By Paul Sexton  LONDON (Billboard) - "This is my band. I'm in front of it. That makes me David Bowie."

Thus, one of music's most technologically imaginative artists launched a new adventure that placed him onstage and on the silver screen at the same time.

Bowie's concert Sept. 8 at Riverside Studios in Hammersmith, West London, was an intimate yet grand-scale introduction to his new CD. Bowie performed the forthcoming "Reality" album in full at the show. It will be released internationally by ISO/Columbia Sept. 15 (Sept. 16 in North America).

The gig itself -- for some 300 members of his Bowienet fan community plus about 150 media reps, celebrity fans and record company personnel -- exuded the exclusivity of a private party. But it was beamed live by satellite in widescreen and 5.1 DTS digital surround sound (mixed by the album's producer, Tony Visconti) to cinema audiences in the U.K., Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, Norway, Poland, Sweden and Switzerland.

It was not the first time a band used a digital simulcast to theaters to bring an intimate show to a large number of fans. In June 2002, Korn broadcast a live New York concert to theaters in dozens of U.S. cities. But the Bowie event reached more countries and included a Q-and-A segment.

Demand for theater tickets in Paris prompted an expansion from two screens to 14.

With the attendant time delay, this inaugural interactive cinema event aired in Australia and Asia the following day and broadcasts Sept. 15 in the U.S., Canada and Brazil.

A total of 86 theaters in 22 countries will participate, for a total audience of 50,000, according to Julie Borchard, senior VP of international marketing at Sony Music U.S.

The event, she said, "has raised awareness of the new album to a fever pitch."

A label source estimates technical costs to be about $350,000, which were covered by Sony with a "small but significant" sponsorship contribution in the U.K. by communications company O2, which had on-screen advertising at participating Odeon cinemas in Britain.

The full performance of "Reality" by Bowie and his band was followed by a Q-and-A session overseen by U.K. TV personality Jonathan Ross. Bowie took live questions from fans in cinemas in Berlin, Copenhagen, Paris, London and elsewhere.

This interlude was followed by a second live set in which Bowie played such hits as "Hallo Spaceboy" and "Modern Love," and other material from his vast catalog, including "Hang on to Yourself" from 1972's "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust," "A New Career in a New Town" ("Low," 1977), "Fantastic Voyage" ("Lodger," 1979) and "Cactus" and "Afraid" from last year's "Heathen."

"The publicity generated has been incredible right across the board," says music media consultant Alan Edwards of the London-based Outside Organization. "The whole undertaking was of course dependent on having an artist of caliber and vision to pull it off. People may well look back on this as a watershed in the presentation of live music."

Marc John, head of digital cinema for Odeon and managing director of Quantum Digital, which was responsible for digital delivery of the show, says: "This technology is affordable, and now that Bowie has done it, that should burst open the doors. I guarantee digital cinema will transform the multiplex."

Borchard says that Sony will ship 400,000 copies of "Reality" internationally. Bowie's world tour opens Oct. 7 in Copenhagen and will stretch well into 2004.

Normally I'm of the opinion that God's a bit of a bastard, but today all he/she/it has done is smile on the House of Clark. Things started well with Jonny Wilkinson giving Bruce Foreigner a seeing to in Sydney, got better when Everton smited the Wanderers of Wolverhampton 2-0 and reached new heights of wonderfulness thanks to a David Bowie gig that pissed all over anything else I've seen this year,

the mighty Andrew WK and the Darkness included.

Having spent much of the '90s self-consciously trying to be "down with the kids" - Tin Machine, photo ops with Bree Anderson, drum 'n' bass albums etc - Bowie has come to the conclusion that there's nothing wrong with being 56 and in possession of one of the greatest rock 'n' roll back catalogues of all time.

Which is why seven songs in to his set there's an audible gasp from the crowd as he exhumes 'All The Young Dudes', the song he kindly donated in 1972 to Mott The Hoople and has more or less ignored since. With an 8,000-voice choir accompanying him, it's a magical moment which Def Leppard get to savour 5,000 miles away in Moscow courtesy of a strategically placed mobile phone. My Zen-like

state of contentment after this is such that I decide not to berate the person who greets "The Man Who Sold The World" with an excited "Oooo, he's doing a Nirvana cover!" or the drunken Aslan fan who keeps bellowing random snatches of lyrics into my left ear. It's not just the obvious crowd-pleasers - 'Rebel Rebel', 'Fame', 'China Girl', 'Life On Mars?',

'Ashes To Ashes', 'Changes' and a remarkable Gail-Ann Dorsey-assisted 'Under Pressure' - that have the crowd going ballistic early doors.

No longer feeling obliged to be 'cutting edge', Bowie has come up with a new record, Reality, that's by far and away the best thing he's done since 1980's Scary Monsters. It's represented tonight by four songs - 'New Killer Star', 'The Loneliest Guy', 'Never Get Old' and 'Bring On The Disco King' -

which all merge seamlessly with the classics of yore and elicit an appropiate response from the masses. You're just thinking it can't get any better when along comes 'Heroes' and a wam-bam-thank-you-mam encore climaxing in the triple-whammy of 'Five Years', 'Hang On To Yourself' and 'Ziggy Stardust'- I should never have doubted you God!

Bowie then welcomes the crowd in Irish with "Tiocfaidh ar la, Baile Atha Cliath" ("Our day will come, Dublin"). "Tiocfaidh ar la" means "our day will come" and is, famously, the slogan of the IRA. Bowie then introduces "another song from the new album" and the band keep the energy levels up with Reality. This is followed by Fame, done in the style he's been doing it since 97 or so (Is It Any Wonder?), then a song he says comes from a band who were very popular in Ireland (the Pixies), Cactus. With piledriver following piledriver, the crowd have barely time to draw breath, but they don't care, swept along by the occasion. Another piledriver, Afraid, then Bowie says "I'm no eejit, I'm going to play this now" and the band go into yet another crowd-pleaser, All The Young Dudes. Bowie looks in great form and is chattier than usual. China Girl, then a slimmed down band (Bowie, Gerry and Mike) do a dramatic version of The Loneliest Guy. Accompanied by atmospheric film footage on the giant screen, this is a tour de force, and the crowd bays their appreciation at the end.

Bowie introduces the next song as "from the time when I was starting to make an impact, it's a song I'm glad we're doing again" and then belts out a great version of The Man Who Sold The World. At the end, Bowie seems to disappear stage right with a sly grin on his face, but as the familiar intro to Hallo Spaceboy is played, he re-appears on one of the walkways. He performs the song jumping about on this railless slippy-looking walkway, at one point running to the edge and peering down into the audience. Better him than me - I had nightmarish visions of him skidding to a multiple fracture.

It's time to slow things down again, so they do "Sunday" from Heathen. Bowie follows this with the band intro - Earl Slick on guitar, a "big man called Mike Garson on keyboards", Cat Russell on keyboards, backing vocals and guitar, Sterling "Monsta" Campbell on drums, local boy Gerry Leonard (who gets the biggest cheer) on guitar, and Gail Ann on bass. He compliments Gail Ann on her dress and says "I can't wear those any more" with mock sadness. Then he corrects himself and says "Well, I *could*. I just don't want to".

The band then do Under Pressure, followed by a stunning Mike-and-Bowie Life On Mars?. This is followed by something I'd never seen before at a concert (it won't be the last) - a 5 minute standing ovation as the whole place, including the thousands seated, rose as one to acclaim a stunning piece of singing by Bowie in which he hit all the notes with power and conviction. On a night of surprises, the biggest surprise is not the near pronunciation perfect Irish (Gaelic) he peppers through the night, but just how powerful and impressive "the voice" is. After the cancellation of Toulouse, there had been question marks and suspicions all might not be well, but I can say with total certainty that his voice has never been as powerful.

The standing ovation is starting to look like it might go on forever, so Bowie cuts it short and says "C'mon, let's play some more music".

After a version of "Ashes To Ashes", he points to the camera crew filming the gig and tells us we're all being filmed for the DVD. "As you know, Dublin is the place to film the DVD, so these guys will be here tonight and tomorrow night. I hope they're not in your way. But at least it means your ugly mugs, excuse me, I mean your beautiful mugs will be on the DVD".

He introduces the next song as a favourite from the Outside album "which we rehearsed here in Dublin", and the band do a wonderfully atmospheric version of "The Motel". He introduces the next song as "another old song that Gerry and I reworked for a New York thing, I really like it, perhaps this is how the song should always have sounded". He then does a stunning version of Loving The Alien accompanied only by Gerry on guitar. He sings the song gentler than the original, and the lyrics take on an added poignancy. This is followed by another rousing Reality song, Never Get Old, and then Changes, followed by the second standing ovation of the night. Then a high energy almost angry version of "I'm Afraid Of Americans", a song that has grown in potency since Bowie first started performing it, then "Heroes", followed by the third standing ovation of the night.

Bowie then says "Go raibh maith agat" (Thank you), and he and the band troop off. They don't leave us waiting long, before Mike comes strolling back on. Then "You promised me that the ending would be clear" and Bowie is at the back of one of the raised walkways, singing "Bring Me The Disco King". He totters unsurely along the walkway, struggling through the stage shrubbery, the song gradually growing in power and coming to its "I don't know about you" stirring climax. The rest of the band then re-appears, Bowie disappears and re-appears clutching a stlophone, and the screens are showing clips of Uncle Floyd and Augie. Bowie watches till it ends, then starts into "Slip Away". The screens continue to show Uncle Floyd and Augie before seguing into a "deep space" motif, and then the lyrics appear on screen as Bowie sings them, a small ball of Augie doing the karaoke duties. A great way to get the crowd singing a song they might not be all that familiar with. This is followed by the tour de force Heathen title track, the crowd and band keeping hand clap time together. At the end of this, a blind Bowie is led off stage, his hand on Gail Ann's shoulder. Gerry remains on stage, so it's clear they're coming back, and so they do. The night ends with the 1-2-3 Ziggy sucker punch - Five Years, Hang On To Yourself and Ziggy Stardust. As the crowd draws its breath, Bowie gathers his band around him on the centre of the stage, and they do a series of theatrical bows to all corners of the place. They leave to rapturous acclaim, then Bowie comers bounding back for some solo bows.

An incredible concert from rock's greatest showman. That's not to say the show was without its flaws. Ashes To Ashes in particular was a pale shadow of former tours.  Musically, there aren't the same surprises or leaps forward we've seen on other recent tours. In essence, this tour is a crystallisation of everything this band has done since they've been together - the crowd pleasers from other tours are present here with the same arrangements. The Reality songs are done straight as per the album version as, for the most part are the new "old" songs like Fantastic Voyage (Loving The Alien is an exception here). This of course is not a surprise. This tour is aimed at a more general audience than any since Sound And Vision, and in that context Bowie is taking as much risk as he possibly can by including 13 songs from the last 5 albums and some obscure oldies.

So what makes this tour better is not the band, the setlists or the arrangements, but Bowie himself. For the first time in a long time, he's put a lot of thought into the visuals and the stage set, and he's come up with a tasteful winner, the perfect antidote to some of his past over-the-top excesses. He's in the best form vocally and performancewise of his life, he looks re-invigorated and rejuvenated, and the infamous Bowie charisma has never shone brighter.

So in summary, Bowie proved himself to be the one true God of rock. All who believe otherwise are heretics. He grabbed the audience by the scruff of our collective necks, shook and rocked us to within an inch of our lives, and after 2 and a half hours that felt like two and a half minutes flung our bloodied pulps of bodies out onto the streets, reeling from the spectacle and experience we'd just witnessed.

For the last show of the European leg of his Reality tour, Glasgow got to hear a career-spanning repertoire. Gone were the overblown pretensions of previous years, replaced instead by a minimal stage set and a friendly Bowie, laughing and joking. From The Man Who Sold The World to a sprinkling of songs from the new album, it was two-and-a-half hours of straight-up rock 'n' roll.

A joyous All The Young Dudes reminded us that this is the anthem of the glam-rock generation, the show-stopping Life On Mars, accompanied by Mike Garson on piano, brought a tear to the eye, while the grunge metal of Hallo Spaceboy proved Bowie can still rock with the young crew. Always one with a good ear for other's songs, The Pixies' Cactus and Neil Young's Afraid, played back-to-back, were blinding. Of the band, guitarist Earl Slick did a great Mick Ronson, while Gerry Leonard's ambient guitar stylings created chilling backdrops, most effective on Sunday and The Loneliest Guy. The latter proving that quitting the fags has only improved Bowie's voice.

During the Ziggy-era encore, he took us back to the farewell show of 1973, saying : "Not only is this the last show of the tour, but it's the last show we'll ever do . . . until T In The Park, next summer." I've looked out my tent already.

David Bowie could sing the phone book and make it sound interesting. Likewise, I could just tell you Friday night's set list and you'd be saying: "wow".

Always one of rock's most restless performers, David Bowie has marked his career with several peaks and valleys, mostly of his own devising. At the height of his popularity he's changed gears and gone experimental, but he has also eagerly courted the mainstream just when people got used to his weirdest, wildest material.

For Bowie, change is essential. It keeps the music interesting, not just for his fans but also for himself, the parade of "new" Bowies over the decades documenting one artist's struggle to remain vital and exciting where many of his peers simply grew placid and predictable.

Yet never has Bowie seemed as comfortable in his own skin as he does now. At a sold out Madison Square Garden Monday (Dec. 15) in New York, he confidently held court in his adopted home like he had nothing to prove, as sure of the strength of his latest material as he was of his versatile backing band.

Fit and laid-back, the constantly grinning Bowie looked as giddy as a school kid, belying his nearly 60 years. His voice also sounded as unique and powerful as ever, surprising not only considering his age, but particularly due to his recent bout of the flu which forced the cancellation of five shows, making this the second night of the North American tour.

But what's really buoyed Bowie over the past few years is that the singer has at last made peace with his back catalog, if only because much of his past works are clearly of a piece with the music of recent releases "Heathen" and "Reality," albums that also reunited him with longtime producer Tony Visconti. Opening with "Rebel Rebel" certainly got the crowd's attention, but following it with new songs like "New Killer Star" and "Reality" revealed how vibrant a songwriter and performer Bowie remains.

Indeed, given how many decades of hits and iconic songs from which Bowie had to choose, it's amazing his New York set managed to offer a balanced selection from each stage of his career without ever coming across as clunky nostalgia. Fans ate up every offering, from the discordant disco of "Fashion" to the throbbing, abusive pulse of "Hallo Spaceboy" to the Pixies cover "Cactus." Bowie introduced "The Man Who Sold The World" as the first song of his he ever heard on American radio, but later took time to express pride in the relative obscurity "Motel," from the "Outside" album, which he joked only two hundred people in the audience had ever heard.

Oddly enough, despite the obvious appeal of songs like "China Girl" and a stripped down "Life On Mars?," it was two songs generally associated with other artists that drew the most energetic and emotional response from the fans. The first was "All the Young Dudes," the anthem Bowie penned for friend Ian Hunter, which transcended the usual clichéd sing-along conventions and actually elicited a genuine outpouring of passion from Bowie and crowd alike.

Queen's "Under Pressure," on the other hand, simply and forcefully transcended everything, and for the duration of song the world outside the arena went away. With powerhouse bassist Gail Ann Dorsey matching Freddie Mercury's virtuoso singing, even Bowie looked bemused by but no less appreciative of the song's lasting power.

Beaming ear to ear, he briefly basked in the fans' roaring approval before redirecting that applause to Dorsey, the tiny lynchpin of his current band, which includes Bowie vets Mike Garson on keyboards and Earl Slick on guitar alongside relatively recent additions Sterling Campbell (drums), Gerry Leonard (guitar) and multi-instrumentalist Catherine Russell.

The crowd-pleasing Bowie favorites gave the singer the cache to play more abstract and unfamiliar material, like the spooky "The Loneliest Guy" or "Afraid," and he linked the newer "I'm Afraid Of Americans" and the ever-stirring "Heroes" as a sort of point/counterpoint take on current affairs.

Yet it was the redoubtable Ziggy-era pair of "Suffragette City" and "Ziggy Stardust" that ended the show, not simply as a sop to older fans but because, nearly 30 years after "killing" the Ziggy character, Bowie still clearly enjoys performing those songs.

Don't call it a comeback, since Bowie never went away. But artists new and old could stand to learn from Bowie's smiling, hip-swiveling, gregarious example, even if few could match his energy and enthusiasm.

Compared to Bowie opener Macy Gray didn't stand a chance, and her set faded from memory halfway through the headliner's first song. Gray's self-consciously eccentric soul has always felt gimmicky, which -- given her larger than life persona and even larger Afro wig -- Gray doesn't really need. The nearly empty Garden had mostly filled up by the time she wrapped up her set, but tracks like "Sex-O-Matic Venus Freak" and "Sexual Revolution" never overcame the trappings of novelty.

Bowie is a consummate performer. He demands your attention. He also develops a rapport with the audience, communicat ing between songs until the show is over -- Vik Beltitus, Barberton

The Bowie concert was awesome. It's just beginning to sink in how lucky I was to have witnessed a true rock icon in a world where few are left. Bowie has a top-notch band, too. Sterling Campbell is a fantastic drummer - Pete Swendseid, Oberlin

I've seen Bowie over a dozen times through the years. This was the best show ever. It was even better than his American debut, when he brought the Spiders From Mars tour to Music Hall in 1972. That show was particularly exciting because I had put my reputation on the line by promoting Bowie on the radio. Could Bowie deliver? Boy, could he ever - and he did it again this time - Billy Bass, Cleveland

Bowie seemed to be having fun, maybe because of his birthday, maybe because Cleveland was where his career took off. This was one of the best shows I've ever seen, with just the right balance of hits and songs from his new CD. [Opening act] Macy Gray was absolutely terrible, however. She should go back to Canton and see if she can get a job at the 7-Eleven -- Tom Apathy, Mantua

The entire show was riveting. Many opening acts couldn't be on the same stage with Bowie. But Macy Gray's set easily could've stolen the show from many lesser rock stars - Tom Hennessy, Lorain

Fans of all ages agree, he's 'excellent'. Rock icon, who's getting over the flu, opens North American tour at Bell Centre

Defining David Bowie's fans is rather like trying to define the man himself.

Unless "everyone" is a demographic, there was no obvious demographic evident outside the Bell Centre before last night's show - the opening night of Bowie's first North American tour in eight years. A fitting audience for a musician who has regularly changed musical genres.

Last night, people who were in high school when Bowie's first record came out stood in line next to people who are still in high school. Some, Like Michel Lapointe, have been fans since Bowie came to Montreal in the early 1970s on the Spiders From Mars tour. Others, like Victoria, 19, and Chrystina, 18, discovered Bowie in the film Labyrinth.

Regardless, Bowie fans seem to share an almost creepy reverence for the 56-year-old musician.

"He's my future husband," Chrystina said.

"I'm here because he's the king," said Eva Blahut, a 25-year-old theatre student who saw Bowie play once before, at a festival in Toronto. "He's incredible. He's the über-artist. He is sex, glamour, a brilliant performer."

"He is excellent," said Perry, 47. "He's probably the best musician from his era. Who else from 1969 is still making new music, and playing it?"

Blahut and her friend Krista Colosimo, 20, said they had worried the show would be cancelled because Bowie was suffering from the flu. Several other dates were dropped because of his sickness, but on Friday, Bowie's Web site said the Montreal show was going ahead.

"I have no expectations for tonight," Blahut said. "I'm not even imagining. I'm letting him take me where he wants to go."

If she had wanted to know, however, Blahut could have asked Bowie fan Ron Weeks, who had earlier staked out the musician's hotel and spoken to members of Bowie's band.

"The set list has been changing a lot," Weeks said. "They didn't even know what songs they were going to be doing tonight."

That said, Weeks hoped to hear a lot of material from the new record, Reality.

"That's the problem with Bowie," he said. "A lot of people just want to hear the old stuff, and it's a shame because some of the new material is fantastic."

Bowie, who turned 57 Thursday, also had fun with the crowd. He invited the 5,500 fans to sing along on the chorus of "All the Young Dudes," the 1972 hit he wrote for Mott the Hoople. "That was so well executed," he said afterward, "that there's no point in me singing anymore. It's yours." So the excellent six-member band went into the 1983 Bowie hit "China Girl," and he let the fans sing as he sat down on the stage. After the opening stanza, he stood up, sporting a devilish smile, and interrupted, "That was terrible." He signaled the band to start over, and he took charge and proved that, in concert, he is a better singer than on CD/record -- more intense, more dynamic, with more range and power. He sang as if the songs mattered to him as much as they obviously did to his fans.

Whether a Bowie devotee from his '70s and '80s radio hits, a hard-core disciple dating back to the "Ziggy Stardust" days or a recent convert, there was enough in the 2 1/4-hour performance to satisfy. The repertoire was divided roughly into thirds: hits, obscurities and recent material. Even Bowie himself wasn't sure which album certain songs came from; when he changed plans and called an audible for "The Battle of Britain," he asked fans which album. And he guessed that the encore "Be My Wife" was from 1977's "Low," and he was right.

Bowie was right almost all night long. The highlights were many: the slashing, soaring "Reality," the Pixies' punkish, falsetto-voiced "Cactus," the bracing rocker "Hallo Spaceboy," the crowd-pleasingly baroque "Under Pressure," the dramatic ballads "Life on Mars" and "Sunday," the menacing "I'm Afraid of Americans" and the wham-bam "Suffragette City." Only "Fashion," the 1980 disco sensation, and "Fame," the 1975 dance hit, sounded dated, but he delivered the latter with such brazen cynicism that it was worthwhile.  All told, it was a generous, well-paced, 28-song show, complemented by understated artistic images on a back video screen. The Rock and Roll Hall of Famer had enough arena-anthem choruses to keep the crowd rocking and enough genre-expanding experimentation to please the aging hipsters. In other words, the real David Bowie was cool to all his constituencies.

Sometimes fans just have to stare at a musician and wonder to themselves "How do they do it?"

It's hard even for musicians to explain where their inspiration comes from. At times it seems as much a mystery to them as it is to the rest of us. After a bit of a lull that still produced some notable work, David Bowie has found himself at another creative peak. He's 57, he's more than three decades into his career, yet he's able to leave fans ecstatic and nearly speechless. Bowie's explanation is that his touring band is simply playing very well at the moment.

That's undeniably true, as Monday night's blasting show at the Fillmore Auditorium showed. But it hardly explains how his latest work has flourished. New songs such as New Killer Star and the gorgeous Days stand out as highlights in a concert that featured the best of his 35 years of hits. The best part about having strong new material is that Bowie's enthusiasm is infectious; even the songs he has played a million times are infused with new energy. Bowie is exploring not only his hits, but the more obscure corners of his catalog. No one seemed to object. The concert here is one of the few small venues Bowie is doing on his Reality tour, so the 3,600 who packed in had to work hard to get tickets, which sold out in minutes weeks ago.

Bowie made it worth the effort. Two years ago he gave a stunning performance in Denver as part of Moby's Area 2 tour. This performance was just as stunning - and it was two or three times as long. Opening with his newly revamped version of Rebel Rebel, Bowie displayed boundless energy and the crowd gave it back in waves of wild applause and stretches of rapt silence. Some of that was simply spent taking in new material that many may not have heard. The Loneliest Guy and Days are two of Bowie's quieter yet most powerful pieces from Reality.

After the crowd received both with full attention and thunderous applause, he broke into a big grin. "This could be a very long show," he promised. And like most on this tour, it was. Bowie's band at times played with brutal intensity on classic songs such as The Man Who Sold the World, Hallo Spaceboy, Panic in Detroit and Hang On To Yourself. The hardcores were thrilled to have these songs get a good public airing again, as well as the timeless and timely Life on Mars.  The best part, though, might have been seeing Bowie wring joy - and striking performances - out of his biggest hits, the songs he vowed he was retiring on 1990s Sound + Vision tour. After the elegant, soaring Life on Mars, he was so tickled that he changed the set list, ordering the band to play back-to-back hits Changes and Fame.  Not that he hadn't already pulled out plenty of hits; early in the show, China Girl and All The Young Dudes had the crowd singing with abandon.  At press time, Bowie and band were still on stage, blasting through Suffragette City in a long encore of hits. If Denver is like other cities, he'll wrap up with Ziggy Stardust and the fans will head off dazed into the night.

Macy Gray opened the show with her funk-and-soul revue, mixing her original work with mini-covers of everything from I Want You Back to Come Together. Bowie didn't need an opening act, but Gray and her incredibly tight band won a lot of fans who likely had never heard her before.

Now that's what I call a rock star!

Forty years after his first recordings, David Bowie has not lost any of his charisma, charm or sex appeal. At 57, he is still every inch a superstar, still brimming with style and panache, although his youthful rebelliousness has been replaced by cool sophistication and utter confidence. He sported a huge, toothy smile throughout a two-hour set. You could see the twinkle in his eyes from 40 rows back. He was having fun, and so was the capacity crowd.  Bowie remains the most seductive of rock stars. He charmed and teased the audience, especially the mostly young, wildly energetic fans clustered at the lip of the stage. He saluted some tour followers by name, borrowed a pair of shades from someone, invited everyone on a date, let the crowd sing while he listened, and talked to us like we were in his living room.

The set was a celebration of his whole body of work. He featured some of his biggest hits, songs from his impressive new "Reality" album, covers from a variety of sources, and obscure songs from his past. The show was as glittery and bright as his smile. A Cinerama-sized screen showed brilliantly colored animation, aerial films of Bowie's adopted home of New York, swirling light shows and live shots from hidden stage cameras, altered to grainy black-and-white or Day-Glo monochromatic tones.

Bowie delved right into his classic image with the opening song, "Rebel Rebel," from 1974, followed by "New Killer Star," an observation on stardom from "Reality." Early in the set came the chunky "Fame"; the celebration of male sexuality, "All The Young Dudes," a hit he wrote for Mott the Hoople; the darkly romantic "Cactus," from the Pixies; the supercool "China Doll," with a bright-red backdrop on the superscreen; and Neil Young's sublime ballad, "I've Been Waiting for You."

The middle of the set featured songs from 1977's underrated "Low" album, including the instrumental "A New Career In A New Town," "Be My Wife" and "Always Crashing in the Same Car," followed by "Hallo Spaceboy" from the 1995's "Outside" CD. Bassist Gail Ann Dorsey ably supplied the Freddie Mercury vocals for "Under Pressure," which Bowie recorded with Queen. The dramatic ballad "Life on Mars?" showed Bowie's voice to be in perfect form. The windup to the finale pitched one high-powerful hit after another, starting with "Panic in Detroit" and continuing with "Ashes to Ashes," The Velvet Underground's "White Light/White Heat," the churning "I'm Afraid of Americans" (about the Americanization of the whole world), and, finally, the uplifting "Heroes." The encore continued the excitement, with the countdown-paced "Five Years" followed by the intense rockers "Suffragette City" and "Ziggy Stardust." The cheers lasted long after Bowie and band - which included longtime collaborators Earl Slick on guitar, Mike Garson on keyboards and Sterling Campbell on drums - left the stage. Just like Bowie's first Seattle show 32 years ago in the same theater, it was a night to remember.

THE CONTRAST between David Bowie's performance at the HP Pavilion on Tuesday (Jan. 27) and the bands that played

Channel 104.9's birthday bash at the Edge on Friday (Jan. 30) was remarkable. Bowie was every bit the rock legend, while

Story of the Year, Switchfoot, Something Corporate and Default were light-years from legendary. In 20 or 30 years, who will be the next generation of the Rolling Stones, the Eagles, Aerosmith, Kiss or Bowie? So many bands today are chasing singles with bland radio hits, and major labels are more interested in the quantity than the quality of the music they sell. Talent isn't being nurtured. Originality isn't being rewarded. It's all about instant gratification. If a band can't follow up its first effort with a strong sophomore release, it's dropped--and that's usually the end of it. Under this system, how many bands are going to have a chance to put out more than a handful of albums? Who's ever going to have enough hits for even one best-of package? What new rock bands are on top now that will still be making music and be capable of packing arenas 20 years from now?

Rock & roll is in real danger of running out of heroes who will stand the test of time. It was so refreshing to see a genuine rock legend whose new music sounds as fresh today as his early stuff did 30 years ago. Whether to the die-hard fan or the casual appreciator, there was no arguing that Bowie was fabulous on Tuesday night. He emerged to a sparse stage decorated simply with wintry, dead tree branches hanging overhead. He was dressed casually in a black shirt and tight black pants with the end of a long brown belt dangling strategically over the front. He sounded amazing. He looked happy and healthy. He was confident and sexy and unexpectedly playful. Bowie joked around with the audience and goofed around with his band mates between songs. This was no greatest-hits tour for Bowie. He focused heavily on his latest album, Reality, and ignored important Bowie classics all the way from "Space Oddity" to "Let's Dance."

Bowie kicked off his set with "Rebel Rebel," but immediately jumped into his new material ("New Killer Star," "Reality") before doing a slinky version of the funky "Fame." He included covers of the Pixies' "Cactus," Neil Young's "I've Been Waiting for You," the Velvet Underground's "White Light/White Heat" and the Bowie-penned Mott the Hoople hit "All the Young Dudes." On "Under Pressure," bassist Gail Ann Dorsey did a beautiful job singing the Freddie Mercury part of the duet. Bowie also dabbled in Ziggy Stardust-era tunes ("Hang on to Yourself," "Five Years," "Suffragette City," "Ziggy Stardust") and other '70s' highlights ("The Man Who Sold the World," "Heroes," "Life on Mars?") adding only a couple songs from the '80s ("China Girl," "Ashes to Ashes"), a couple from the '90s ("Hallo Spaceboy," "I'm Afraid of Americans") and a few from 2002's Heathen ("Cactus," "Afraid," "Sunday"). Still, the most haunting and memorable songs of the night were "Days," "The Loneliest Guy" and "Bring Me the Disco King," three songs off Reality, all written from the perspective of a 57-year-old superstar who's seen and lived it all. Bowie's modern influence ranges from Marilyn Manson to virtually every new shaggy-haired fashion-rocker to emerge from the East Coast. He's starred on the silver screen and on Broadway. He's equal parts mainstream and underground icon, and legacies like his are becoming scarcer and scarcer. If anything, Channel 104.9's show, while undeniably successful, proved that concept, meaning, art and longevity are being lost as bands race to find fleeting fame. Bowie returns to the Bay Area to play the Berkeley Community Center on April 16 with the Polyphonic Spree.

Certainly the title of his current (and 26th) album, "Reality," reflects his knack for capturing the times. For reality is now arguably the biggest concept being manipulated in many ways, from politics to pop culture. A track from that collection, "New Killer Star," reflected his concern for the broader picture, but the 2 hours and 15 minutes he was onstage mostly reminded us of his own restless creative journey.

The reality for the 57-year-old Bowie, of course, is that he's a still-vital artist no longer making the groundbreaking music that got him noticed in the first place. But fans young and old, ordinary and flamboyant, basked blissfully in his mere presence on the first of two consecutive nights in this relatively intimate venue. (He also performs Tuesday and Saturday at the Wiltern.)

More than two dozen songs spanned his career......

Despite the arty video projections and enchanted-cyber-forest setting, Bowie's casual demeanor and sometimes smarmy stage patter took this larger-than-life artist down to earth. Yet he was never less than a genuine Rock Star, albeit not in the visceral sense of his contemporary (and erstwhile collaborator), Iggy Pop.

Playing guitar and occasionally harmonica, Bowie was gleeful and in stellar voice, though at times seeming not so much enamored of the material as fond of it. Or perhaps all the arch mid-tempo spaceman balladry, along with Bowie's natural theatrical tendencies, made some moments feel less passionate than they should have.

Still, he mostly connected, as with the heart-stoppingly iconic, plaintive "Slip Away." A paean to a children's TV entertainer, it poignantly reflected Bowie's long-standing theme of lamenting loss of innocence. Yet the slow tunes became a bit of a drag, and while "Hang Onto Yourself" blazed, the relatively few rockers weren't always as cathartic as they should have been.

But in a world where only a handful of artists of Bowie's stature remain active - and few new ones can sustain interest in their second album, let alone their 26th - it was impressive that he not only still had something to say but could also make us want to hear it.

And can a star with scores of hits under his belt, a supermodel wife and more money than he could possibly spend still find the motivation to write music that connects with the regular people who have supported him for years?

A smiling, gracious Bowie and his bulletproof band spent two hours answering any doubters with a set that celebrated his classic catalog but also showcased new material that kept the audience engaged.

Bowie was clearly having fun watching the faces of fans as he sang such rock radio classics as the show-opening "Rebel Rebel" and the concert-closing "Suffragette City," but he made it clear early on that the songs from albums released in the past two years would serve as more than window dressing.

Four of the concert's first seven songs came from "Heathen" (2002) and "Reality," released late last year.

The crisp, rocking "New Killer Star," from the latter CD, has become a quick concert classic and a favorite of Bowie's. Referencing the terrorist attack on his adopted home town of New York, Bowie had the crowd dancing as he sang the upbeat counterpoint, "I got a better way. Ready! Set! Go!"

The wildly rocking title track from "Reality," fueled by the slicing guitar of longtime Bowie collaborator Earl Slick, also played well live, as did an emotional reading of the Pixies' "Cactus," from the "Heathen" album.

With his blondish hair, lithe body and a face that appears 20 years younger than it is, Bowie looked like a guy who can keep pumping this stuff out for decades to come.

Opening the show looking like a cross between a biker, rock star and teenage skater, Bowie was dressed for comfort. A black jacket, red scarf, dark T-shirt, tight, black jeans and Converse All-Star sneakers all looked perfect when hung on Bowie's well-toned frame. As the night went on the jacket and a second tuxedo-cut jacket worn beneath it were peeled off.

While Bowie's intellectual brand of rock might leave some listeners a bit intimidated, he exuded warmth and good humor throughout the concert, which found the crowd on its feet 90 percent of the time.

Introducing a powerful version of "The Man Who Sold The World," Bowie recalled hearing the song for the first time on American radio, while riding in a car in 1971: "It was kind of a Howard Dean moment for me," he said, adding "Eeee-yaaaa!"

Later as he moved through the yearning "Be My Wife" into the new, reflective "Days," Bowie lamented with a wink, "This is the misery spot." Then, as he segued into a rich version of 1980's "Ashes To Ashes," featuring impressive piano work by Mike Garson, he joked "This one is merely sad."

He high-fived the uplifted hands that surrounded him when he stepped onto a small portion of the stage protruding into the crowd, the scene reminiscent of the '70s hero worship of the Ziggy Stardust character that he played onstage and in the studio.

While he avoided the groundbreaking "Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars" album in the main portion of the concert, Bowie's encore consisted soley of songs from that record, including a very casual take on "Suffragette City" (the one song in which Bowie mufffed some words) and a high-volume version of the title track.

"I suppose it all begins and ends with this one," Bowie said, before Slick hit some of the most memorable chords in the history of rock to start the tune. ++++

Following 1974's Rebel Rebel with a double from last year New Killer Star and Reality made that very clear. Fit, happy, jovial even, David Bowie has found a way to avoid the frozen-in-history trap that has caught many of his contemporaries. The solution is as simple as the stage set on this tour: new songs that are as capable of exciting us now as he did a generation ago.

Hey, we're not going to complain about getting his own version of All The Young Dudes or gems from the great but too-little-known albums such as Low. (Although some of us don't really need to hear China Girl again.)

And to finally, after 33 years, hear him sing The Man Who Sold the World could make the night worthwhile on its own.

But that a haunting new song like The Loneliest Guy or a jagged I'm Afraid of Americans still kick stones means no one need feel guilty about the nostalgia.  

Not that he will be feeling guilty. His voice is in great shape, he looks an act half his age and seems to be having one great time. And who wouldn't with this powerful band (bassist Gail Ann Dorsey and guitarist Earl Slick the standouts) behind him?

The old was revitalised and contextualised and the new was worthy of standing alongside. We got gags and energy. We got Life on Mars and Heroes.

Yeah, it's a return worth celebrating.

The renaissance man that is David Bowie is definitely a pivotal, re-energised touring force these days.

DARYL GOH was in Singapore last week to watch the swaggering music legend uproot the stage with glee.

QUITE literally, it's been something of a vintage few months for David Bowie. Against a music backdrop of cynicism, expectation and American Idol, the provocative Bowie seems the unlikeliest candidate to grab and hold everyone's attention ­ reasserting the faith in his long-time fans, attracting new blood and embracing life-affirming turns at every opportunity. But how we guessed wrong.

His stars look very different today. Ever since Bowie released his latest record Reality and hit the road late last year, his ratings have gone through the roof and, most impressively, he is in a lively, unstoppable mood these days. Sold-out shows galore and great excitement follows whenever a David Bowie concert date is announced (but sadly, in Kuala Lumpur, local promoters/sponsors had cold feet in securing Bowie for a concert here).

Inevitably, the concert trip to Singapore was the next available option and some fortunate Bowie fans in these parts duly obliged.

The 57-year-old Bowie, for the first time in his career, is clearing the decks and learning to enjoy and live with his legend. The guilt-free grins and optimistic tones in magazine spreads have indicated just as much. The sly Bowie is proving that he is finally at ease with the past and present while a bright tomorrow is also shaping up as he slows up a little and soaks the renewed enthusiasm and interest surrounding his myth and music.

Bowie, with his changeling reputation, avant garde edge and all, is reborn again. That was enough impetus to splash the cash for his concert across the causeway. Tellingly, Bowie has been enjoying some of the best concert reviews in years as his A Reality bandwagon goes from station to station. His 63rd tour stop in Singapore last Thursday was an absolute blinder ­ a two-hour gig, 24-song set that could not have better illustrated the art of having your cake and eating it ­ with taste and style to spare.

From the 50 tracks rehearsed for this world tour, there were ample old favourites, the obscure cuts and new material to reckon with ­ trust us, Bowie knew how to mix-up the set-list. Often with his music, Bowie might have created something bigger than himself ­ but between retro and current Bowie, there were now fresh opportunities to be seized. Rather than a half-hearted effort to cash in on his name, Bowie stayed true to his mission and brought something beyond nostalgia on the road, he brought a future.

Nearly 4,000 fans at the Singapore Indoor Stadium caught Bowie in his element. Over a year ago, The Rolling Stones tore into Singapore with a massive rock 'n' roll circus ­ complete with inflatable dolls, fireworks and giant screens. But for Bowie, no Ziggy-era theatrics were in sight. He was having none of those distractions ­ instead it was a spare stage, a scary monster of a band and memorable material from practically every era and alter ego of his career.

>From Ziggy Stardust to the Thin White Duke and beyond, the music held up. For Bowie fans, indeed, this was all you could wish for.

As soon as the lights at the Singapore Indoor Stadium went down at 9pm sharp, there was no letting up. It was a wonderful start as strobe lights illuminated the hall and those all-too-familiar glam guitar riffs resonated through the stadium ­ you guessed it, the man of the evening was on to a barnstorming start as Rebel Rebel regained its place at the front of the charge ­ 30 years on! With such an unmistakable stomp, it was hard to keep the stadium in their seats.

Heck, the Bowie buzz was uncontrollable and there was a good vibe going in the stands.

Middle age can be a blast and Bowie didn't waste any time getting the heads bobbing further ­ the same enthusiasm given for the flat out glam rock (from the Diamond Dog days) was afforded to the explosive Reality single New Killer Star while the celebrity invective from Fame gave the backing group something to feed off and press on with a killer set.

The crowd were clearly alive as Bowie had everyone on their feet and into the music. It was an incredible early burst of energy.

But for all the waving and crowd-pandering (hecklers shouting out for Laughing Gnome!), Bowie proved that he could still be a bit of an acquired taste for some as he jerked a little to the left with the romantic mutilation of Cactus (from The Pixies) ­ giving only the faintest of clues for those without a copy of Heathen ("this is a tune from a band that broke up but they're back together again.").

In any case, Bowie gambled and won. On stage was a persona that commanded full attention and challenged you to push him further. And beyond the rabid fan, Bowie was still intriguing and competent enough to entice the average concertgoer.

Even if Let's Dance was omitted from the evening; there was so much thrilling charisma in store to drive the show ahead. Any newcomer would have been converted after this show. It was one of those special nights.

Musically, it was a pleasure to be reminded just how good The Man Who Sold The World, Under Pressure, Quicksand, Ashes To Ashes and Life On Mars? sounded live and for the squealing fans, the endless hankering of having the old Bowie back was finally realised. Retrieving the deep currents of the past may sound like hard work, but thankfully; Bowie never sold his legacy short.

These are pivotal times for the singer who hardly has anything left to prove. But it's the music that draws him back. In Singapore, Bowie looked cool and sharp, his singing was par excellence and much credit must be given to the band for the electricity felt during the concert. The crowd interaction on stage also revealed a side of Bowie that wanted to reconnect with his fans ­ and charming ol' Dave he was!

If Wayne Coyne (of The Flaming Lips) chats too much on stage, then Bowie comes worryingly close. But the Singapore audience were too enraptured to give him a hard time for missing cues and going on a bit. At times, the band had to start a song without him.

Yet there seemed to be more than just aimless banter here. This was David Bowie ­ glad to be back on stage again and enjoying it. Throughout the evening Bowie continued to captivate the crowd, stopping for band introductions or to pull faces or make ironically humorous comments. The two-way traffic between artiste and audience felt slightly close to the Tom Jones tip.

"Is it too early for a singalong?" he wryly asked later. But the loud roars as the opening bars of All The Young Dudes rung across the hall overwhelmed the sardonic side attached here while the smirky singer did note that the stadium karaoke on China Girl was rather "tragic" ­ but it didn't sound as outdated as most would have expected of something from the Wham! era.

However, this was no nostalgia exercise. Bowie knew he could experiment at will, but he wasn't unreasonable to the point of frustration. When he strayed from the familiar into weirder territory, it was nice to find Bowie fans taking to the bold material. The drum 'n' bass barrage on Battle For Britain (The Letter), lifted from the underrated Earthling album, offered some contemporary edginess rarely heard from someone past 50. This was no ordinary feat!

Of course, Bowie made some tough calls in getting the accessible and the more challenging sides to click. But never underestimate the supportive following who were all ears. Bowie and company performed a number of recent songs from Heathen and Reality, including the moody mini-marathon of Sunday, Afraid and Heathen (The Rays) to the starkly beautiful The Loneliest Guy and wistful Days. Though virtually unrecognisable to the casual fan, these were good songs worthy of attention, and they fitted in well. Funnily enough, next month the New York-based Bowie will release a children's book (Musical Storyland), but he's hardly gone fluffy around the edges. He might be coming to terms with age, but the restlessness of yesteryear remains.

He could spark a riot if necessary. The Bowie of 2004 is a hungry model, out for a scrap and fired up ­ it was nearly shades of the Tin Machine years at times. Even if the concert was reaching its last corner, there was Bowie on stage ­ playing with gritted teeth and intent. Some of those snarly guitars on I'm Afraid of Americans were utterly brutal and the white heat ferocity intense but he assured the crowd that "there's always two sides to the story" as he launched into the emotive staple of every Bowie tour ­ the concert closer Heroes. That had the audience in total euphoria.

Further highlights? You betcha!

After almost 40 years in the business, Bowie can still show us the menace in the original "young dude" ­ kicking up a hell of a storm in Singapore. How can we ever take that for granted?

The encores were enough to leave any crowd breathless and spinning with delight as Bowie, with dignity and energy abounding, unleashed the early 1970s with no apologies. There were no firecrackers to round off the concert, but from the full-whack ending of Changes, Five Years, Suffragate City and Ziggy Stardust, you could literally smell the smoke in the air. This was no fleeting flashback of brilliance ­ this was imperious rock 'n' roll bound for Mars.

It would defy imagination for anyone -- even an artist as tapped into the cultural zeitgeist as David Bowie -- to stay relevant throughout a four-decade career. While the British pop star has had as many aesthetically dormant periods as era-defining ones, he's nothing if not a visionary stylist. Which means that Bowie remains perpetually vital, and last night's 2 1/4-hour dash through the 57-year-old musician's catalogue testified to Bowie's rare and influential feel for the fine art of invention.

Goodness knows the FleetCenter audience of just under 11,000 mirrored his enduring appeal. Bowie played to a multigenerational sea of original fans, members of the glam and goth nations, all-purpose art-school types, and tow-headed youngsters deep into their classic rock indoctrinations. Feathered and fringed, a flawless thatch of blonde hair on bronzed skin, backlit by a hundred beams of light and doing a deep caress on opening number "Rebel Rebel," Bowie seemed to belong to every demographic -- and none at all. More affecting than hearing any beloved old song was watching the former mod, hippie, glitter rocker, plastic soul man, avant popster, electronica pioneer, and dance-floor hitmaker play himself.

It's no coincidence that Bowie's new album, his 26th, is titled "Reality." And while that puts him, once again, smack in the middle of the pop culture's current prime-time programming obsession, it speaks more eloquently to Bowie's current absence of affiliation with either style or trend. "New Killer Star" and "The Loneliest Guy," both from the new disc, marked two of the night's most mesmerizing, deeply musical moments. That's no small feat in a set that included a fleshy, super-sized "Fame," a lighter-worthy read of "All the Young Dudes," "Suffragette City" -- no adjectives required -- and a show-stopping version of "Under Pressure" featuring bassist/singer Gail Ann Dorsey as Freddy Mercury's able stand-in.

Backed by a crack six-piece band, Bowie was loose, suave, a bit salty, and incredibly amiable. For all the high technology -- widescreen video wall, future-forest set of stark white tree boughs, and stony facades -- there was little artifice in his performance. Bowie reveled, gleefully uncool, in singalongs and communal hand-clapping. He sang the praises of a pair of Boston artists, putting his own debonair spin on the Pixies' "Cactus" and Jonathan Richman's "Pablo Picasso."

Unfortunately he also reveled in the earnest, anthemic sludge of "Fantastic Voyage," one of several lesser selections that paled in comparison to the night's frequent highs. But it was, after all, an apt reflection of Bowie's pocked, illustrious career.

"I stand in the wings and watch their set and I'm smiling!" Bowie said of his opening act, the Polyphonic Spree. Indeed, the miraculous fact that the 24 bright-eyed, white-robed members of this symphonic pop outfit transmitted their supernatural fervor to the cavernous reaches of the arena was enough to restore your faith in the power of a giant, shiny hook. A leaping tambourine player, head-bashing harpist, three-tiered riser crammed with wild-haired singing girls, and barefoot brass section were a few of the visual treats that complemented the Dallas group's brash, heavenly music.

Between the burnout in front of me chugging on a doobie, the jocular dancing chubby guys in front of him who won't sit down even during the slow bits and the geezer behind me yelling "Give us some hits, Davy," there's a lot for grownups to see at a Bowie concert these days.Judging by the crowd, Bowie's audience seems largely to have grown old with him, although unlike most of us, he has more than mastered the art of growing old gracefully. He can pose with his wife in glossy Tommy Hilfiger ads and not seem like a sellout; he can play in front of a big video wall and make it seem as if he was the first one to think of it; and not for him those execrable wireless mouthpieces -- Bowie's mike is even connected to a cable, God bless him.

Forget for a moment the inexplicable early-midlife crisis that was Tin Machine: Bowie has always been cool. He was already cool in his South London high-school photos. He was cool even when singing about gnomes or sporting dodgy leotards. He was painfully cool during his Berlin period. And I wager that he may well be the coolest 57-year-old man on the planet. Because of Bowie's capacity to change and adapt, he's earned a lot of respect, even from the generation born long after Ziggy played guitar. But what he doesn't get is a lot of sales, or radio play. And therein lies the creative tension that drives his current live show.

Concerts of veteran rock acts tend to be cut from the same clichéd cloth: They will do an obligatory detour through the back streets of their latest material before churning out the old hits their fans really came to hear. In Bowie's case, one senses an undertow that pulls him in the opposite direction. In recent album releases such as Heathen and his latest, Reality, there's the sound of an artist determined to stay contemporary -- in fact, in a retro-obsessed market that samples the past to death, he's almost too contemporary for his own good. His frustration was not hidden at the ACC; he openly admonished Clear Channel (the corporate behemoth that owns a huge slice of North American radio and is promoting the Bowie tour) for playing crappy music on its airwaves. (Needless to say, when you do hear a Bowie tune, it's going to be Let's Dance, not New Killer Star.) Thus it is that Bowie remains a huge live concert attraction largely on the nostalgia factor. And thus it was that he opened his set with a storming Rebel Rebel and kept it buzzing early on with an anthemic All the Young Dudes and a slightly anemic Fame.

He ditched a pair of dandyish outer jackets and, clad in a modest (presumably not modestly priced) black T-shirt, bantered with the crowd and seemed to be having a genuinely good time.  But this was not the greatest-hits show it was hyped up to be. And not for nothing. During every new song the audience patiently sat through while waiting for Major Tom to reorbit, it was clear Bowie was most in his element. His energy level seemed to surge in reverse relation to the crowd's familiarity with the songs. His band, too -- including Earl Slick, the guitarist who's almost as close to his retirement pension as Bowie but who should know better than to dress like Keith Richards -- were noticeably sharper on the new stuff.

I have to declare an old fart's bias and opine that Bowie has not written a classic since Heroes. But while his material of the past 10 years relies more on ambience and soundscaping than good old-fashioned penmanship, some of the new songs he performed, especially the springy Never Get Old and delicate Days, were hard-earned highlights. And that voice. It's always been a trademark, but never a source of critical acclaim. Heard live, especially on I'm Afraid of Americans, it was a reminder that Bowie's pipes are as good as anyone's. If Ryan Malcolm is truly an Idol, then it seems to me Generation Y is worshipping at the wrong altar.

Bowie's slight reluctance when it came to sating the collective thirst for oldies became apparent in those he did opt to play. There was no Space Oddity, Life on Mars orYoung Americans. Granted, there was an Under Pressure (not his finest moment), but the oldies that truly inspired were the ones that came out of left field, not least a blistering Hang on to Yourself (from Ziggy Stardust) and a moving Quicksand (Hunky Dory). In other words, purist oldies. The theme continued with The Man Who Sold the World and, as a perfect closer, the always-sublime Heroes. For his encore, Bowie kindly raided three more from the Ziggy Stardust pantry: Five Years, Suffragette City and the title track.

It's been 32 years since the young David posed wistfully under the gas lamp on that iconic album cover. Of the LP, Nancy Erlich wrote in The New York Times: "The day will come when David Bowie is a star and the crushed remains of his melodies are broadcast from Muzak boxes in every elevator and hotel lobby." On the first count, she was prophetic. On the second, she was mercifully way off target, and for that we can thank the man himself.

Critics sometimes write disparaging comments about performers, sometimes prompting fans to write in with the withering rejoinder, "You're just jealous."

This is, however, an especially lame argument. While it's certainly easy to wish we had the riches and popularity of a pop star, doesn't it make far more sense that we'd be jealous of those who have all that plus great talent to boot? Why bother being jealous of Nick Carter when you can be jealous of David Bowie?

For the 4,500 or so fans at the Rose Garden arena's Theater of the Clouds on Tuesday, jealousy could easily have mixed in with the affection, admiration and awe, as Bowie charmed and dazzled in his first Portland performance in nearly a decade.

Really now, is it fair that one man should have so much: an inexhaustible store of memorable, thrilling, often groundbreakingly creative songs; a voice that can be by turns fey, coy, seductive, snarling, urgent, cocky and grandiose; a charisma that made anything from dramatic poses to goofy offhanded banter seem like masterly showmanship; a rock star's ultra-trim physique and feral grace, still, at age 57?

Ah, but how could we begrudge someone who shares such gifts so well? After a rousing opening set by the Dallas pop orchestra the Polyphonic Spree (which you could've taken as comic or inspirational or both), Bowie played for well over two hours, mixing numerous hits from as far back as 1970's "The Man Who Sold the World" with lesser-known tunes old and new, plus a few standouts from last year's brilliant return-to-form, "Reality."

At Bowie's last show here, in 1995 when he and Nine Inch Nails co-headlined the Rose Garden's first concert, he was in an experimental phase, favoring a serrated industrial-rock attack and darkly apocalyptic themes. This time he was happy to recognize and oblige his fans' taste for the familiar, in its various guises. He gave them decadent glam-rock classics such as a show-opening "Rebel Rebel," the anthemic "All the Young Dudes" and the driving "Suffragette City." From his mainstream peak there was "China Girl," a guitar-heavy take on "Modern Love" and "Under Pressure," with bassist Gail Ann Dorsey taking over the vocal role of Bowie's original collaborator on that song, Freddie Mercury.

And he was refreshingly upfront about the minor contrivances of the show. At one point, after he'd indulged himself in the pounding alien alarm of "Hallo Spaceboy" and a pair of dreamlike songs from the 2002 album "Heathen," he asked the crowd, "OK, is it about time to play something you know?"

Another time, he started a bit of accommodating stage banter, only to stop himself and admit, "Oh, that was really disingenuous." In general, he seemed to be having a great time, confident in his powers as a performer, aware that he doesn't need to manipulate the crowd anymore and unafraid to acknowledge when he's doing it anyway.

Having such a great band no doubt helps. Two longtime, on-and-off Bowie band veterans especially stood out. Guitarist Earl Slick added thickly textured riffs and wails in "New Killer Star," surprisingly gutsy chording in "China Girl" and a rock 'n' roll gunslinger's attitude throughout. Keyboardist Mike Garson built a cathedral of haunting, jagged chords for "The Loneliest Guy" and flashed his distinctive solo style -- tumbling, spiky harmonies like barrelhouse Stravinsky -- on the eerie masterpiece "Ashes to Ashes."

If only the band had played a cover of "Jealous Guy."

Mike Brown isn't just a David Bowie fan. He was ready to paint his face so he could imitate his idol when he was in his prime as Ziggy Stardust. But he just couldn't find the talent or the face paint to make himself look like David Bowie."I don't have anyone to paint my face," said Mike, 18, who resorted to creating his own Bowie T-shirt at Kinkos. "I am obsessed. Bowie is my life."Before anyone else had come to the Budweiser Events Center on Sunday for the David Bowie concert, Mike and his sister, Carol, 14, were there, waiting to be the first inside the arena. Mike turned his sister onto Bowie by accident. "I swiped an album from his room because I didn't know who David Bowie was," Carol said. Now she's hooked on the eccentric personality who gained attention with "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars" and songs like "Under Pressure," "Let's Dance" and "Changes.""I think he is the best rock star in the world," Carol said. The nearly sold-out crowd of an estimated 5,000 turning the turnstiles for the Bowie concert was a mix of casual and hard-core fans from different generations. High school students came with their friends. Mothers and fathers came with their daughters. All of them were ready to rock. For the Browns, the chance to hear the rock legend who hasn't toured since 1995 was worth the 500-mile, five-hour trip from Ogden, Utah, to catch his "A Reality" tour stop in Loveland. They even brought their dad, who never knew about Bowie until Mike got hooked on him from a video game. "I was like, 'Dad, you had a chance to go all those Ziggy concerts, but you blew it,' " Mike said. For other young people, the lure of Bowie is not something they learned from their parents. "He's 56, he's touring the world, he is hot as hell, he is a legend, and the man can rock out," said Karie Simpson, 16, a high school student from Littleton, who came to the concert with her 22-year-old sister and three of their friends. She planned to sneak to the front row to catch a glimpse of her favorite rocker."We have to carry on the legacy," she said. "If all these kids grow up listening to Bowie, KISS and Aerosmith, and in turn raised their kids to appreciate the same legends, what a world it would be." After opening act Polyphonic Spree ended its set, the audience went into a lull until Bowie emerged from the black stage, a silhouette of stream and white light behind him, as he blasted into "Rebel, Rebel." The audience roared its approval. As the band finished playing and the applause simmered down, Bowie spoke to the crowd. "You rascals," Bowie said. "Where are we? There is a just a big field out there. I just got lost." He quickly finished and turned to his band. "Let's just play music," he said, launching into a series of songs from his new album, "Reality," as red, white and orange lights from the rigging of the stage blinded the audience. He interspersed new songs with old standards such as "Fashion" and "All the Young Dudes." The standing fans threw their arms left and right, following the music. But as the night slowed and the audience left the arena, and Bowie got into his bus for his next show in Austin, Texas, Mike is counting the days to Bowie's return."I won't miss another concert if he comes within 500 miles," he said. "I hope he does this until he is 80 or 90. I will listen to him forever."

By the Numbers: Browns affection for David Bowie; 25 - albums by David Bowie he owns; 13th - The row his tickets were in; $77 -The money he paid for the tickets, plus charges; $300- His expected expenses for the trip, including posters and T-shirts.