Most artists begin an arena show with a bang: emerging from the floor, the gods, on a hoist, everything short of being sprung headfirst from a cannon. Touring for the first time in seven years, Peter Gabriel shrugged off such rote conventions. At 8 p.m. on the dot, he shuffled on alone in a flat cap, for all the world a man with nothing more on his mind than inspecting his spuds down at the allotment. He offered a few words, some avuncular jokes, a self-deprecating jibe at his appearance. I found myself bracing for a PowerPoint presentation, but the message was simple enough not to need one: there are no stars here.
The low-watt mood continued into the concert proper, which started almost without us noticing. Gabriel and bassist Tony Levin performed seated as a duo on ‘Washing of the Water’; beautiful, sad and gospel-tinged, as so many of Gabriel’s songs are.
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