David Bowie: "Ziggy the Crooner!" Article (1976)

David Bowie’s "Ziggy the Crooner!", a one-page article in Melody Maker, February 14, 1976.

Special report from the States on David Bowie's return to touring

SWEET THING spent nearly three hours getting her costume ready for the David Bowie concert. It was a big investment, especially for the gold-tipped ivory cane. She flaunted it alongside her Shirley Temple jumpsuit, which was strategically pasted over with Gulf and Exxon decals.

Her boyfriend looked as if he spent most of 1975 modeling himself after the "Young Americans" cover photo. A pure Bowie duplicate, down to the pompadour and casually dangling cigarette.

Every few seconds they both struck another elegant pose.

"You know, I think that's him," said the Sweet Thing, flicking her Benson and Hedges. She craned her neck for a better look. "Yes, it's him. It's David! Oh wow, let's move up closer and watch. We paid seven dollars for this."

Glitter kings draw strange crowds, but of the 13,000 people attending David Bowie's concert at

Seattle Coliseum, the second date of his American tour, only a few bothered with decadence.

Sweet Thing and her friend were obviously out of step. The crowd (patiently sitting through a Twenties surrealistic film) expected more than just costumes and choreography. But that is exactly what they didn't get.

Instead, Bowie and his brand new supporting unit produced nearly two hours of electronic daydreams, laced with Philly soul and occasional crooning. It was Sinatra-styled Bowie alternating the role of rocker with that of cabaret ballad singer: Ziggy Stardust versus the Thin White Duke.

The Thin White Duke is how Bowie describes himself on the title cut of his new album, "Station To Station." But his 39-concert, 54-day tour will finance Bowie's film production company, Bewley Brothers.

Much of his concert material came from the album, as did most of the musicians.

Guitarist Carlos Alomar played on the "Station To Station" sessions with Bowie's rhythm section of Dennis Davis (drums) and George Murray (bass). Organist Tony Kaye played keyboards, and Stacey

DAVID BOWIE: electronic daydreams

Heydon (guitar) was, until recently, part of the Canadian Heydon Brothers group.

All are capable musicians. None are particularly eye-catching, and Bowie apparently isn't sharing the limelight with what is obviously meant to be a backup group. Not once during the Seattle concert did he introduce the band.

The crowd was just beginning to get restless; there were some fights when the lights dimmed for a screening of Un Chien Andalou, the Salvador Dali/

Bunuel surrealistic film of the Twenties.

A series of terrible images (putrefying donkeys, eyes slashed with razor blades) met only with gasps and shouts of "we want Bowie" from uncomprehending glitter freaks.

After a short intermission, Bowie did finally appear, strolling casually into the empty spotlight while Alomar chopped out wailing guitar feedback and Kaye played dirge-like piano chords which signaled the intro to "Station To Station."

Bowie wore Noel Cowardish black evening clothes and had the pallor of a recently-revived corpse.

He flashed a quick smile and, eyes closed, breathed the first cryptic lines into the mike: "The return of the Thin White Duke, throwing darts at lover's eyes, here we are, here we are, in one magical moment."

A few forlorn boogie children near the stage wondered out loud when David was "gonna play 'Fame' and get down," but for the most part Bowie's sheer elegance kept the audience's mouths open through the first two numbers.

Lighting an endless pack of Gitanes, he rolled up his shirt sleeves for a whipcord version of "Suffragette City," which gave Alomar a chance to solo.

Unfortunately, the mix was so loud that Carlos' fuzz-saw lead sounded like an electric toothbrush, and this sound problem bedeviled most of the night. Only Bowie's voice consistently carried over the thunderous wall of noise.

The pattern of the concert was set after Bowie reached his third number. Benzedrine rockers secured the audience's attention for songs that were a bit more sophisticated.

Bowie's taste for Jacques Brel airs surfaced in "Word On A Wing," also from the new album. It has a vaporish, hymn-like quality that allows him to use his full repertoire of impassioned gestures.

During the song he

becomes the tortured lover, face buried in hands, red hair gleaming under the blue baby spot. About as far away from Ziggy Stardust as one changeling could get.

"TVC 15" represents another side. Bowie wrote this Orwellian number for the Man Who Fell To Earth, the film he recently completed with director Nicholas Roeg.

The song is about a lonely teenager who's upset because a hologramic television ate his girlfriend. It's a song Bowie obviously enjoys performing, and he adds lots of Rudolph Valentino melodramatics and a quick sax solo that should not alarm Gato Barbieri.

He seemed to relax as the crowd gradually warmed to the music. During "Panic In Detroit" Bowie did some scat-singing and slipped into a half-disco, half-karate step he synchronized with Dennis Davis' drum solo.

By then the audience had stopped lighting matches long enough to listen.

Midway into "Jean Genie," Carlos Alomar fluffed a guitar cue and Bowie filled in for him with some quick mouth percussion "bugedy bugedy bugedy bugedy."

Then, after returning (the crowd had whistled and stomped for 15 minutes) Bowie leaned into the gallery for "Rebel Rebel." But within 15 minutes he

had left for an after-concert party at his hotel. WADDINGTON RICK