Dublin HQ Review

The Before Bit

As the gig approached, the unreality of the notion that Bowie was here in Dublin to play a small corporate concert just 24 hours after playing to 80,000 in Wembley Stadium and countless millions around the world on TV and Internet as part of NetAid started to give way to the reality of Bowie's 9th Dublin gig of the 90s. For a man who never played here at all in the 60s or 70s, and played Ireland only once in the 80s, he's certainly making up for lost time.

The tickets (or "invites" as the sponsors insisted on calling them) had been made available in a most unsatisfactory way. Guinness reps had been dispatched to various pubs around the centre of Dublin on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday night, with instructions to gather 1200 names, addresses, email addresses, phone numbers, dates of birth (why???), ages (can't they subtract?), and frequency of Guinness consumption (sadly, there was no "Constantly, via a drip" box for my wife Mireille to tick). From those 1200, we were told, 300 names would be chosen at random, phoned on Saturday evening, and told where they could collect their tickets, er, I mean, "invites". Some enterprising fans had, by dint of following the Guinness reps from pub to pub, managed to get their names (or subtle variations thereof) into the book several times, and at least one fan I know of ended up with over a dozen tick..., er, "invites". Fans arriving to collect their invites a few hours before the gig were greeted by the sight of disconsolate hardcore fans hanging around ticketless (including at least one who had travelled over specially from the UK on Monday to buy a ticket when Bowienet said they were going on sale, and had now returned for the gig). Enquiries to the Guinness reps in charge revealed that Guinness intended to give them tickets at the last possible minute, but they weren't to be told yet, so we had to leave them to sweat it out for a few hours.

Inside the club, we were immediately seated (Guinness were initially naively intent on having this as a "people sitting at tables drinking" wedding type gig, and we humoured them by sitting down with our friends Sean and Anne and a few of their friends at a table, knowing full well the whole tables deal would quickly go out the window once Bowie hit the stage, or well before, as it happened) and greeted by the sound of Talvin Singh and a handful of free Guinness vouchers. Talvin has come a long way since he performed a similar warm-up function for Bowie's 1997 Hanover Grand gigs in London, his album having just won the coveted and prestigious Mercury Music Best Album Of The Year Award in thev UK. Tonight he seemed a little less appropriate as a warm-up, with his drum n bass based music reminding us of a previous flirtation that Bowie has now clearly moved on from. The music is undoubtedly polished and rewards repeated listening in a calm environment, but a hot sweaty noisy club full of people waiting to see Bowie ain't no calm environment.

At about 8.30, Placebo took to the tiny stage, and as the four of them seemed to have trouble fitting, we started to wonder how Bowie would physically accommodate eight in total (including himself). It looked as if there were no more than three of four hundred free Guinness-swilling punters in at this stage. Suddenly it hit me that this had to be just about the most high-powered club gig lineup assembled anywhere in a long time - Placebo for openers, Bowie for main course, and Talvin Singh for apperitif and dessert.

Placebo played a stormer of a set that lasted just under an hour, and was heavily weighted in favour of their second album. A Placebo fan told me that they had been expecting Bowie to join them on stage for a duet on Without You I'm Nothing, which may explain Brian Molko's pointed comment before the song - "Yeah, well, it seems that Mr. Bowie has left the building so Stefan is going to have to impersonate him" before launching into a Bowie-less version.

During the Placebo set, there was a sudden influx of Bowie fans who had been congregated ticketless outside the venue. Guinness had done the decent thing and decided to let them all in, so the "sitting at tables" arrangement was thankfully dead and buried, and people stood up. It may have flaunted fire and safety regulations, but at the end of the day, justice was done and it was a relief to see that the fans who had looked so disconsolate a few hours earlier were now happily inside.

As Placebo trouped off stage, I decided to deliberately antagonise Anne (who is a bigger Placebo fan than a Bowie fan, or so she claims) by declaring that "they weren't bad, for an opening band". Anne rose admirably to the bait, tongue-in-cheek.

Bowie's crew got the stage enlarged and set up in no time at all, and fans in advanced positions could see the setlist which was taped to the floor, telling us the joyous news that 14 songs would be performed, all things going well, with a few surprises.

THE DURING BIT

Mike Garson took to the stage first, looking exactly as when he'd been in Dublin over 2 years ago. One guy standing near the stage thought it was Reeves Gabrels and started cheering and chanting for "Reeves", much to the chagrin of Mireille who as a huge fan of both believes that everyone in the world should be instantly able to tell Mike Garson and Reeves Gabrels apart. A girl in front started screaming "Mike Garson, you are a legend" over and over to Mike's apparent amusement (especially since she continued even after Bowie came on stage).

Next on was Bowie, and with Mike on wonderfully atmospheric keyboards, launched into a poignant and vaguely vaudevillian version of Life On Mars?, pretty much as they had opened on NetAid. The rest of the band then arrived for Thursday's Child, a song somewhat surprisingly not included in the NetAid set. Bowie and the band seem to be having a little difficulty doing this live.

Next up was the first real surprise (though not a total shock to anyone who knew the VH-1 Storytellers setlist). Bowie introduced Can't Help Thinking About Me as the first song he recorded as a solo artist, and explained that when he and one of his early bands were starting out, they didn't realise that the "fade out" effect on singles was done automatically in the studio, and they used to practise fading out their songs themselves (singing and playing progressively more quietly as the song ended). The song itself got a great reception from the now ecstatic crowd who helped turn it in to a stomp along.

Next came Word On A Wing, and then a magnificent version of China Girl that owes a lot more to the original on The Idiot than the Let's Dance rerecording. This was the best live version I've heard of the song.

Bowie introduced Repetition (amusingly mistyped on the stage setlist as "Repetitious") as a song he had never performed live on stage before, and the version was excellent. Throughout the concert, Bowie was at pains to point out that it was more of a rehearsal situation than an actual gig, and said he hoped people wouldn't mind a few flubs. Nobody did.

Next up was a great version of Always Crashing In The Same Car that built from a slow and almost unrecognisable intro into a real highlight. Bowie then shifted the pace right down again with I Can't Read done a la Ice Storm, on which Bowie not only sang but also played some very haunting guitar.

Bowie introduced Survive as being from the new album "which I'm pleased to say came in today at number 5" (a reference to the fact that the album debuted in the UK charts published earlier in the day at number 5) and the crowd cheered. I didn't like this song when I first heard it on Hours..., but it has grown on me a lot since and it really does come alive live.

Bowie was clearly enjoying himself immensely by now, smiling broadly and clapping outstretched hands. After Survive, Bowie stopped proceedings, turned to the band and said "Let's do an insert". Then he turned back to the crowd and said "Do you all know what an insert is? In a porno film? I guess not. Well, you can all come back and ask me in the dressing room later". After a brief discussion with the band, they launched into Drive In Saturday (which according to the stage set list was meant to be second last song of the encore), and the rousing version got a whole arms-in-the-air-swaying-in-unison thing going. After that, the only place to go was into Ch-ch-changes, which had virtually the whole crowd pogoing up and down in delight.

Bowie and band then scampered off stage for "the encore charade", and as the crowd played their part by keeping up the "Bowie, Bowie" cheers, they were back quickly. Bowie announced they'd do a couple of new songs and maybe an old one, and they did The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell. This is a song which more than any other illustrates the big gaping hole that Reeves Gabrels' absence leaves.

Next up was Seven, already a firm crowd pleaser. Hopefully this will be released as a single at some stage, as it's the songs the neutrals seem to like the best. During the song, Bowie started a finger-counting-to-seven gesture going (the first time he did this he stopped tentatively at 7 and looked at his fingers in mock confusion) that the crowd immediately picked up on. Page Hamilton particularly excelled on this song, according to Mireille. She said she had looked at the backing singers when she heard what she thought were some wonderful weird backing vocals, saw they weren't even singing, than had looked around the stage to see where this wonderful sound could be coming from, and spotted that it was Page on guitar.

The last song of the night was, predictably enough, Rebel Rebel, which now seems established as the "leave 'em on a high" show-ender for now.

A few other things I can't quite place chronologically in my memory. Bowie introduced his band in three batches. He started with the two stunningly beautiful backing singers, and said that people had been enquiring about them on the various Web sites. Gail-Ann was introduced with "we've been mother and child since, when, 95?", Sterling was introduced as the guy who played on Outside, Mark Plati as someone that anyone familiar with Hours and Earthling would know as a producer, but who had decided to come out on the road with Bowie this time, Page Hamilton was introduced as Reeves stand-in (Bowie said to the crowd with mock disapproval "Reeves - who is working on his "OWN" album!", some of the crowd boohed in apparent confusion, and Bowie laughed and said "No, no, of course he's perfectly entitled to") from the band Helmet, and Mike Garson as "someone I've worked with for the past 75 years".

At another stage, Bowie announced the name of a song ("Can't Help Thinking About Me", I think) first to the band, then to the crowd. Enjoying the different reaction he got depending on which way he was faced when he said it, he repeated it again both ways, and said something about the lesson being that you should never face information head on.

Throughout the concert, Bowie was in tremendous voice. There has been some talk online that recent vocal performances on US TV and at NetAid weren't up to the high standard we have come to expect from Bowie, and if that is the case, then it must be down to the recent debilitating bout of gastro-entritis he told us about at great length on TFI Friday. Whatever the case, he must have been totally recovered by Sunday night, because his singing was possibly the best I've heard it. I kept staring at him wondering how such a rich booming voice could be coming from such a slight frame. He also still looks eerily young for a man his age. In fact, Mireille reckoned he looks unreal close up, like you're staring at a waxwork, so removed is he from what you expect a 52-year-old man to look like.

The band struggled manfully with the dual handicaps of being without Reeves (even people who used to say they didn't like Reeves guitar playing are now beginning to notice the enormous hole he has left in his wake) and being put together hastily for a short promo tour (rather than a full scale concert tour). Page Hamilton is clearly an excellent lead guitarist in his own right, and has done exceptionally well mastering the songs in a short time. His style is much cleaner than Reeves, but he lacks Reeves' creative flights of fancy that can literally breathe new life into a song you've heard a million times. Reeves' wicked sense of black humour and looming stage presence were also sorely missed (not to mention the kilt) - Page appears a much more shy and retiring sort who likes to stand off well to the left of the others and do his own thing with little or no interaction with the rest of the band, almost in a world of his own (in fact, he closes his eyes a lot while playing). Without Reeves as a foil to his on stage frolicking, Bowie was noticeably more focused on the crowd with his back to the band throughout the gig. There was a little interaction between him and Mark Plati, him and Gail Ann, and Mark Plati and just about everyone, but for the most part, there seemed to be much less band camaraderie than denizens of the Earthling tour will remember.

Mark Plati played the anchor role for the band on an impressive array of different guitars and changed his playing to suit the requirements of the different songs and other guitarists (for a few songs, Bowie played acoustic guitar, meaning there were three guitars serving different functions), as well as getting a bit of a band thang going with the others, and his scampish onstage presence is reminiscent of Reeves. One of the many appealing things about Mark is the "wow, I'm up here on stage with David Bowie" aura he brings to proceedings and his almost child-like wonder at it all.

Mike Garson played as you'd expect any living-legend-in-his-own-right to with his customary brand of flair, gusto and creativity, while Sterling was just that on drums (the best drummer Bowie has had since Dennis Davis, IMO). Gail Ann was her usual consistent self on bass, though she is taking a much more back seat role than on the Earthling tour as far as vocals and stage antics go. The two backing singers provided effective and nicely understated backing vocals throughout.

During the Bowie set, an apparently entranced Talvin Singh stared down on proceedings from his position on high.

THE AFTER BIT

The crowd cheered after Bowie and band had left, more in hope than expectation, knowing that a second encore was extremely unlikely (it seemed like they'd already played everything they could have already rehearsed and more for NetAid and the various TV shows). Instead, Talvin resumed his position at the turntables and started blasting us with his sounds again. A lot of the crowd left immediately, and a few stragglers hung round and sat down to gather our breaths. Mireille found loads of free Guinness tokens which had apparently been jettisoned as soon as Bowie arrived on stage (no greater compliment can an Irish crowd pay a performer), but having considered the various options, we decided against claiming our 28 free pints each and attempting to consume them before leaving the premises.

As we tramped off into the night for what would be a long and cold search for a taxi, I reflected on how different this gig had been from the Earthling gigs, which themselves had been totally different from the Outside one. What other performer could come back every two years with a totally different sound and setlist, and still leave us gasping for more every time?

-- Dara O'Kearney