Something odd is going on with Luis Miguel.
In the limelight since his teens as a pop singer, the Mexican heartthrob is a consummate showman. In his concerts–and in his career–very little is left to chance. But Tuesday, at a sparsely populated United Center, the usually aloof, even narcissistic Luis Miguel seemed more human than ever.
In recent years, you could figure out the tempo of his shows–ballad, pop medley, ballad, pop medley–with the understanding that the bubble-gummy stuff was necessary so as not to swoon. And the boleros–masterful remakes of classics from as far back as the 1920s to the ’80s–were both a bridge to a more mature audience and a serious claim to artistry.
It worked so well, Luis Miguel became one of the richest, most bankable stars in the world, never mind Latin America. So big, in fact, his not-a-lick-of-English albums routinely debuted in the Billboard Top 50–right there next to current girlfriend Mariah Carey. So big that he began his current tour with 21 straight sold-out nights in Mexico City.
Problem was, probably nobody was as seduced by his stardom as Luis Miguel himself. Possessed of a lush, powerful baritone and a terrific sense of drama, Luis Miguel used to spend most of his concerts fascinated with his reflection on the video screen, treating his backup band like stage props and barely acknowledging the audience.
But not Tuesday night. Though he began nearly an hour and a half behind schedule, and he seemed less than thrilled when he hit the stage, Luis Miguel warmed up in new and unusual ways. Backed by a 10-piece band and three backup singers whose sound was scattered all over the United Center’s cavernous confines, he seemed blissfully unaware of the problems, or was relaxed enough not to care. And though he was still too enthralled with the live video show on the huge screen behind him, he seemed at least as aware of the live flesh-and-blood figure in the spotlight.
Almost immediately, he was at the edge of stage, talking directly to the audience, making eye contact with the folks in the early seats, lingering with fans. And the most amazing thing was, he seemed to love every minute of it, happy to laugh it up, offering his toothy grin.
He’s not a natural at this people contact, though, and it showed: When he finally doffed his tie, he ruined the moment by buttoning his jacket.
And in the meantime, the strangest thing of all: Luis Miguel struggled with his voice. When he realized he couldn’t hit the high notes, he was smart enough to avoid them, but he couldn’t get around the cracks, the sudden scratches.
Yet by the time he’d got to his blistering version of “Besame Mucho,” a radical re- interpretation of an overdone classic few artists could pull off, Luis Miguel was bopping up and down, his hair mussed, sweat on his lip, inexplicably having what appeared to all the world like the time of his life.
