David Cassidy on the Web
David Cassidy
November 17, 2008
By Shaun Curran
SO, for one last time (well, maybe, he's not quite decided yet), David Cassidy, former Partridge Family member and bona-fide 70's teen idol, takes to the stage in Manchester.
Only a cynic would say he's suggested this mini-UK tour will be his last to fill the number of empty seats, but, singing all his hits for the first time in years, Cassidy is obviously keen to out in style.
At 58, he still looks fantastically well, playing the part of heart throb like a pro.
Self-referential
With perma-tan and constant grin, to say he is a hit with the women in the audience is an understatement; his ability to stir up female excitement undiminished, he spends the majority of the show shaking hands with the hordes at the front, fending off the wolf whistles and the memorabilia thrown onstage, milking the adoration for all its worth.
The trouble, to put it bluntly, is Cassidy's colossus ego. It is one thing talking to your audience, it is another thing entirely to have your largely inane and constantly self-referential musings engulf the show to the detriment of the songs.
Seldom can a performer have spoken so much yet said so little of interest. Bar a story about his first gig in Manchester, Cassidy's banter is smug, banal and so self-absorbed it is untrue. That he talks as much as he sings, even, fatally, during the songs themselves, makes the evening a difficult one to endure.
Disregard
Daydreamer, which should be an open goal in the circumstances, is the most notable victim. With the Apollo singing and swaying in unison, Cassidy stops the song no less than three times to ramble on, displaying surprising disregard for his audience.
Exasperating, as when he gives the crowd what they want, Cassidy proves he is still a performer of worth.
Voice still intact, 70s mega-hits Could it be Forever and How Can I be Sure, sang untainted, show what he's all about. He just can't help himself, though; he takes great glee in telling us, mid-song, closer I Think I Love You went to number one in 48 countries.
After two hours that border on the masochistic, he strides off triumphantly, no doubt on a crest of his own self-satisfaction.
