The Boston Herald - 16 November 1974
A New Playing Style for David Bowie David Bowie has plummeted from Mars and crashed somewhere to the left of disco-music. The lash Gordon-styled rock’n’roller traded in his unisex space costume for a double breasted tweed waist coat, baggy pants and – believe it or not – a shillalah. The show at the Music Hall this evening (the last of a three night engagement) is David Bowie along with The Mike Garson Band and though it may have got lonely out in space for David lately, he’s not really an overnight Johhny Raye either. “I guess David has always had a kind of obnoxious aesthetic appeal,” said Garson, the show’s musical director. “The reason for the new show is simply that David began to feel he just couldn’t go much further with that celestial image without risking a lack of communication with the audience.” Three years ago, Garson, a native of Brooklyn, was a free lance keyboard man for people like Martha Reeves, Woody Herman and the late Bill Chase, when Bowie asked him to join the Spiders From Mars. His musical tastes gravitate toward avante garde jazz, R&B, and soul, and Bowie has cast himself as a singer in Mike's band. After Garson's warm-up show featuring soul standards like "You Keep Me Hangin' On," and a jazzy-latinized version of "Love Train," sung by Luther Vandross and a family of singers, Bowie zipped on stage to front this 13-man show. It was amusing to watch the crowd reacting to the new earth-bound Bowie. People close to the front immediately shot up from their seats with the opener "Rebel Rebel," and just as quickly fell back into place. The only dramatics Bowie employed during following numbers like "John, I'm Only Dancing," "Sorrow," and "Changes," was a kind of prancing back and forth across the stage. He looked like one of the Everly Brothers, with his orange hair swept back in a 1959 do.	But make no mistake about it, David Bowie has not sacrificed the key ingredient of exaggeration in his new stage image. His impression of a night club singer was tailored to an audience of 4,500. His white made-up face and luminous eyes made you think of Joel Grey's caricature in "Cabaret," there was still that glamorized decadence to his swagger. He also kept everyone off guard musically for a while. "Changes" and "Sorrow" took on the new flavor of soulish show tunes, while a new song "Young Americans" sung with a big acoustic guitar slung at his waist, was a chaotic blend of Elvis and Watergate all rolled up in a Cha cha close. It wasn't until the apocalyptic "1984" where Bowie's giant silhouette was cast upon a white backdrop that everyone started to feel comfortable. So comfortable in fact that when he got into "Jean Genie" the fans flocked about the stage. His space-age version of Jan and Dean's "Surf City" - "Suffer Jet City," was done with frantic choreography in a sassy cat-like vocal style. His schizophrenic voice goes from an impersonated baritone, to a gravely blues wail, and on up to a whining sarcastic scream. As a straight band singer, David Bowie is novel, but unfortunately not very mysterious. PETER GELZINIS
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