David Bowie 1995-11-24 Dublin ,Point Depot – Dublin – I’m In Clover – (Soundboard) SQ 8,5
101 The Motel.flac
102 Look Back In Anger.flac
103 The Heart’s Filthy Lesson.flac
104 Scary Monsters.flac
105 The Voyeur Of Utter Destruction (As Beauty).flac
106 I Have Not Been To Oxford Town.flac
108 Andy Warhol.flac
109 The Man Who Sold The World.flac
110 A Small Plot Of Land.flac
111 Boys Keep Swinging.flac
112 Strangers When We Meet.flac
113 Jump They Say.flac
114 Hallo Spaceboy.flac
201 We Prick You.flac
202 Band Introductions.flac
203 Nite Flights.flac
204 My Death.flac
206 Teenage Wildlife.flac
207 Under Pressure.flac
208 Moonage Daydream.flac
Breaking Glass is missing
Review: Kevin Courtney
David Bowie is dead – that was the simple message which came across last night at The Point in Dublin, as the avant-garde artist formerly known as Ziggy dismembered his own legend and strewed its bloody parts around with cold, calculated abandon.
Bowie has been desperately trying to shake off his 70’s skin, shrugging his hits from his shoulders as though they were monkeys on his back. He tried to escape into bland, disco-centric dance pop, as though the MTV screen could conceal him; he even hid behind a group identity, but the tin was too thin to protect him. Now, he’s finally hit on the solution: turn and face the strange, cut it into little pieces, and call it confrontational art.
Not that Bowie in concert circa 1995 is particularly bad- last night’s gig was a well crafted showcase for the Thin White Duke ‘s inimitable imagination , and the songs from his latest album, Outside, though not up to his past genius, are complex, challenging works in themselves.
Bowie began his set on a downbeat note, easing the crowd into the material from Outside, and giving them a grace period to pick up the plot of his latest opus. Heart’s Filthy Lesson, The Voyeur Of Utter Destruction (As Beauty) and I’ve Never Been To Oxford Town may have unwieldy titles, but they settled lightly on the ears, giving cause to hope that tonight’s show might actually become a memorable exhibition. Scary Monsters kept us in touch with the familiar, but new versions of Andy Warhol and Man Who Sold The World reminded us that we were no longer in the 70’s.
Bowie’s movements were fluid and forceful, and his body language was a mixture of defiance and self-sacrifice. His every grand gesture underlined the demise of pop.
In this context, Boys Keep Swinging seemed like a skeletal chant, and Hello Spaceboy sounded like the final farewell of Major Tom. He needn’t have bothered doing Jacques Brel’s My Death – we got the message, and many of us had already given up and gone home.
Under Pressure was poignant in the light of Freddie Mercury’s recent musical exhumation, while Moonage Daydream was like a sudden shooting star from Mars. Bowie’s been dead too long, and the resurrection might have come just a little too late.