The Young American
U.S. Tour 4 Concert Reviews (June 2)
The Blade (Toledo) 21 June 1974 - Big Crowd Sees David Bowie Perform The huge crowd that went to see English rock star David Bowie in the steamy Sports Arena Thursday night got a little bit of everything — a stream of continuous hard rock music, theatrics, Bowie slinking across the stage spitting out his vocals, and some of the most unusual stage devices ever used in a rock act. In seeming perpetual motion, Bowie and his two vocal sidemen acted out songs dealing with the red-haired composer's paranoid themes, such as impending doom of the planet, turning the stage into a little theater. Bowie opened the show attired in a light-blue suit with baggy pants and red suspenders but went topless in the second half of the show. By that time, his body was glistening with sweat. With the backup band tucked away in a corner. Bowie and the other two vocalist-actors had virtually the entire enlarged stage on which to run, jump, slide, and strut. At one point in the first act, Bowie appeared on a catwalk over the stage and sang from there as if looking from a bridge. And as the powerful series of spotlights located all over the arena beamed on him at the start of the second part of the show, he was seated astride a cherry-picker which slowly moved him over the heads of the by-then frenzied crowd. In still another part of the show, he was crouched atop a multisided mirrored device which was rolled out toward the front of the stage while he was singing. Then he crawled down a ladder, and disappeared behind the contraption, only to have it open up to brilliant purple lighting and a giant dark hand that slowly sank to the stage, revealing Bowie seated behind it. The heat was so intense in the hall that the promoters said Bowie almost collapsed near the end of the first part of the show. He was given oxygen during the intermission. The concert was booked by Toledo promoter Jerry Shulak. A couple of male members of the crowd got into the act during the intermission, when they streaked around the crowded arena floor. One was wearing only a stovepipe hat. But instead of running out the exits, they just walked to their clothes and put them back on. Some members of the crowd came with their hair dyed different colors or styled like Bowie's, and some had painted their faces. But basically it was a blue jean and T-shirt or halter-top crowd typical of rock music audiences, with a lot of the T-shirts disappearing because of the heat. But as hot as it was, not many persons left before the end of Bowie's performance. TOM DAVIES New Musical Express (UK) 22 June 1974 – Bowie’s On Sale Again THE PERFORMER OF the decade, runs the radio commercial. "The album of the century." A considerable promise. The radio spot is plugging David Bowie. Or rather, according to the latest innovatory Mainman media-move, just plain Bowie. Sort of like just plain Dylan, someone hopes. The performer of the decade is appearing at the Montreal Forum, Friday the 14th, first stop on his North American tour. The album of the century is "Diamond Dogs", regular $6.75 but only $4.99 at Hypermarche, offer closes Saturday the 15th. Superman in the supermarket. Bowie's on sale again, and this time the pressure is really high. Constant radio plugs, peak-time TV shots, a truly extravagant exercise in super-hype. Mainman versus America... Preliminary bout in Montreal... A fairly encouraging start for the contender... "Diamond Dogs" is already in the city's Top Ten, played a great deal on FM radio, always straight after the Bowie commercials. "Rebel Rebel". Bowie's Troggs/Stones revival move, was a Top Ten single AM big, indicating strong teen-fad support, Mainman's meat and drink. Tickets for the Forum are going alright, nothing spectacular, nowhere near sold out. Dylan couldn't sell out two shows, and Bowie isn't even half as big as Dylan, not yet. Eighteen thousand is a lot of tickets to sell at seven dollars a time for an English pop star in the second biggest French-speaking city in the world. If Bowie comes close to filling the Forum he'll have done very well indeed, he'll be right up there in the Cat Stevens league. BUT THIS TOUR isn't really about selling out concert halls. It's about promotion. About getting attention. About expanding the scope of Bowie's mythic power and sales potential. Ultimately, it's about moving product, selling records, pushing the "album of the century" and all its predecessors. Bowie perhaps sees things a little differently. He may see this tour as his route to genuine immortality, True Stardom. Right now, he's just a tacky little English pop star, a great pretender, a new model Marc Bolan. If Bowie is to count for anything, he has to crack America. It's the birthplace of real rock-and-roll, it's the home of the western dream, it's the biggest record market in the world. Bolan failed to crack America, withdrew into ever more obscure self-cannibalising rantings. Last year, Bowie backed off from taking that final step, cancelled a potentially disastrous American tour and "retired". Now, maybe, the time is right. So he hopes. The stakes are high. If he succeeds, he becomes a True Star, maybe the biggest around. But if he fails now, it's the Cilla Black Show for sure. Or real retirement. I think perhaps he'll make it. I think maybe the time is right for Bowie to annexe America. I think he's offering exactly the right commodity at the right time. "Diamond Dogs" may not be the album of the century, but it's a very carefully designed package indeed. Bizarro sleeve-art, very far out. Powerful themes, mutation and destruction, the end of all things. Very strong stuff for Mainman's target market, sixteen years old and younger, hooked into Bowie by popcorn master-works like "Rebel Rebel". I like "Rebel Rebel", probably the best out of all Bowie's singles. A throwback to "Hunky Dory", his only truly likeable album, a far superior Sixties pastiche than anything on “Pin Ups". But the rest of “Diamond Dogs" is mostly Bowie destroying the world again. Bowie always was big on destroying the world, but this one looks like the final overkill, 1984 nuclear holocaust, apocalypse in our times. How many more times can Bowie destroy the world? As many times as the market will bear. Black Sabbath have been destroying the world for five years now and still show no signs of letting-up. Is Bowie as obsessive as Black Sabbath? Probably not. But he's a lot more talented. And if Bowie is out to corner the market in apocalypse-rock, I don't see anyone to stop him. It's easy to see why apocalypse-rock might be a really terrific commodity right now. Bowie is set to connect with a truly scary upwelling of paranoia and confusion and anxiety and apathy and nihilism. The West is tottering, visibly. Wall Street looks sick, Washington even sicker. Adult America is sweating it out. Hollywood has '74 down as the Year Of The Disaster. In the wake of The Poseidon Adventure, more thrills for the whole family in the shape of The Towering Inferno, about a skyscraper fire, and Earth-quake, about the total destruction of southern California. This latter movie, Universal Pictures have announced, will go out to selected theatres complete with a random-noise shock-wave generator to shake the audience out of their seats, falling chandeliers, lamps crashing from tables in the lobby, and smoke puffing into the auditorium. Maybe Bowie can write the theme tune. BOWIE IS HOPING that all that paranoia has seeped down to the kids. That he's going to clean up with his own brand of doomwatch-rock, become a True Star along the way, a Prophet and a Messenger and maybe even a Messiah. "We are not trying to bring people together, but to wonder how long we've got ... whether the planet is going to survive." Yeah, it's powerful stuff. And it has big selling potential, now more than ever. Remember Black Sabbath. Remember Terry Knight and Grand Funk Railroad; blasting their way across a dying planet, or whatever it was they were supposed to be doing. And that was before the present paranoia had even got started. Back in the days of mother earth and back to nature, Grand Funk's Mark Farner donated garbage cans to the city of Detroit, to demonstrate his deep concern about the environment. Bowie will have to do a lot better than that. Maybe he can bankroll a starship or something. When you think about it, Bowie has been playing this game all along. Playing on our paranoia and confusion. "Space Oddity" (outer space strangeness), "Starman" (chariots of the gods), "Oh You Pretty Things" (mutation/the New Men), "John I'm Only Dancing" (sexual identity crisis), "Drive-In Saturday"(post-atomic holocaust). And so on. And, increasingly, Bowie is connecting. Connecting with, though not confronting, the mood of the times. Using it to draw attention to himself. Exploiting it. When you get right down to it "Diamond Dogs" is just one more Exorcist, one more cop show. That's okay though. It's good entertainment, and that's all anyone has any right to expect. You'd have to be crazy to look to Bowie for intellectual and moral guidance. He's a pop star, not an advice columnist. Bowie doesn't want to be Dylan, he doesn't even want to be The Beatles. He doesn't want to be any kind of leader. He wants to be Elvis, get adulation without any responsibility, the prerogative of only the Truest Stars. And to do that, he has to get the kids. He doesn't want or need any "underground leftovers", in Noddy Holder's devastating phrase. He doesn't need the gays anymore, though he used them to help him along the way. But he does want the kids. "I'm quite certain that the audience that I've got for my stuff doesn't listen to the lyrics. You want profundity? Listen to Yes, or something. Bowie knows exactly what he's doing. He's made his observations, he's tested out his tentative conclusions in England, and now he's moving in for the big one. America. It's the last, most dramatic and most difficult act of Bowie's space opera, the implicit conclusion of his storyline. Ziggy couldn't end his days in a West End musical. Not nearly compelling enough. He has to crack America. And after that? Who can say. Hollywood? Vegas? Rock-and-roll suicide? It's foolish to speculate on what exactly will happen to Bowie. A great deal depends on what Bowie really wants. But is there a real Bowie? Is there a face behind the masks? Or just another mask? Is the face his own? Sounds like stereotype mind-warp '40's science fiction, but then so, increasingly, does Bowie. THE FORUM FLOOR is marked out for lacrosse, with a giant stage over one goal area. The place is three-quarters full, no mean feat. In fact, it's at near capacity, when you consider that they didn't sell any of the seats behind the stage. All the theatrical effects are aimed stage-front, as if in a real theatre. The stage is littered with elaborate scenery. A backdrop of tilting, burning skyscrapers, King Kong meets West Side Story. Or maybe like a Brecht musical. At any rate, very expressionistic. The audience. Like a high school excursion party. But this is high school 74, the billion dollar babies. Dope, long hair, prefaded jeans. Average age, perhaps sixteen, seventeen. Good sex balancing: male, female and miscellaneous. Surprisingly little glitter and outrage. A few girls in evening gowns, a sprinkling of Bowie lookalikes, but on the whole it's a fairly solid teenage progrock audience. Sound-effects while the place fills up. A monstrous wind machine, occasional rumbles of thunder. True tedium. The band are loud, highly competent, extremely anonymous. They're well-dressed, they look maybe like The Searchers or The Pacemakers, they move around some, and they're utterly faceless. A guitar-bass-drums power trio stage right, and somewhere a hidden pianist. Bowie arrives, dancing, an ungainly sort of squatting shuffle. Bowie's stage movements are often described as clumsy, awkward. Maybe they are, but they're also highly rehearsed, very supple, very deliberate. Throughout the show, Bowie is shadowed by a couple of stooges, male mime-dancers who join him in a series of tightly choreographed routines. Cosmic Cliff Richard show. Spotlights on a darkened stage. Bowie in a white suit, strutting with microphone, playing the star. "1984", "Rebel Rebel". More echoes of Cliff, the movements stilted, robotic, asexual. But I'm reminded, more than anything, of Thank Your Lucky Stars, English showbiz pop at its very tackiest. Much more like a movie or a TV show than a rock concert. And this, too, is surely de-liberate. Distance, stylisation, all the elements of True Stardom. A definite time-warp. Bowie himself looks like ... can it be? Yeah, Tommy Steele. Singing the early Fifties blues. Or Joe Brown, poised for his leap into cabaret. Or Billy Fury, Marty Wilde. Any one of those guys. Maybe even, Paul Jones, pretending to be Mick Jagger in Privilege, an apocalyptic mid-Sixties sci-fi rock schlock movie that turns up all the time here on late-night TV. But most of all, he looks like Tommy Steele. Some of the right rock-and-roll mannerisms, but overstylised, continually crossing over into low camp music-hall pantomime self-parody. And the voice, mutant cockney. That's very interesting. It's very interesting that someone should want to look like a fake mid-Fifties English popstar. I'd never realised that Bowie was quite so ethnic.   He can even walk like Norman Wisdom. BOWIE DISAPPEARS during a guitar solo, reappears up on a balcony to sing what can only be described as a big ballad. It's very unmemorable, way outside his vocal range. But it's versatile, you have to admit that. The context changes to pure Tom Jones show. Some old songs. "Changes", "Suffragette City", "Queen Bitch". Very hyped-up, super-heavy, not much melody survives. Then a change of pace, Bowie strumming an acoustic guitar. A slowed-down, truncated "All The Young Dudes". Really poor. But very versatile. "Space Oddity." Bowie's breakthrough North American hit a few years back, now the evening's first real showstopper. Pink Floyd astral sound effects, Bowie floating down from the sky on a darkened stage, caught in the spot- lights. Judy Garland lives. Then the flashlights start popping, and you can see that he's sitting on the end of a crane, looking not unlike the mighty Mekon, arch-enemy of Dan Dare in bygone days. Certainly the whole thing is very far out, and gets an appropriate ovation. Bowie floats back up into the sky, accompanied by mysterioso talk-track, something about the coming of the saucers, perhaps. If the show is supposed to have a concrete storyline, it's impossible to follow. More tricks. Bowie posed on top of a giant, glittering jewel, a diamond no doubt. Posed like a cat, a sphinx, a tart. "Rock should tart itself up a bit more, you know. People are scared of prostitution. There should be some real unabashed prostitution in this business!" (Cream, November 1971.) The mime dancers open up the jewel, revealing an awesomely kitschy art-decor neon tabernacle. Really Radio City. All it needs is The Rockettes, highstepping it in spacesuits. The climax is "Rock And Roll Suicide". You're wonderful, gimme your hands. There's minor chaos in front of the stage, now. Very minor. But enthusiastic applause, anyway. Bowie may not have enraptured this audience, but he's done well enough, he's entertained them a lot. The show is a little strange, a little confusing. But still, it's very spectacular, very trippy, really out of sight. "You didn't see a rock and roll concert tonight. You saw a David Bowie concert." (NME, April 21, 1973). AN HOUR and three quarters, nonstop, and it's over. The audience expect an encore. They demand an encore. Fifteen minutes of increasingly ragged applause, dying down and rising up again. The kids want more, it's much too early to go home. But no encore is scripted for tonight. "David Bowie has left the theatre." Too bad. The dress rehearsal is over. Now Bowie moves on to the real thing, out of the provinces and down into the real America. He should do well there. It's a very spectacular show. Maybe not as spectacular as Alice Cooper, but easily up there in the Pink Floyd class. A little dull in parts, not exceptionally inventive. But surely quite spectacular enough. TRUTHFULLY, I don't know what the show was all about. Maybe it was about universe-jumping black holes, as revealed recently in Rolling Stone. Maybe it was a pilot for a new TV variety show. The staging is a strange mixture of ambition and mere pretention, succeeding finally only as pure mystification, grand superhype. But then, the hype is the art, right? Like Andy Warhol's baked-bean cans. If Bowie believes that, he must be a very happy man. The man who stung the World. Bowie used to be a junior advertising visualiser. In a way, he still is. Lots of ideas, very little discipline, no commitment at all. But he's selling well, and he'll soon be selling better. If salesmanship is art, then Bowie is nearly as great an ar-tist as Alice Cooper. Which is fine, if that's what he wants to be. But will there still be a Cilla Black Show in 1984? ANDREW WEINER Melody Maker (UK) 22 June 1974 - Bowie: birth of the new rock theatre A FEW THOUSAND lucky Canadians witnessed a completely new concept in rock theatre last weekend when David Bowie opened his North American tour in Toronto on Sunday. It now seems likely that Bowie WAS speaking the truth when he announced his retirement from rock on the stage at the Hammersmith Odeon last year. For the act that David presents on this tour has as much to do with rock and roll as Bob Dylan has with the gloss of Las Vegas. The one-and-a-half-hour, 20-song show is a completely rehearsed and choreographed routine where every step and nuance has been perfected down to the last detail. There isn't one iota of spontaneity about the whole show. It is straight off a musical stage – a piece of theatre complete with extravagant mechanical sets, dancers and a band that stands reservedly to stage right and never even receives so much as a cursory acknowledgement, like an orchestra in the theatre pits. The show belongs on Broadway or Shaftesbury Avenue rather than on the road. The whole concept takes a complete turnaround from what a rock audience anticipates, but at Toronto on Sunday it left them stunned. Perhaps the crowd at the O'Keefe Theatre literally couldn't believe their eyes. Fittingly there was no encore and the applauding audience was greeted with the announcement 10 minutes after the show stopped that Bowie had already left the theatre. The Colonel Parker touch is forever there. The music actually appears secondary to the various effects and dance routines, and while it could be argued that Alice Cooper has taken rock theatre to its extreme level, Bowie has moved onto a totally different level. It was more in the vein of a Liza Minnelli performance, or even a Vegas night club cabaret. A Christmas pantomime would be an unfair parallel, but the ideas behind it were exactly the same. Bowie comes out of this show as some kind of magical being. A star above stars, as untouchable as the sky; not once does he address the audience, or even allude to their presence other than an odd grin. Each song is linked together so that no delays occur during the show, and he doesn't even take a bow at the end. The material is a sensible mixture of songs from the Diamond Dogs album and assorted old favourites. Bowie’s backing band – Earl Slick, an American guitarist, Herbie Flowers on bass, Mike Garson from the old Spiders on keyboard, and Tony Newman on drums – are first class, note perfect to an almost mechanical degree. Their presence – as opposed to their music – is less important than the stage setting and the various effects that evolve from behind hidden doors. The dancers, Warren Peace and Gui Andrisan, sing backup vocals and shuffle props and mikes around the stage with total precision. The stage set is taken from the disintegrating metropolis, Hunger City, created from Bowie's imagination for the concept of his new album. The rear of the stage is a 20 foot high bridge constructed from span girders that form a catwalk which rises and falls at Bowie's command. Three equally high lighting towers, cunningly disguised as toppling skyscrapers, beam down on the star of the show. Illustrated at the left of the stage, against one of these pillars, is some kind of phallic symbol spurting blood towards the sky. The band are off to the right, towards the rear of the stage. Throughout the entire show Bowie goes through a series of well-rehearsed dance steps and mimes to act out each song in the persona of the character involved. The expanse of unoccupied stage in the centre is ample for all manner of complex choreography involving chairs, ropes and sundry other props. The Toronto concert began over half an hour late and, of course, there was no supporting act. For 45 minutes prior to Bowie's arrival on stage a tape of odd sounds and peculiar jungle noises was heard through a PA system that was placed half way up the hall instead of actually on the stage. Eventually, after some slow handclapping, the lights were dimmed for a roadie in blue dungarees (regulation uniform for the whole road crew) to announce that Bowie was suffering from laryngitis but would appear regardless. The opening song was '1984'. Bowie was dressed in a light grey suit with blue and white polka dot, collarless shirt, and red braces. He retained the same outfit for the entire performance, apart from occasionally removing his jacket. He appeared without any noticeable make-up and gone was the spiky hair style of last year and the year before. In its place was a neat parting; it left little doubt about the masculinity of the performer. It took a couple more numbers, 'Rebel Rebel' and 'Moonage Daydream', before the significance of the show began to sink in, with the audience realising they were witnessing something totally different from a normal rock concert. The cheers grew louder, but few could imagine the surprises in store. For 'Sweet Thing' Bowie appeared on the catwalk for the first time, dressed in a long trench coat and gazing down on the dancers below as he sang and pouted. Yellowing lamp standards up on the wall gave it an eerie but sad atmosphere. Eventually the whole huge bridge machinery swung into operation rather like Tower Bridge allowing a steamer to pass through, and Bowie was lowered between the two pillars to land safely back on the ground. The next song was 'Changes', with more dance routine, then 'Suffragette City', 'All The Young Dudes' and 'Will You Rock And Roll With Me', which seemed to close the first sequence of the performance. Houselights went up and for the first time as Bowie bent to receive his applause. His rigid facial expression seemed to reflect incredible self-confidence. He knew it was good so there was little point in milking the applause. There was even a suggestion of arrogance – a MainMan star, indeed. 'Watch That Man' began phase two of the show, though the delay was actually less than most bands take between every number. Next, for 'Drive In Saturday', David played acoustic guitar for the first and only time in the show. Then came another major surprise: with the opening chord of 'Space Oddity' thundering from Slick's guitar, Bowie appeared to have left the arena, then a door atop one of the skyscrapers swung open to reveal him in a seat on a pole – actually a hydraulic boom extending from the base of the phallic symbol. He began the song perched up there, but as the verses progressed and David took on the identity of Major Tom, the boom moved forward and extended diagonally outwards so that he was projected somewhat precariously out above the front rows of the audience. Complete with flashing lights everywhere the effect was nothing short of sensational. From then on the various effects came thick and fast, and to grasp every detail one would have to watch at least three shows. At one stage (during 'Diamond Dogs') David was tied up in ropes by the dancers and at another he was in the centre of a boxing ring, wearing boxing gloves to sing 'Panic In Detroit'. He even had a big black dude walk on in a track suit to act as a second, towelling him down and fitting a fresh gum shield between verses. But even these effects paled compared to the Houdini-like routine during the last half hour. For this David appeared perched above a platform of mirrors, wheeled on from the rear. The platform turned out to be a gigantic square box rather like some conjurer's lavish prop, into which Bowie descended and disappeared from view. The front doors of the box were then opened by his dancers but... no David. Just a gigantic sparkling, black hand against ultraviolet strip lights. Eventually the hand lowered to reveal a glittering staircase for Bowie to take the stage once more. For the final medley of 'Jean Genie' and 'Rock And Roll Suicide', a tiny but powerful spot at the base of the stage was switched on to create giant shadows of David and his dancers looming over the painted metropolis on the back drop – another eerie but brilliantly choreographed set piece. The show was over before you knew it. Suddenly the audience were yelling for more at a stage which had emptied in seconds. The applause lasted some ten minutes before the announcement that David had left the theatre. It was the most original spectacle in "rock" I've ever seen, a complete move forward in direction for both Bowie and pop in general. The star comes out of it as an all-round actor/singer/ dancer/entertainer, leaving behind his status as a simple singer/songwriter. Equally worthy of praise are set designer Jules Fisher and choreographer Toni Basil. Their attention to detail was almost frightening. During 'Space Oddity' for example, David sang into a telephone receiver rather than a regular microphone, and in 'Cracked Actor' Hollywood-type movie cameras and spots were hastily set up around the singer while a make-up man arrived to splash on face powder. The only unrehearsed item appeared to be when a dancer collided with Tony Newman's cymbals. Two roadies were there in a flash to set matters right.   Quite how much the setting, machinery and rehearsals must have cost in man hours and money is anyone's guess but it seemed doubtful that Bowie will be signing a bill much less than £50,000 for the project and this may go some way towards explaining the unusually high ticket price. Here in Toronto the top price was eight dollars and 80 cents (about £4) while in New York at Madison Square Garden next month the top is 10 dollars and 50 cents, abnormally high by rock standards and setting a new precedent in pricing. But David Bowie 1974 is not constricted by rock any more. He looks further ahead than any in rock; his far-reaching imagination has created a combination of contemporary music and theatre that is several years ahead of its time.   CHRIS CHARLEWORTH Windsor Star 24 June 1974 - Bowie’s top showman at Cobo concert, but.. English glitter-rock star David Bowie's Sunday night show at Cobo Hall was his most theatrically ambitious Detroit concert so far but the least satisfying musically. Backed by a raucous and unimaginative new band, Bowie churned out many songs from his most popular albums and a couple from his new one, Diamond Dogs, but his mind appeared to be more on showmanship than singing and his vocal performance lacked the depth and clarity he's displayed in the past. Some of the visual tricks were great fun, though, especially a new production number for Space Oddity in which Bowie was lowered from high above the stage on the extended arm of a crane so that he dangled over the audience with flashing lights successfully creating the illusion of outer space. Earlier, singing Changes, he started again high above the stage on what appeared to be a balcony but turned out to be an elevator which lowered him amid more flashing lights to band level. And toward the end of the long show a many-sided box of mirrors edged on stage with Bowie first sitting on top singing and then, in the next number, the mirrored walls opened to reveal a luminous blue electric-candle-lit womb with Bowie nestled inside. The capacity crowd loved all of this and didn't seem to mind Bowie's attention straying from his music. He appeared particularly lost without guitarist Mick Ronson, whose shimmering guitar is something to behold, who is not with him on this tour.   Bowie was further hampered by two back-up vocalists who displayed no noticeable talent for singing and even less for the art of mime which they earnestly tried to practice behind the singer. Bowie would appear to be to blame for that. He had several pieces involving the two including a silly bit with what I took to be dogleashes for Diamond Dogs and an even sillier routine with Bowie wearing pink boxing gloves and being attended by a white-suited second for Panic In Detroit. For a change, Bowie didn't pull any spectacular costume switches, perhaps deciding to leave that to the audience. And there was the usual Bowie crowd - all satin pants, chopped-up hair and fey gestures. Ice cream vendors did a steady trade during the show catering to throats parched not only from screaming. I believe Bowie's best Detroit performance was his first, some 18-months ago, at the Fisher Theater, when his visual trickery and marvelous musical ability was in perfect harmony. The second appearance at the Masonic Temple was more reminiscent of a Judy Garland show than a rock show, with Bowie in hot-pants campily dangling his legs off he stage but the music was good. The man always gives you your money's worth in terms of entertainment but I think perhaps he needs his musical batteries recharged. RAY BENNETT