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Rating: Ladies and gentlemen, I will NOT be brief, regardless of what you think about the "proper" length of reviews, so if you don't have time to read, feel free to move on: the event in question (the only Italian date of the Reality Show) deserves an accurate and detailed description, which I will attempt to convey in this writing.
And now: let the mass celebration begin!
The brief introduction by the Dandy Warhols, whose band name I liked more than the music they played, was useful to allow me to ingest a decent and satisfying amount of beer, so as not to be unprepared when the dance opens. Unfortunately, I didn't drink enough to make me appreciate this tribute to the 60s by these lads.
Their impact on the audience was rather lukewarm (not to say nonexistent) and their management of a subset of the audio-video resources prepared for the DUKE'S STAGE rightly reflected in a subset of audience approval.
Then, at around 9:40 PM, the Grand Priest and Master of Ceremonies descended among us for the celebration of eudaimonia. By now, the arena is full, and the few gaps in the stands have formed due to part of the audience migrating to the floor area to be closer to the ducal aura.
We were prepared for New Killer Star as the opening piece, just as he had already inaugurated the other European dates with the same piece. Instead, here comes the first novelty: reggae'n'roll-style guitars throw us into the first verse of the new version of Rebel Rebel! And down we go, jumping, dancing, and shouting the lyrics.
It doesn't take long for the audience to warm up, despite the acoustics of the filaforum (where I was, it was decent, but judging by the comments I heard while trying to exit the mega-traffic jam at the parking lot adjacent to the venue... BRRRR!!!).
Then comes the awaited New Killer Star (with wrong lyrics by the Duke - ahem!) and the first real oldie, which is Fame, sparkling and convincing. The concert's properly rock turn openly manifests itself with Cactus, a Pixies cover contained in the Duke's penultimate saga episode, called Heathen.
In this song, we begin to appreciate the stage mastery of drummer Sterling Campbell, definitely at ease among different styles and recorded loops. He allows himself to act, excessively exaggerating the typical drummer movements, and then minimizes them with pauses and fragmentations.
Here comes China Girl, and the crowd rises with approval as keyboardist Mike Garson (who will later be partially overshadowed by the effects and loops of Jerry Leonard's guitar) enjoys intertwining the sounds of his keyboards with the sharp, precise touch of the drummer.
People are dancing in the stands, dancing in the side aisles, dancing in the center aisle, as everyone's eyes follow the vocal evolutions of the Messiah, also generous with smiles and greetings.
The subsequent lukewarm reaction to Fall Dog Bombs the Moon confirms my impression that Reality, Bowie's latest effort, was not very well accepted by the faithful, a thesis that will consolidate further with the reaction to Never Get Old: not that they are disliked, they simply don't excite like the historic pieces and not even like the pieces from the previous Heathen. Just consider that only 4 pieces from Heathen were presented in total, while only 3 were extracted from Reality.
We turn our attention back to the concert, while the Grand Master of Ceremonies hides in the shadows to then appear, accompanied by the electronic introduction of Hello Spaceboy, on the left wing of the stage that circumscribes the entire main stage. Reaching the extreme corner, he kneels mystically while he sings the farewell to Spaceboy's journey, divinely sunned in its incessant time where volume peaks generated by bass, drums, and guitars risk breaking your heart. The floor area is in an ecstatic delirium tremens…
The tension is suspended by the execution of Sunday, Leonard's loop soundscape and the duke's seductive voice, closed by a thundering solo by Slick, annoyingly intent on reproducing a feeling in David Gilmour style.
The decision to present two very "present" guitarists (sorry for the repetition) is one of the flaws I found. They are both very good and very different, with Lemmond close to Frippertronics style (I heard someone present say Lemmond would be the answer to Tom Yorke's prayers!) and Slick recalls 70s pentatonic guitarism, only that one tends to override the other both in volume and phrasing. Lemmond even obscures Garson's keyboard, and Slick annoys me excessively with his diva walk, as if we were there for him and not for Bowie!
How distant seem the times of Alomar, Fripp, Frampton, or Gabriels! I reiterate that in my opinion, Lemmond would have been more than sufficient to do both jobs.
Under Pressure arrives (a roar) in which the grace and power of bassist Gail Ann Dorsey's voice shine, an ebony statue not at all afraid to recreate Freddy Mercury's melodies: the duke with a showy bow facilitates the standing ovation for the ease and precision with which she tackles the typical "Dip-Do-Du" of the verses. And she's also one hell of a bassist, surely! The hellish crescendo of this song will remain one of the best moments of the concert.
A brief break in which Bowie tells us that from Paris, the drummer and his fiancée made a stop in Italy, consolidating during their stay in the boot the decision to marry (how nice! But who cares, really? Well...), besides the usual teasing of our language ("How are you? All good? That's all I know how to say!" - but why do artists not spare us these jokes? We don't need them) and we dive into the staccato time of Ashes to Ashes during which (did my curses have some effect?) Slick breaks a string and has to replace the guitar.
We proceed in the same vein with Fashion, Never Get Old, and the tense and dark atmospheres of The Motel. Then quickly flows 5:15 (great drummer instantly shifts from pseudo-solos to unpredictable pauses) to reach the difficult acoustic version of Loving the Alien, preceded by the Duke's apologies for some minor voice issues. I can't tell you if they were the usual circumstantial excuses to "cover his bases" in case of mistakes, but I assure you that the execution in the acoustic version is really difficult and he did it great! FANTASTICALLY! Another historic moment has occurred.
The very strange interpretation of I'm Afraid of Americans, in which the aggressively syncopated drums and guitars with a core sound transform it, transmuting its electric song character into a hard-rock song (Bowie further mimics Americans with gay behavior - and we know he's good at being gay!) precedes the umpteenth different version of Heroes, now become an enticing rock'n'roll marked by the audience's clapping while loudly repeating the verses of one of Bowie's most beloved songs. A very banal 4/4 that history crystallized and deified as one of rock's fundamental passages.
The faces of my friends faithful to the Messiah are now TRULY ecstatic, and the version of Heroes left no one indifferent. We can be heroes, just for one day. And that day is today, that moment is tonight, and we are all heroes, there with you on stage.
Heathen - the rays calms the crowd before the canonical pause during which our artist changes clothes. He has not been a dandy for some time now, limiting himself to a simple look, jeans and shirt over a tight-fitting t-shirt highlighting his intact and lean physique.
Upon his return, we are awaited by Slip Away, with which, thanks to the chorus lyrics displayed on the large screen at the back of the stage, the band transforms the arena into a giant karaoke. Certainly a little kitsch as an idea, but fun is guaranteed! Then a decent interpretation of Change (the audience, including myself, now sings everything singable) and the modern version with a Spanish-style introduction of Let's Dance, exhilarating and catchy in its verses.
More than two hours of concert and Bowie shows no sign of letting up. We are in the final rounds: the infernal rhythm of Hang On To Yourself precedes the worthy conclusion of an event like this, while I still have chills typing the name of this song: ZIGGY STARDUST! Teens, twenties, thirties, fifties: all singing and jumping for the rise and fall of the "red skull," all imploring a near return.
I am tired, so imagine the nearly sixty-year-old, but still in great shape, David!
A great concert, some fans disappointed by a fairly predictable setlist, many fans with teary eyes. It wasn't the first time I saw the duke, and, praying to God, it won't be the last either. The two guitarists' protagonism, the only off-key note of the evening, did not affect the pure quality of the music expressed by the band.
An excellent concert accompanied by some unmissable highlights. Once again, I walk back home drenched in the pleasure of knowing I can relive a thousand times in my head what happened tonight.
I have no voice left, I am soaked in Milanese humidity, I am exhausted, but who cares? I have lived ecstasy and I will relive it in the duke's mental state a thousand more times.
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