Peter Gabriel, rock star at age thirty-six, budding sex symbol by virtue of his close-cut dark hair, vivid but melancholy blue eyes and sly but cherubic grin, allows himself a quiet chuckle. “I think,” he says slowly, “that as I enter my midlife crisis, it’s exactly what I need.”
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On past tours, Gabriel filled medium-sized halls with hard-core Anglophiles, techno-freaks and fans of artsy innovation, plus the odd mainstreamer attracted to “Shock the Monkey” or “Games Without Frontiers.” That audience, says Gabriel’s guitarist, David Rhodes, used to consist of “denim guys and intellectuals.” Now the crowds are larger and younger, and they include lots more women – some of whom even scream at Gabriel’s clunky but dramatic moves, aptly described by his keyboardist, David Sancious, as “dancing by intuition.”įrom his favorite airplane seat – nonsmoking, on the aisle, near the front of the cabin – Gabriel considers his new audience during a characteristically long pause.
So as he wraps up a three-day ski vacation in Utah and heads to California for the last four shows of his American tour, it’s fitting that Peter Gabriel has just released the deliberately cartoonish, outlandishly boastful “Big Time” as a single. Last year was the year cult stardom suddenly turned into something bigger, wilder and more profitable, the year everything worked: he had a Number One hit with the chugging rhythms and florid sexual metaphors of “Sledgehammer” he turned heads and altered his once cold, artsy image with the cockeyed exuberance of the accompanying video his sets were a highlight of Amnesty International’s Conspiracy of Hope Tour and he had a best seller in his album So, a joyful, moving and unexpectedly personal response to his public concern for social ills and his private despair over marital problems. Peter Gabriel may run across fewer head-over-heels fanatics nowadays, but he’s also recognized on airplanes, in hotel lobbies and elsewhere far more often than ever before. “I still find that cute,” he says.ĥ00 Greatest Albums of All Time: Peter Gabriel’s So He shrugs and fiddles with the torn bag of nuts. “I used to get quite a few letters from people I visited with my psychic body or told to do all sorts of things with a song.” “I get a lot less of this these days,” says the singer, songwriter and technological wizard, who has long been the idol of a sizable and devoted cult. As Gabriel reads the impassioned, page-long poem from an anonymous passenger, his face is expressionless when he finishes, he cracks a slight smile. ‘What’s a god like you doing in a place like this?” That’s the title on the note a flight attendant delivers to Peter Gabriel, who’s just about to tear into his second bag of smoked almonds as he flies from Salt Lake City to San Francisco.
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