The Province "Take a break" Sunday, August 15 1999

Gypsies, tramps and sleeves...

By Tom Harrison, music critic

Dear Diary:

I've just returned from the Cher concert at GM Place and I am awed.

I knew it was going to be fabulous because she is so fabulous and, as you know, Mme. Diary, I never use the word fabulous - well, almost never.

What makes Cher so fabulous? I don't know; she just is. For many of the 15,000 in the audience Friday, there has never been a time in their life without Cher. Cher has been a cultural signpost simply forever. I can't think of any woman who has had a major hit record in each decade since 1965, who has had a career in TV, won an Oscar and redefined the meaning of Silicon Valley. Can you?

Mostly, I think Cher is fabulous because she dares to be Cher. It is not a role for the faint of heart; I would fibrillate into a mush of tiramisu if faced with the prospect of doing what Cher does so boldly.

She is an inspiration, which is why I was so thrilled when Cyndi Lauper finished her set and I knew Cher was only minutes away. I must say that Cher couldn't have asked for a better opening act. My, how that woman worked! She sang, she danced, she moved among the crowd, she played a dulcimer, she overcame bad sound, she threw in the Trammps' "Disco Inferno". She was so genuine and so fabulous I worried she might upstage Cher.

Well, stop my credit. As soon as Cher made her entrance singing "I Still Haven't Found The Wig I'm Looking For" (or whatever that U2 song is called - all I know about U2 and Cher is that there is a Bono connection there somewhere), all eyes were on her.

"What's she wearing?" my partner, Tom, asked me. Underneath this orange, curly tumble of hair was this outfit we could only guess was either Cossack Chic or a salute to Nunavut. Fortunately, Cher explained all: "Braveheart meets Bozo the Clown. As you can see, I'm dressing my age."

We laughed and the show went on with one puzzling musical tableau after another - like the one that had all these dancers dressed as monks wheeling huge lanterns around. Tom and I decided this might be part of a profound concept, like, Cher: The Plague Years.

There were lots of costume changes and wigs, too, and every one was fabulous - though even I had to admit some of them were bizarre and a little confusing, though I've never in my life asked Cher to make sense.

"Not all the cheese at GM Place is on the nachos," Tom harrumphed during a medley of "Half Breed", "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves", and "Dark Lady". I told him to stop being a music critic and start enjoying himself. He said he was enjoying himself because this concert had nothing to do with music.

It had everything to do with Cher. It was Cher's offering her history in the form of video clips and film excerpts that flashed like a time capsule on the screens above. It was Cher opening up her wardrobe. It was Cher sharing everything about her Cherness except, maybe, herself.

At each point, when after triumphantly singing another of her hits, she could have been more than an amused travel guide through her own mythology. And she would always disappear for another costume change.

Even if Tom is right, I don't mind. They were fabulous costumes. All I know, Mme. Diary, is that she exhausted me. I've had my Cher.