The Boston Globe - 18 July 1974
Bowie's blitz The six-inch platform shoes made it difficult for the woman to maneuver though the crowd. She pressed on, however, inching closer to the Music Hall ticket-taker. On her face was painted a red lightning bolt, bordered with glittering silver dust. “Dahr-ling,” she said, “please give me the half that says BOWIE on it.” The attraction, of course, was British trendsetter David Bowie and the 4200 people who turned out for his Boston appearance Tuesday night arrived in appropriate trappings: silver lame, black leather, Panama hats and numerous Art Deco variations. Blue denim was the exception. Bowie’s “retirement” last summer provided him with an opportunity to work without the Spiders from Mars, the futuristic group that included lead guitarist Mick Ronson, the glamorous blond, who has been replaced by Earl Slick, late of New York Rock Ensemble, and a battery of musicians who, unlike the Spiders, linger far in the background. Bowie has been known to make as many as two dozen costume changes in a single show. He has abandoned this practice and instead relies more on dazzling lighting effects and mime. A master of motion, he darts from one side of the stage to the other, gesticulating with deceptive grace, his carrot-orange hair accentuating the bizarre scene. Opening with “1984,” his own demented vision of urban decay, Bowie wastes no time in generating the familiar churning musical momentum. Behind him is a disturbing, surrealistic mock-up of high-rise society: skyscrapers oozing blood, a subway platform that silently rises high above the stage.	“Ground Control to Major Tom…” intones Bowie from somewhere off stage. The opening line from “Space Oddity” has the crowd on its toes, stretching for a glimpse of the ill-fated astronaut that Bowie introduced in his first big hit five years ago. Suddenly, the wound atop the building at stage right opens and for several seconds it appears Bowie is floating in space. A crane lowers him slowly as he recites the chilling tale of extraterrestrial death. The frantic pacing continues with “Diamond Dogs,” the title cut from his latest album, “Rock’n’Roll with Me” leads directly into “Suffragette City,” “All The Young Dudes,” “Jean Genie” and the eerie “Chant of the Ever Circling Skeletal Family.” He dons bright red boxing gloves for a version of “Panic in Detroit” that substitutes some deliberately disorganized choreography for the searing instrumental urgency of the recorded version. Bowie plays sax, guitar, Moog and mellotron on his new album but didn’t pick up a single instrument during his hour-and-40 minute set. Listening to his new back-up musicians is a difficult adjustment after a half dozen albums with the now-departed Spiders. Ronson’s absence is particularly noticeable and seemed the primary topic of conversation among the departing audience. Bowie’s penchant for visual gimmicks has taken some of the edge off his music but he has succeeded where Alice Cooper and Jethro Tull have failed. The nagging question for him now is where to go from here. WILLIAM HOWARD
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