - he has a strict routine, rising around dawn and attending to his correspondence before a vigorous sparring session in the boxing ring.
It ' s a fitness regime he keeps up on tour with his personal trainer.
"I'm a fairly disciplined man," he says. "I don't cut corners. And I can see that it really pays dividends to have put in a fair amount of training before going on tour." The laughter lines appear around his eyes. "I mean, at 56 it's not as easy as when you're twentysomething."
His home life, too, is a far cry from those distant days of excess. Away from the tour circuit, Bowie describes himself as a homebody. Rather than go out to restaurants, he likes to eat meals cooked by his wife Iman while Lexi watches Disney videos or plays with daddy David. It's a routine that includes a traditional English fry-up every Sunday morning - a "little bit of England," he says.
A former model from Somalia, Iman has a $1 million contract as the face of diamond company De Beers and runs her own cosmetics company with a team that includes Zulekha, her 25-year-old daughter from a previous relationship with American basketball player Spencer Haywood (Bowie has a 32-year-old son, Duncan, ne Zowie, from his 1970 marriage to American actress Angie Barnett).
ABOUT once a month the Bowies host a dinner party: not a society affair, but a private gathering of around 20 friends, followed by a "screening" - usually a documentary or a comedy like The Office. "Hosting a dinner party is almost a profession in New York," Bowie observes disapprovingly.
"We just do it for our really close friends."
That circle of close friends includes near neighbour Lou Reed, whom he has known since the start of his career, as well as another neighbour, Moby, of whom he is famously fond.
"But there are very few musicians among my friends," he adds. Most, in fact, are people he has only met since setting up home with Iman, whom he married in 1992.
It must be hard, one imagines, to make new friends - real friends - when you are an internationally famous superstar surrounded by sycophants. Not least because there must be an ever-present fear that any new friendship might be exploited or betrayed for gain by selling stories to the press. Bowie insists he is not concerned by such thoughts.
"I'm not a terribly suspicious person," he insists. "But it's funny you should say that because I've recently got friendly with a father and his little boy I met in the park with my daughter. He's there every single weekend and we really buddied up to each other. But we've only talked about music twice in all that time."
Yet their initial encounter demonstrated the gulf that fame can create when it comes to forming new relationships with "ordinary" people.
"The first time we started talking, he said: 'I would never have thought I'd find you in a park.' And it kind of upset me: why wouldn't you believe that I would take my own daughter out? But," Bowie sighs wearily, "I suppose that's the impression that one has of celebrity.
"It's about how you want to live your life, isn't it? I certainly don't want to live it in the full glare and I want to be able to go where I want to go in an anonymous fashion. Which is where my baseball cap comes in. I've found that, if I hide the hair under a cap I somehow become almost invisible. I blend in so much with the rest of humanity it makes me feel almost normal!"
. David Bowie plays at Wembley Arena on 25 and 26 November.

KARMA CHAMELEON.
20 November 2003
Evening Times

BOWIE'S BEEN THROUGH SO MANY CH-CH-CHANGES, BUT HE'S FINALLY FEELING GOOD ABOUT HIMSELF
WHERE do you start with David Bowie? In the 34 years since his ground-breaking single Space Oddity propelled him to the top he has worn many mantles.
Pop icon, creative genius, internet innovator, movie star, hedonistic wild boy, art lover, prima donna, stock market property, stage actor and gender bending rock alien.
He has never been content to stand still or shy away from taking risks and, by refusing to play safe, his chameleon-like career has scaled lofty peaks as well as plunging into deep troughs, not least with his Tin Machine project.
"The 80s were very strange for me," he says. "I lost all interest in what I was doing. I was doing exceptionally well commercially but I didn't understand why I was enjoying none of it.
"I hated every minute of it and I lost every ounce of energy and enthusiasm for the deal.
"There were several times when I was really going to throw the towel in and give it up. Maybe I was in recovery from all the drugs and booze that I
had done.
"I was in a very bad psychological state and as near to defeat as at any time in my life.
"I felt so empty - none of it meant anything to me.
"It was depression - it is not unknown to my family."
But as the 80s gave way to the 90s, he began to return to form, and eventually when he found his "soul mate" - model wife Iman, he started to enjoy life again.
"I found a kind of sanity in the 90s and it became easier for me to open up to other people.
"I felt I was in a good position to take on the responsibility of a marriage and all that, because I started feeling good about myself."
And in 2003 his star is shining brighter than ever.
Rather than being content to rest on his laurels and reflect on the glory days, he is is clearly still passionate about rock music.
He is constantly seeking out new sounds and styles, new bands to rejoice in, new technology - such as the unprecedented cinema link-up in September, when he broadcast a showcase performance of his latest album Reality live to cinemas in 22 countries across the world.
Sitting in the Renfield Street Odeon in Glasgow, it felt strange to be face to face with Bowie via the wonders of digital technology.
IN 2002 Bowie reunited with producer Tony Visconti for the million-selling album Heathen.
Visconti, who worked on 12 of Bowie's previous albums, was also behind the decks for this year's Reality album.
The accompanying world tour, which brings Bowie to the SECC next Friday is his first full-scale global trek since 1995. By the end of the tour he will have played to more than 1million people in 17 countries over seven months.
Bowie's touring band - Sterling Campbell on drums, Gail Ann Dorsey on bass and backing vocals, Mike Garson on keyboards, Garry Leonard on guitar, Earl Slick on guitar and Catherine Russell on keyboards and backing vocals - have rehearsed more than 50 songs from throughout his career and the set list changes every single night.
"Last year's shows were such a tremendous high and the audiences so responsive," says Bowie.
"My band is playing at the top of its form right now and it would be foolish not to play a tour this year while we're in such good spirits."
Every ticket for the show will include a special code which gives fans free access to the BowieNet community for three months. The techno-friendly Bowie has been using the world wide web to maintain contact with his audience since 1998.
BowieNet members have even co-written songs with David, helped choose album art and packaging, participated in chats, webcasts and attended members' only shows.
At 56, Bowie is still held in awe by generations of musicians - such as The Dandy Warhols, who give Times Out readers the inside view on working with him as they trek round Europe supporting him on these dates (see page 22) - as well as music lovers the world over.
Next week's SECC show should certainly be something special if the opening night of the UK leg of the tour in Manchester earlier this week was anything to go by.
The set opened with the classic Rebel Rebel, and mixed such oldies as Fame, Heroes, The Man Who Sold The World, Life On Mars, Under Pressure and Ashes To Ashes with newer tracks including Hello Spaceboy, Loving The Alien and Reality, before winding up with encores of Five Years, Suffragette City and Ziggy Stardust.
"Physically I am in pretty good nick," the man once known as The Thin White Duke admits.
"I have done a lot of things in the past to my body. But I haven't done those things to myself for many, many, years, so I have to say I am in fairly good shape."

Pop: David Bowie: Turner shines in Birmingham: Manchester Arena 4/5
19 November 2003
The Guardian

The last time Bowie toured UK arenas - with 1990's Sound and Vision tour - he made the momentous decision to "retire" his back catalogue. It was the last time, he said, that we would hear him play the hits.
The logic was that he felt constrained by his own legacy, although it didn't do ticket sales any harm. Now, though, they're back. He kicks off with Rebel Rebel, dips into alive and funky Fame, before long, there's even The Man Who Sold the World and a moderately earth-shattering Life on Mars.
After two return-to-form albums - 2002's Heathen and this year's Reality - presumably the thin white duke at last feels he has new material to hold up against the oldies. And yes, Reality is utterly ferocious. The swaggering New Killer Star has the indescribable but unmistakable feel of a Bowie classic. In fact, there aren't nearly enough new songs aired, although having sat through his mid-90s drum'n'bass horrors, it seems churlish to moan about recognisable tunes.
Changes, Under Pressure and the rest are delivered to perfection. Possibly because DB has finally given up smoking, or adopted even tighter trousers, he has reawakened a vocal range that has long lain dormant, even reaching the infamous "vision of swastikas" line in China Girl for the first time since it was recorded. And if anyone doubts that Bowie looks fantastic too, five TV screens dazzle with his image. His Low-era haircut has been grafted onto the body of a 24-year-old while the creaking jeans reveal the bits that were once hurriedly airbrushed off the Diamond Dogs sleeve. What has been lost, understandably, is any lingering semblance of the cocaine- and occult-crazed madman that delivered his 70s music.
Only rarely does Bowie truly connect with these songs. However, when the family man touches on post 9/11 fear in Sunday and gives Five Years a renewed air of apocalypse, he taps into a new kind of disturbance. On the eve of Bush's visit, the message within I'm Afraid Of Americans is delivered subtly but devastatingly. However, after innumerable chameleonic career twists, he is mostly back on safe ground as a rock star. He grins through Ashes to Ashes, recounts the day's shopping in Manchester, and manages to locate a fan who is going to the forthcoming gig in Sydney.
Ziggy Stardust completes the air of predictable but glorious entertainment. Although anyone who went in 1990 should get some money back.
At the NEC, Birmingham (0870 909 4133), tonight. Then touring. A version of this review appeared in later editions of yesterday's paper.

Let's dance.
19 November 2003
Mirror

RELAXED BOSS BOWIE AT HIS BEST
DAVID Bowie is the most celebrated chameleon in Britrock history but what was so dramatic about his homecoming gig was the absence of theatrical trappings.
Opening the British leg of his first global tour in over a decade, the 56-year-old was a man at ease with himself and his history.
In the past he was famed for spectacular costumes and a cast of characters that included The Thin White Duke, Aladdin Sane, Ziggy Stardust and assorted Scary Monsters and Supercreeps.
But greeting the 14,000 capacity audience at Manchester MEN Arena on Monday with an invitation to "sit down, stand up, do whatever the f*** you want" he was dressed down in jeans, T-shirt and sneakers.
His rapport with the crowd was warm and unaffected and self-mocking, "Wake up kids, your Grandad is here," he joked at one point.
Aside from the video screens and a few dead twigs at either side, the stage set was stark and simple, allowing Bowie and audience to concentrate on the songs.
With one of his greatest bands behind him, he breathed new life and fire into long cherished favourites such as Ashes To Ashes, Rebel Rebel, The Man Who Sold The World and Fame.
The hardcore fans were thrilled when he dusted off relative obscurities Motel and Loving The Alien. No longer the drugged out alien of rock legend, Bowie's healthful lifestyle and domestic contentment has worked wonders for his voice.
His singing was particularly effective on newer material like the angry rock Never Get Old or the fraught ballad Loneliest Guy.
This is what set Bowie's show apart from tours by the Stones and Paul McCartney.
When rock legends of a certain age play new songs, it's generally a cue to take a trip to the bar but recent Bowie albums Heathen and Reality have contained vital additions to his work.
The gig ended with three songs from his classic Ziggy Stardust, the 1972 masterpiece.
Three decades later Bowie proved he was still a master of the medium, able to bring alive dreams, hopes fears and fantasies in a way few can match.

David Bowie, hip again after all those years
19 November 2003
Newsquest Media Group Newspapers

THERE'S only one really weird thing about pop's most celebrated oddball these days . . . his voice.
It's not natural to be able to sing like that, especially at the age of 57.
Time hasn't stood still for David Bowie, it's gone in reverse. He looks and sounds better than he did 20 years ago.
And at the Manchester Arena on Monday night the Thin White Duke showed why he is hip again after all these years. Bowie is pure class. He let his band make the big entrance and then strolled on stage to astonish the masses with his powerful and flawless new take on the 1974 gem, Rebel Rebel.
This was a strictly very old or very new set, there was little from the wilderness years of the mid '80s to early '90s apart from an utterly stunning version of Under Pressure. Stunning thanks mainly to the incredible vocal talents of bass player Gail Ann Dorsey singing the late Freddie Mercury's part.
Bowie's strength has always been his ability to reinvent himself and last night he was able to perform radically different versions of 24-carat classics like Heroes and a spine-tingling Life On Mars, and not upset the faithful, of which there were many.
On top of that, among the high points of the night were the new songs, Reality and Never Get Old (complete with very welcome echoes of The Clash) were received as enthusiastically as Fame, Ashes to Ashes and the truly brilliant Changes.
Even Hallo Spaceboy rocked and, happily, Lulu wasn't on hand to crucify The Man Who Sold The World.
Bowie also produced (perhaps inadvertently) a topical moment with a powerhouse stomp through I'm Afraid Of Americans.
The encores were three timeless slices of pop history from the 1972 masterpiece The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars. Five Years buttered us up; we "wham, bammed, thankyou mam'd" in unison to Suffragette City; and when Ziggy pla-a-a-a-yed guitar we knew it couldn't get any better and it was time to go home.
With all this adulatory prose you could be forgiven for thinking that Bowie was preaching to the converted.
Wrong. I wasn't a die-hard fan before. I am now.

Features - Reviews - Bowie back in love with himself.

19 November 2003
The Daily Telegraph

Pop
David Bowie
MEN ARENA, MANCHESTER
WHAT more could you want from a David Bowie concert? The man who for years has turned his back on one of the most illustrious back catalogues in popular music is learning to love his own songs again.
For nearly two hours on the opening night of the UK leg of his world tour, he and his six-piece band trawled the archives and came up with classic after classic - The Man Who Sold the World, Life on Mars, Rebel Rebel, Fame, Changes, Ashes to Ashes, "Heroes", Five Years, Under Pressure, China Girl. Even the new stuff was worth listening to, especially New Killer Star from the current Reality album, and Cactus from last year's Heathen collection.
The stage, featuring dangling white tree branches and a vast panoramic video screen showing mostly abstract animations, was striking. And, to keep things fresh, Bowie and his band are said to have rehearsed 50 songs for this tour, enabling him to re-write the set list every night.
And yet: the night never really caught fire until the very end, when Suffragette City and Ziggy Stardust were dusted down, shaken off and given a good airing and the crowd found their feet and their voices. For long periods, this was a strangely muted affair in which an unresponsive audience sat or stood and gawped while the songs came and went.
The band, whose number included long-time guitarist Earl Slick and keyboard player Mike Garson, who goes back to the Spiders from Mars days, played with warmth and cohesion but seemed less than wholly enthused by their task, stricken perhaps by a case of mid-tour blues. They were a whole lot more animated when I saw them backing Bowie at the Festival Hall a year and a half ago.
Mostly, though, I think the problem was Bowie himself. The man famous for acquiring personae the way the rest of us acquire fridges has finally stripped away all those accumulated layers, and here he stood before us in plain jeans and jerkin simply as himself. And do you know what? He's not terribly interesting. He's affable enough, and quite funny. The Man Who Sold the World was introduced thus: "1846 - England was at war with France, and I released this."
He can still sing like a dream, he's got the songs, he's got the band, he's got the set. But I fear that, as part of that process of stripping away his old selves, he has lost almost in its entirety the one quality on which his whole career has been founded: charisma.

POP REVIEWS - DAVID BOWIE MEN Arena Manchester ooo99.
19 November 2003
The Independent - London

David Bowie spent much of the Nineties in a state of shivering insecurity. The creative brinkmanship that let him shed identities and styles with matchless skill in the Seventies had finally been thwarted, leaving him nervously searching for directions. Once rock's most brilliant chameleon, Bowie's attempts to camouflage himself with modern musical trends made him look like an ageing dandy, chasing fashions he once defined. The relaxed, sophisticated, middle-aged millionaire he now presents himself as may be as fake as Ziggy's makeup, but he has at least given up chasing the modern world. Bowie's current revival has been about him and his audience finally accepting that his glories are in the past. The new albums Heathen and Reality, produced by Tony Visconti, have been successful because they sound like Bowie used to - not like the future.
The first few minutes of this latest UK tour at least attempt to shock with the new, as a cartoon Bowie band play on the big screen while the real musicians file on, and the real Bowie strikes a pose on the lip of the stage. When he kicks into "Rebel, Rebel", the old-time hooligan's stomp, the crowd roar, reassured that they'll be getting the nostalgic good time they paid for. In reality, though, the night takes a long while to slip into gear. Whether it's the soundless, sheep-pen nature of the huge arena, the dull, Tin Machine-like rock tendencies of the band (despite it including two Seventies Bowie veterans), the ageing audience, or Bowie's own curiously clumsy stage movements, atmosphere and engagement are hard to find.
It's only when Bowie stops trying to rock and starts to croon that he finds some poise. "China Girl" is sung with vaulting flamboyance. Then, for Reality's "The Loneliest Guy", he clutches his head in mock agony, bemoaning his alienation like a space-age Sinatra. For the mid-Nineties glam-revival "Hallo Spaceboy" he kneels on a gantry above the crowd miming, eyes fixed on one dancing fan. His attempts at intimacy reach their peak when he begins "Life on Mars" as a spot-lit silhouette, a torch singer backed only by keyboardist Mike Garson. The skeletal melody and mysteriously beautiful lyrics of one of his best-loved songs work their magic, and for a moment, the past can almost be touched. Soon, though, those disconnections from the strange soul who wrote it are obvious once more. The magic is gone.
David Bowie plays the NEC, Birmingham (0121-780 4141) tonight and tomorrow; Wembley Arena, London (020-8902 8833) on 25 & 26 Nov; and SECC, Glasgow (0141-248 3000) on 28 Nov.

FIRST NIGHT - Ziggy's gone and all that's left is a space-age Sinatra a most unwelcome alien species.
18 November 2003
The Independent - London

David Bowie MEN Arena, Manchester
DAVID BOWIE spent much of the Nineties in a state of shivering insecurity. The creative brinkmanship that let him shed identities and styles with much less skill in the Seventies had thwarted him, leaving him nervously searching for directions.
Once rock's most brilliant chameleon, his attempts to camouflage himself with modern musical trends made him look like an ageing dandy, chasing fashions he once defined. His only convincing recent role has been as David Bowie Limited, the first pop star to sell shares in himself - a dizzying distance from Ziggy Stardust's Day-Glo gutter glamour.
The relaxed, sophisticated middle-aged millionaire he now presents himself as may be as fake as Ziggy's make-up, but it has at least let him give up chasing the modern world. Bowie's relative revival in the 21st century has been about him and his audience accepting his glories are in the past. His new albums Heathen and Reality, produced by Tony Visconti who worked with him in the Seventies, have been successful because they sound like Bowie used to, not the future.
The first few minutes of this latest UK tour at least attempt to shock with the new as a cartoon Bowie band plays on the big screen, as the real musicians file on, and the real Bowie strikes a pose on the stage's lip.
When he kicks into "Rebel, Rebel", the old-time hooligan's stonk, the crowd roar, reassured they'll be getting the nostalgic good time they paid for. Really, though, the night takes a long while to slip into gear. Whether it's the soundless, sheep-pen nature of this huge arena, the dull, Tin Machine-like rock tendencies of the band (despite it including two Seventies Bowie veterans), the ageing audience, or Bowie's own clumsy stage movements, atmosphere and engagement are hard to find.
It's only when Bowie stops trying to rock, and starts to croon, that he finds some poise. "China Girl" is sung with vaulting voiced flamboyance. Then, in Reality's "The Loneliest Guy", he clutches his head, bemoaning his alienation like a space-age Sinatra. For the mid-Nineties glam-reviver "Hallo Spaceboy", he marches on to a gantry above the crowd, kneeling and miming, eyes fixed on one dancing fan. Attempts at intimacy reach their peak when he begins "Life on Mars" as a spot-lit silhouette, backed only by his keyboardist, Mike Garson.
The skeletal melody and mysteriously beautiful lyrics of one of his best-loved songs work their own magic, and for a moment, the past can almost be touched. Soon, though, those disconnections from the strange soul who wrote it are obvious once more. The magic is gone.

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