Gone are the melodramatic posturings, the over-the-top inflections, the overdone stage settings. Bowie is being David, rather than some fantasy construct.
The sweat glistened off Otis’ tattoos, sprayed from their close-cropped hair, and smoke poured from either the stage or the first rows of the packed audience.
You’d barely know the band members hate each other as they whipped the crowd into a frenzy. Some folks openly enjoying the show, quite a rarity ’round here.
Gwar continued killing things and spraying blood everywhere, singing of destruction, rape, pillage, plunder, and the huge comet coming to destroy Earth.