The Village Voice (US) - 25 July 1974
Dancing at disaster's edge In the course of his pilgrim's progress toward stardom, DAVID BOWIE'S artistic vision, as documented by his vinyl forays, has become increasingly bleak. The dream of redemption by the next generation or interstellar travellers that pervaded "Hunky Dory" and "Ziggy Stardust" has crumbled into the radioactive wreckage of the "Diamond Dogs" where the only hope of survival lies in total humiliation and submission. In light of this growing pessimism, Bowie's performance on his current concert tour seemed a step back from the abyss, an elaborate divertissement at the edge of a disaster. The atmosphere of anticipation in the Garden had far more of the gunpowder in the nostrils of an art gallery on opening night than the electric excitement of a concert hall. Where the Alice Cooper brand of "theatrics" subordinates the visuals into a function of the music. Bowie's simultaneous contempt for and fascination with the latest incarnation of his vision results in the sacrifice of excitement for an elaborately choreographed production. Everything about the show bespoke tremendous attention to even the smallest details. In the process, all spontaneity of rock 'n' roll has been lost. Bowie's new backing band with only pianist Mike Garson remaining from the old Spiders, is the thoroughly disciplined and professional, but they are seldom given a chance to do more than play their charts. The only time they really cut loose at the show I saw was on the old Eddie Floyd r&b standard "Knock On Wood", dropping the postures and poses. Bowie threw back his red mane and strutted through it.	Taken on its own level, as neither rock raveup nor musical show, the concert worked as a stupendously orchestrated entertainment. Beginning with rocking versions of "1984" and "Rebel Rebel", the more than two-hour performance spanned the last five years of Bowie's music. "Space Oddity," midway through the show, was the first superproduction, with Bowie singing into a telephone while being slowly lowered from a blood-dripping skyscraper by a crane. "Jean Genie," formerly a tough electric blues, was transformed into a torch ballad, replete with Garson's tinkling piano flourishes and beer garden sax. In the course of a "Big Brother" / "Time" / "Width of a Circle" medley, he was disgorged and then swallowed by a mirror-studded cross between a space capsule and a tank, and Ziggy's invitation to freak out in a "Moonage Daydream" became a wistful memory of an earlier and more innocent age before daydreams became an insupportable luxury. Bowie is taking rock 'n' roll someplace it's never been before, but only time will show whether his chosen road leads to a breakthrough or a blind alley. If those who will inevitably follow are able to experiment with the new possibilities in rock staging he's opened up, some real excitement could get back into the music. And since the future of rock right now seems about as bleak as Bowie's vision of the future, any change at all could only be an improvement. DAN NOOGER
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