A reviewer in Columbus did not like Ross' show and especially her adoring fans:
www.theotherpaper.com/enterta...cc4c002e0.htmlPosted: Thursday, September 29, 2011 11:01 am | Updated: 11:07 am, Thu Sep 29, 2011.
Ross show: more ego than soul 3 comments
Posted on September 29, 2011
·
by John Petric
Fresh as formaldehyde, Diana Ross came to town Tuesday for a theater-of-the-grotesque show of nonstop oldies and non-start personality. It was as bizarre and empty as the Overlook Hotel in Stanley Kubrick's The Shining.
Ross is old now, having clawed her way to one of the most successful careers in pop history, thanks to her megalomania and Motown's prodigious songwriting factory. Once stunningly charismatic, she now wears a diva mask with toothsome wattage and her trademark arcing eyebrows.
The mask never changes expression. Like a neon sign, it says forcefully: I am the star; you are not.
But that doesn't mean she can perform. Her 90-minute show was like the blaring tape loops you hear traveling carnivals use to add festivity to the dull grind of the rides. One after another, the hits poured out from the Ohio Theater's stage: "Baby Love," "Stop! In the Name of Love," "My World Is Empty Without You," etc., etc.
She stood there, dressed in a series of gaudy, shiny gowns and moving little, her huge Afro bouncing more than her booty. And the crowd of adoring goldfish didn't just nibble at her feet-they ate themselves to death on her presence.
I was grossed out and fascinated at the same time. In a show where the songs are the real stars, watching what may indeed be the most gargantuan ego in the history of pop effortlessly absorb her fans' enormous slavishness, one wondered: Who was eating whom?
Ross's voice seems to be in fine shape. But while I don't think she lip-synced, I do believe she soul-synced, as the whole performance was mechanical.
The one exception was the slow song from her Billie Holiday movie, Lady Sings the Blues, which had Ross peeling her own soul off one layer at a time. It was outstanding, proving she can really emote, like an artist with much to share and reveal. It was something else.
But then again, Sammy Davis Jr. (who never reminded me of Axl Rose, another ego-maniac, as Ross does) would peel off his soul for an entire hour, not just one song. Miss you, Mr. Bojangles.
Then it was back to the hit parade, and I found myself wishing she was Billy Joel or, hell, even Phil Collins. Ross's kabuki-like diva mask once again maintained the same expression no matter what the song: "You Can't Hurry Love," "Love Child," "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," even "Touch Me in the Morning."
Ego. Ego shining like a giant super nova in a galaxy all her own, but with the properties of an enormous black hole, sucking every bit of energy and particle matter into her core. Two questions popped up in my mind mid-show: Did Kennedy bang her, and what do a pair of her panties go for on eBay?
Her frequent costume changes thrilled the crowd, especially toward the end, when she came out in a layered, blimp-like chiffon number that made her look like a little girl, à la Shirley Temple. Why do women and gay men thrill to such silliness?
OK, so she's pop personified. I get it. But as she sprinkled her Diana dust on fans dancing and worshipping their one-dimensional star, the guilty-pleasure defense just didn't work for me.
I don't like hospitals and I don't like mausoleums, and her show Tuesday night was definitely of the latter persuasion.