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NYC Artists Salute David Bowie Westbeth Theatre, New York October 4, 2001 By C. Bottomley David Bowie has apparently bought an apartment a few blocks away from New York's Westbeth Theatre, so of course the evening's patron chit-chat included speculation that Aladdin Sane himself might turn up to take us through "Absolute Beginners." As it turned out, he appeared at this edition of the ongoing Loser's Lounge tribute series in spirit only, but you could hardly blame him. Would anyone really want to spend a night watching his or her past selves parading across a stage? For the not-so-young Americans and homo superiors whose membership in the Loser's Lounge is the ultimate fans' indulgence, it's a different story. The tribute ensemble splashed on the glitter and stuffed themselves into Thin White Duke waistcoats, but there was no conscious effort to revive any particular phase of Bowie's career. No jumpsuits. No cocaine cheekbones. And no mime routines. Instead, the omnipresent grin on guitarist David Terhune's face said it all: This was about savoring some of the best songs and arrangements the '70s had to offer, from the glam crunch of "Suffragette City" to the mutant Philly soul of "Young Americans" to the Krautrock of "Heroes" to the post-Chic "Modern Love." And oh, OK, maybe part of the fun was becoming a Spider From Mars for a night. Some performers chased ideas Bowie only winked at on record. Before Joe McGinty's thumping piano, Debby Schwartz treated the agonized "Time" like cabaret's funeral rites. "Hang On To Yourself" became the only Bowie song the Ramones could ever get away with playing, and after pondering why the Lounge hadn't hailed Steve Miller yet, Sean Altman cheekily slipped a verse of "Rock'n Me" into "Golden Years." The most notable absence (aside from any post-Let's Dance material) was overt theatrics. By shadowing Bowie's vocal pant for pant on "Wild Is the Wind," David Driver exposed the art the singer had put into his own ludicrous take on the Johnny Mathis chestnut. Chloe Sweeney transformed from suited drag king to blond femme during "Boys Keep Swinging," neatly subverting Bowie's own ambiguity. With performers clearly enunciating from lyric sheets, it also became evident how much of what Bowie spouted was either nonsense or ideas that made sense coming from only his mouth. But the odd apocalyptic epiphany, like a sweeping "1984," was quickly forgotten when "Let's Dance" became a group sing-along. By the time Lounge leader Joe McGinty led the closing "All the Young Dudes" with an unassuming shrug, no one wondered where Mott the Hoople's threat was. Who needs TV when we've got T.Rex? For news, pictures, and songs, visit the David Bowie Fan Club. Connect with other fans on the David Bowie message board. |
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