POP/ROCK: Chris Roper
TINA TURNER presents an energetic and polished
show, and, observing the enthusiastic and
adulatory response of the audience, you can
come to only one conclusion: if Nelson Mandela
was a woman, he’d be Tina Turner.
There is just no way to engage objectively
with the music and performance of the supreme
Granmeister of Rock. The tribulations of the
Turner life are well documented, and it would
seem uncouth to reward the strength and soul
she has so amply displayed with a lukewarm
review of her live performance, especially
when that performance so obviously revolves
around her status as a survivor and a lover.
Luckily, her show in Cape Town last weekend
was of such power and quality that no extreme
criticisms are called for. A selection of new
songs from her latest album was greeted with
bemused respect by the huge crowd, but the
more familiar hits, such as Private Dancer,
Simply the Best and the hoary Nutbush City
Limits, were welcomed with roars of delight
and enthusiastic, albeit tuneless, sing-a-
longs. Tina was even paid the ultimate
compliment by being treated to a bout of what
Capetonians loosely term dancing. Rainbow
Nation perhaps, but Rhythm Nation never.
The set was stupendous, featuring a vast array
of lights and a huge steel circle that opened
and closed to reveal the video of the
performance. It looked like a combination of a
James Bond gun barrel and some sort of
twitching womb, but was certainly impressive.
Tina’s three dancers, Cynthia, Sharon and
Karen — unlike the boys in the band, they
don’t seem to have surnames — were
excitingly sexy, athletic, and a little
pointless. After all, most of the audience
clearly seemed to go for older women, and Tina
is perfectly capable of entrancing an entire
stadium on her own. She proved this by playing
a seated set, which you could term “unplugged”
if you were willing to risk nasty jokes about
life-support systems. This received rapturous
applause, and she wasn’t begrudged the break,
especially since the set included a
shatteringly bluesy rendition of Steamy
Windows.
The quality of the show is owing in no small
measure to the skill of the backing band, but
it is unquestionably the star quality of Tina
that infuses the music with its sexiness and
passion. To complement Tina’s erotic appeal,
and also to heal some of the psychological
confusion that many of the screaming
adolescents in the front row must have been
experiencing at feeling lust for someone older
than their mother, there’s also some beefcake
for the girls. This takes the form — and
what a form it is — of the saxophonist, a
pony-tailed, muscular exhibitionist wearing a
skintight white vest and silvery trousers. He
has a very large sax indeed, and he received
10 times more applause than the rest of the
band.
One of the funnier notes of the evening was
struck when those who paid R350 for the
privilege of sitting in the exclusive “Golden
Circle”, supposedly above the commoners and
with a close-up view of the stage, realised
where their seats actually were. To give you
an idea, at the preview concert two weeks ago,
I was in Row C and could practically reach out
and fondle the bits on Tina’s legs where the
varicose veins are supposed to go. At the
Newlands concert I was in Row A, and could
barely make out the huge video screens.
Another odd moment was when Tina, obviously
confused by all the rotting oak trees around
Newlands, announced the show as the first of
her European tour. But misgivings about senile
dementia were forgotten in a night of superb
quality rock ‘n’ roll which could have left
few in the ecstatic crowd disappointed.
Tina Turner performs at the Johannesburg
Stadium on Friday and Saturday