David Bowie

As advertised many months in advance, David Bowie embarks on his biggest tour (at least in terms of venue capacity) since the "Sound + Vision Tour" of 1990. Drawn by this novelty, thousands upon thousands of new and old fans of the Duke rush to buy tickets, the cheapest of which, in Paris, cost €51.80: a small fortune that doesn't stop the show on the 20th from selling out completely, with the one on the 21st coming close.

Given his recent, decidedly poor performances, I decide I'll only go in if I can find a ticket for €30 from a scalper. The plan works, and I'm inside just as the support act, Dandy Warhols, kick off their first song. The choice of opener is spot on for the Bowie of today. The band's name is an indirect nod to him, and the shamelessly crowd-pleasing pop-rock they churn out isn't all that far removed from his most recent records. The mini-show glides by easily, and it's enjoyable too, if only moderately so. The frontman, Courtney Taylor-Taylor, knows how to work a stage, striking an almost neo-glam pose, and every now and then he throws in an amusing quip ("This is our new single: I know because I heard it today on the radio in our hotel"). Naturally, they don't hold back on the hugely famous "Bohemian Like You". Nothing extraordinary, but it would have been more surprising if Bowie had brought along someone less ordinary, or an innovator.

Shortly after, the curtain in front of which the Dandy Warhols played comes down, revealing the stage set for the concert everyone's been waiting for. A giant screen at the back, the band positioned far from the crowd, and on either side two raised ramps reached through a small forest of completely white branches.

The band's entrance is striking: they parade in front of the megascreen, which broadcasts cartoons of them playing, before taking up their battle stations. Bowie, guitar slung over his shoulder, wearing jeans and a red-and-white striped jacket over a white t-shirt, plus a green scarf he'll never take off, looks visibly in good spirits. All the ingredients for a memorable concert are there. Was it? Sadly, not quite.

Two choices worked against him, both decidedly irritating. The first, perhaps the most serious, is the setlist. Aside from three new tracks and "Hang onto Yourself", every song performed had already been featured on the previous tour. It hardly matters that among them were songs of crystalline beauty like "Heroes", "Ziggy Stardust" or "Ashes to Ashes". Besides being essentially the same songs (though tonight Bowie seems to have picked the less impressive ones among those he offered in 2002), the tracks are played in the same style, with the same arrangements, by the same band as ever. Anyone who saw the promotional tour for "Heathen" has no reason to see this one. The second wrong choice concerns the arrangements. By now Bowie seems intent on building a kind of "wall of sound" out of plasticky guitars, dishing out a somewhat flabby, essentially "middle of the road" rock, as indecisive as it is harmless and lifeless. What's the point (or who's it for, if not for the people on stage) of the hundred-and-sixth identical "Fame" (grab a bootleg from '76: it's practically the same) or an "Always Crashing in the Same Car" that sounds like it's being played by Tin Machine? Not just the covers, but Bowie's own songs too seem to be handled like a softer version of Tin Machine. Were it not for the fact that these songs are history by now, and that the man on stage still has the showman's flair that sets him apart, there'd be plenty to yawn about.

The fact that, for better or worse, this ultimately feels like one huge party with an old friend makes the whole thing, in the end, almost fun: anyone who has never seen Bowie, or saw him a long time ago, can still go home thoroughly satisfied.

The Duke kicks off with "New Killer Star". The crowd is surprisingly cold, and never fully warms up over the course of the evening. The performance is flawless but not very intense: predictable, on the other hand. A harmless "Pablo Picasso" follows (but why?) and then, finally, something that stirs the flood of memories: "All the Young Dudes" finds Bowie in great vocal form, even if he leaves the chorus to the crowd, egged on from the side platform on the left, where he stays only to immediately drop the tempo with "I've Been Waiting for You", a Neil Young cover. It's the first (needless) track drawn from "Heathen". By the end there will be a full four songs from that far-from-memorable album.

Here's "Fame", which never ages but is always the same, and while it's a pleasure to dance to it for the umpteenth time, you can't help thinking that, just this once, it would have been nice to hear "Tvc 15" or the splendid "Stay", already dusted off in 2002. "Cactus" is good enough on the whole, given the exceptional source material. "China Girl" is a welcome return, but it's identical to the previous tour's version: oh well… "Hallo Spaceboy" always works perfectly: it's impossible not to jump on the spot to the blasts from guitarists Earl Slick and Gerry Leonard, and from bassist Gail Ann Dorsey, whom Bowie, as often happens, enjoys teasing a little: "What a lovely Cinderella dress…" or "Today she's wearing her favourite shoes… lovely, black, with those really high heels… Oops!". It's Dorsey herself who takes on Freddie Mercury's role in "Under Pressure", showing off a strong voice. The crowd responds with well-timed finger snaps.

"Fashion" feels a bit thrown away, almost as if it's played out of obligation, but who's forcing them? Wouldn't it have been far more rewarding for everyone to hear the return of "Teenage Wildlife", long absent from his setlists, or the far more compelling "Scary Monsters", already revived to great effect on the "Outside" and "Earthling" tours? "Afraid" and "Days" pass without incident, while "Sound and Vision", being one of Bowie's finest songs, is a real pleasure. It's also fairly faithful to the original, which, given the treatment handed to some of the classics, is more than welcome. The "Low" trend continues with a "Breaking Glass" that Bowie cuts short after a minute to launch into a much faster version: one of the most entertaining moments of the evening. "Be My Wife" closes out the triptych, and is nearly unrecognisable.

Good, very good: the quality, in an otherwise uneven show, rises considerably. With "Ashes to Ashes" the evening reaches its peak. Bowie sings flawlessly, and where his voice can't quite reach, his great interpretive skills take over. What's truly jaw-dropping, though, is the "spacey" coda provided by Mike Garson: the big screen shows his fingers flying frantically, feverishly, across the keys. Immeasurable beauty. "I'm Afraid of Americans" (greeted with jubilation—we're in France, after all!) is the same old tune, however tasty, while "Heroes" is surprisingly flat and performed without conviction. Has David grown tired of it? There's no way to know, but it's a shame to see it wasted like this. "Heathen (The Rays)" closes the first part, a questionable choice, even if it's undoubtedly better and more intense than the album version.

The encore is brief: it opens with an "Always Crashing in the Same Car" that's a bit too rock and harmless. Far better is the driving "Hang onto Yourself", introduced by Bowie in a falsetto little voice: "We're about to play a very, very old song." Someone shouts "The Laughing Gnome", the crowd laughs, but sadly the mini-classic will have to wait a little longer for its moment of glory. It must be said, though, that this "Hang onto Yourself" shows exactly what Bowie and his band could have done with more commitment and a real will to do something exceptional: they clearly had the cards to do it. The concert closes with a "Ziggy Stardust" that's anything but exceptional, but it's "Ziggy Stardust", and it still sends shivers down your spine regardless.

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