HE MIGHT be a ripped 1980s icon and conqueror of some of the world's most glamorous women – Desperate Housewives' Nicollette Sheridan being his latest squeeze – but even Michael Bolton will have to pay his gas and leccy bills this winter. And that
means touring, largely for the pleasure of real housewives.
The star of the man that launched a thousand power-mullets has faded somewhat of late – he hasn't had a US chart hit since 1997, and recently reached for that old career defibrillator: releasing a swing album, Bolton Swings Sinatra. But he can still pull a hefty crowd, albeit one that, in this case, largely resembled a giant hen night. The mainly female audience showed polite respect for his cheesy and rather dull manhandling of Ol' Blue Eyes classics. Bolton returned their deference by not scarpering for the hills come the various lusty Glaswegian catcalls – "we luv ye Michael"; "git yer shirt aff!" etc – which turned the air blue between songs.
Come the point when Bolton pulled that old chestnut of spontaneously appearing in the middle of the auditorium, to croon When A Man Loves A Woman up close and personal, he sparked a full-on rammie, as the crowd surged towards him for a photo and – in the case of the lucky ones – a feel, before they flocked forwards for a boogie in the front row to his schmaltzy soft-rock hits.
Bolton kept his shirt on, but you have to tip your hat to a singer who otherwise gave his audience what they paid for.
The full article contains 265 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
