Cher unfurls fine voice

Cher was in fine voice for the Auckland leg of one of the music world's longest goodbyes. Picture / Dean Purcell

*Who: Cher
*Where: North Harbour Stadium

It was an anthemic rendition of U2's I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For that the artist known as Cher opened with last night.

Pausing to say hello, she told us her first NZ show was a farewell because "all these young girls are coming up now".

Names were mentioned - Britney Spears and JLo. We took the point, if we hadn't already. This is a woman in a different league, who has had hits in every decade since the 60s. We didn't need to waste time wondering whether Spears will be packing stadiums in the 2040s.

Ushering in what she called "the Cherest show on Earth", Cher vanished for the first of at least eight complete costume changes which would underline the fact that this grandmother - she'll be 59 in May - has always been remarkable less for what she does than for how well she dresses up to do it.

In fact, anyone who was running a stopwatch over the show might find that the star was on stage for not much more than half of it. The bits in between, concocted mainly to allow time for the wardrobe team to do its work, were occupied by an endless and sometimes tedious library of video clips, some moderately talented dancers and a few Cirque du Soleil-style turns which were, to be frank, slightly tawdry.

Cher has always had the ability to hijack and reinvent kitsch in a way that infuses it with class: that's perhaps why she's so popular with the constituency of "flamboyant gentlemen" she specifically welcomed last night. For others on stage, it was not so effortless.

The same might be said of the seven-piece band, conscientious but scarcely inspired stadium rockers led by bombastic guitarist David Barry. But the woman herself was in fine voice, unfurling that ethereal contralto - equal parts endless longing and seductive promise - to great effect. More than a dozen songs covered all but the earliest part of the career while a dozen more - in a compendium approach doubtless designed to please everyone - did service for only a verse or two as part of medleys.

The carefully choreographed 100-minute show has apparently changed little over the almost 300 gigs in this longest of goodbyes. If it lacked even a trace of spontaneity or warmth, it certainly made for a night of spectacle which diverted the attention from what really are rather indifferent songs (would you stop to listen to Believe sung by someone else?). It was the night of the singer, not the song. We'll not see her like again.