Barry White: Greater lurrve hath no man

AN IMPORTANT part of Barry White's stage set owes nothing to laser lights or hydraulic cherry pickers, in fact it has no moving parts whatsoever. It's a table, about the size of those found under the telephone in suburban halls, draped in a crisp white material and, at the start of the show, devoid of anything else. Then it starts to disappear. Not as a result of any technically-generated illusion, but under an increasing pile of long-stemmed red roses — you know, the type hawked in upmarket pubs on a Friday night. The flowers are passed to the singer by a stream of emotionally-charged women who look both old enough and sensible enough to know better.