PICTURE COURTESY Thetimesreviews
CAP COURTESY maiaj
REMAINDER OF ARTICLE COURTESY maiaj
Everywhere but Britain loves Adam Lambert. The runner-up on last year’s American Idol has seen platinum sales of his debut album, For Your Entertainment, everywhere from Finland to New Zealand, while in America, his Glam Nation tour has been hailed one of 2010’s live highlights.
Here, the 28-year-old Californian has yet to score a significant hit. A year after its release, For Your Entertainment has struggled to go gold because radio stations refuse to play his singles. Yet Lambert should be ideal for British audiences. Theatrical, controversial, good-looking and openly gay, with an armoury of smart, punchy songs penned for him by the likes of Pink and Lady Gaga, he is the natural successor to Robbie Williams and, judging by his breathtaking show at Shepherds Bush Empire, as flamboyantly fabulous a performer as Freddie Mercury. From the moment that Lambert strode down a set of four steps in an outfit that Tim Burton might have dreamt up for Johnny Depp — from his sparkly top hat poked a red feather, his shredded, claret-coloured jacket had furry epaulettes and his flares hid his feet — it was impossible to tear your eyes off him. Not even the scantily-clad quartet of male and female dancers writhing on the floor, the multicoloured lasers criss-crossing the room or the Nick Rhodes lookalike bassist he snogged several times were as distracting as Lambert’s sexily swaying hips or kohl-rimmed panda eyes.
Two minutes in, the jacket was off and Lambert was baring his chest in a low-necked top while turning his album’s title track into what sounded like a synth-pop update of Depeche Mode’s Personal Jesus. He was on his knees for a truncated cover of Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire and rubbed himself against two black-leather-clad male dancers for Fever, a high-energy, Europop stomper that might have been a blend of the Pretenders Brass in Pocket and Mika’s Grace Kelly.
Lambert even pulled off a spell on a stool, spouting nonsense about learning to love yourself before loving others, while obviously eyeing up his cute bassist. On Whataya Want from Me, accompanied only by piano, he sang as if he was starring in an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, before slipping into a glitter-patterned coat and channelling Mercury again for a storming Strut and an encore of T. Rex’s 20th Century Boy that was almost drowned out by the screams from the crowd.
Here, the 28-year-old Californian has yet to score a significant hit. A year after its release, For Your Entertainment has struggled to go gold because radio stations refuse to play his singles. Yet Lambert should be ideal for British audiences. Theatrical, controversial, good-looking and openly gay, with an armoury of smart, punchy songs penned for him by the likes of Pink and Lady Gaga, he is the natural successor to Robbie Williams and, judging by his breathtaking show at Shepherds Bush Empire, as flamboyantly fabulous a performer as Freddie Mercury. From the moment that Lambert strode down a set of four steps in an outfit that Tim Burton might have dreamt up for Johnny Depp — from his sparkly top hat poked a red feather, his shredded, claret-coloured jacket had furry epaulettes and his flares hid his feet — it was impossible to tear your eyes off him. Not even the scantily-clad quartet of male and female dancers writhing on the floor, the multicoloured lasers criss-crossing the room or the Nick Rhodes lookalike bassist he snogged several times were as distracting as Lambert’s sexily swaying hips or kohl-rimmed panda eyes.
Two minutes in, the jacket was off and Lambert was baring his chest in a low-necked top while turning his album’s title track into what sounded like a synth-pop update of Depeche Mode’s Personal Jesus. He was on his knees for a truncated cover of Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire and rubbed himself against two black-leather-clad male dancers for Fever, a high-energy, Europop stomper that might have been a blend of the Pretenders Brass in Pocket and Mika’s Grace Kelly.
Lambert even pulled off a spell on a stool, spouting nonsense about learning to love yourself before loving others, while obviously eyeing up his cute bassist. On Whataya Want from Me, accompanied only by piano, he sang as if he was starring in an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, before slipping into a glitter-patterned coat and channelling Mercury again for a storming Strut and an encore of T. Rex’s 20th Century Boy that was almost drowned out by the screams from the crowd.
0 comments:
Post a Comment