"It's quite nerve-wracking to open up for Bryan Ferry." Rosie
Thomas has stage fright. No, it's more like audience fright. The
audience doesn't bite, Rosie. In fact, they take a liking to the diminutive,
shy singer with the child-like talking voice and the diva singing voice.
Starting the short - very short - set alone on the piano, she is later
joined by her band, which comprises of her brother Eric on guitar.
Her intimidation of the audience doesn't quite wear off, and she seems
relieved when the set is over.
Opening for the legendary singer of Roxy Music may not be good for
the nerves, but it sure must be good for the soul. "Bryan Ferry is a very
nice man. I think it's great that you support him." Does Rosie Thomas mean
it's great that the audience has supported him through the decades? Because
Bryan's got three of those behind him, during which he has forged himself as
an unprecedented reference to music.
Ferry, Bryan Ferry. He is as ageless and slick as James Bond. The
aristocrat of the music business. The instigator of a movement. Roxy Music
is to glam what the Sex Pistols are to punk. The Godfather of Style.
The Lounge Lizard. The King of Cool. And even though he makes the surprising
revelation to yours truly that he's gotten better at just walking onstage
and sitting at the piano, you still think he's cool. Even a bit of stage
fright is classy when it comes to Bryan.
Like Rosie, he walks straight to the piano and is The Only Face there.
At each subsequent track, a musician is added. And there are a lot of them.
Almost every instrument is up there, even a lyre, the instrument custom-made
for his mellifluous voice. He plays a mean, Dylan-esque harmonica on the
Bob Dylan cover Don't Think Twice (It's Alright). San Simeon and
'Hiroshima' are haunting, while Fool For Love is the ultimate
demonstration of his vocal abilities. Sinatra who?
But the show isn't all substance. His glam roots are still planted. A
special note goes to the wardrobe of the backing vocalists - very Haute
Couture. From his own demure outfit, Bryan later steps into something more glam
himself. He comes back during Limbo in a silvery suit. The stage is suddenly transformed into a jungle,
thanks to the expertise of the lighting technicians, and the colourful
spotlights shimmer chameleon hues on his suit.
Despite Bryan's boundless energy and charisma, the audience, a lot of
whom are his age and who probably have some old 70s snapshots of themselves
all glammed up, are, I don't know, just sitting there. Okay, this isn't a
Madonna concert, but still. It takes some classics to get them going. Of
course, no Bryan Ferry show would be complete without Slave to Love.
During Jealous Guy, the audience finally realises they are at a concert
and not a movie theatre and they get up to dance. It's the classic Roxy Music
hit Love is the Drug and the crowd won't sit down anymore.
Then comes the ultimate glam touch, albeit unfathomable. Two cabaret
dancers, complete in pink feathers and resembling fuchsia peacocks, enter
the stage and you wonder whether you're in the famous Parisian cabaret the
Lido or in Las Vegas. No, Bryan isn't Elvis. He is Ferry. Bryan Ferry.
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