The Stars Look Very Different Today
I’ve been trying to remember when I first became aware of David Bowie and what I realised is that I can’t recall a time when he wasn’t there. His first big hit “Space Oddity” was released in 1969 and I was born in 1970. It would have been difficult to get through the early seventies without seeing his most copied image, his face painted with a red lightning bolt, from the album cover of Aladdin Sane.
But my first verifiable memory can be pinpointed to 1978 because it was in the lounge room of the house my family was renting when we first moved to Brisbane. Sometimes, usually following the midday movie, a video clip would be played to plug a gap in scheduling and this one afternoon it was “Heroes” filling in the time. I remember being fascinated by the back light. My mum was not impressed with him, implying that the song and the way he was singing it was a dirge. I think some instinct in my eight year old mind recognised that it was really quite good.
But I didn’t really get into music until the early 80s, and while it is accepted that the 80s wasn’t his most spectacular period, it says something about his talent that even when he was not at his best, he still produced the “Let’s Dance” album, plus “Absolute Beginners” for the film of the same name and the underrated “This is Not America” with the Pat Methany Band, from the film “The Falcon and the Snowman”.
While he is being eulogised now as an innovator and artist, to be honest, back then he was seen mainly as a rock singer (albeit a very well-respected one). I don’t want to get into a nostalgia rip and say that music was better in my day but I will say, in retrospect, that someone like Bowie being readily played on commercial radio would be an anomaly now but it was par for the course for about a generation after the Beatles*. And while much is being made of his ever-changing guises, what seems to be taken for granted is his musical talent. His song writing chops were right up there with the best of them - memorable tunes, evocative lyrics, his singing voice (when his penultimate album, The Next Day, was released, Tony Visconti noted his voice was still as strong as it ever was – in hindsight a hint about Bowie’s frail health) and his musicianship. When I bought Changes/Bowie and read the liner notes, I was genuinely surprised that “Young Americans” was written in 1974. It sounded like nothing else released at the time. And if it was released today, it would sit comfortably next to something like “Uptown Funk“ by Mark Ronson.
Whatever way you found him, whether it was near the beginning with Space Oddity, or Ziggy Stardust, the Thin White Duke, the Goblin King in Labyrinth (as most people born in the 80s first encountered him), or as the coolest guy in the world (he turned down a knighthood and a CBE because he said it wasn’t about what he had been doing all these years – that’s cool) or elder statesman, there was one persona that endured, I’m not sure whether by accident or design: the image of someone who didn’t seem to be quite of this world, the man who fell to earth or Starman, waiting in the sky who really wants to meet us but he thinks he’d blow our minds. Okay, maybe that thread wasn’t an accident.
I saw him live in 2004 and I’m glad I did because it turned out to be his last tour. It was a brilliant concert, a greatest hits song list. My memories of that night are that I was genuinely star struck that I was in the same space as David Bowie; the version of “Heroes” which built up to the point that I felt it might lift the roof from the Boondall Entertainment Centre; and that there was a woman sitting next to me, on her own because she had been given the ticket by friends who knew she loved Bowie but didn’t like him themselves (which is a clear sign you need new friends). Towards the end he played “Be My Wife” and she left after that because that was what she had come to see and she was happy.
He had a heart attack towards the end of that tour, and perhaps because of this reminder that he was mortal afterall, people started re-appraising his contribution. It should be remembered that he wasn’t the only one dressing up in the 70’s but he was the one who made it make sense (there is still no answer as to why Peter Gabriel dressed as a chrysanthemum). While most bands and singers just got out on stage and played/sang their songs, David Bowie decided to make it theatre. And if you are wondering about his influence, consider this: when he presented those androgynous characters, he (probably inadvertently) gave women a way into the, until then, very macho world of rock. So without him, there would be no Kate Bush, no Annie Lennox and no Madonna. Then consider how influential those three women have been on other female artists. Thanks David.
When the TV show Ashes to Ashes was on, my mum referred to the “Pierrot Clown” that haunted the main character and I explained to her it wasn’t a Pierrot Clown but the costume worn by David Bowie in his video clip for “Ashes to Ashes”. Around the same time there was a Dr Who episode, set on a moon base station which was called the “Bowie station”. So I advised her it would be helpful to have a passing knowledge of David Bowie’s career because it was starting to be referenced everywhere.
When he released “The Next Day” without fanfare or publicity, I thought it was Bowie being ahead of the curve, being enigmatic in response to an era when other public figures have never been so accessible.
Last November I went to Melbourne to see the “David Bowie is…” exhibition (curated by the V&A Museum in London). Near the start of the exhibition, there was this photo of Bowie, with his saxophone, prior to him changing his name from Jones. I stared at the photo for some time, wondering if he knew what he was going to do, and if so, how he knew how to do it. The answer of course is that he was talented. He looks more sophisticated and chic than any other 17 year old. And he didn’t look like anyone else, even then. As I made my way through the exhibition, I thought it was interesting, very detailed and it did have a feel of defining his legacy. But I wondered why now? And on Monday the sad news came through.
So the stars look very different today, now that he is not here anymore but they are also very different today because he was determined to make art for all of us. That someone as unusual as David Bowie appealed to so many is a mark of his genius (and I don‘t use that word often). Thankfully we realised that before he left us.
* I say this because the Beatles were so popular that mainstream radio had to play them, even once they started moving away from the traditional two minute guitar-based pop songs. No matter how experimental or arty they got, the public still wanted to hear them. In turn this kind of lifted the bar of public taste and allowed a certain amount of creative freedom for artists who followed. This seemed to last for a generation with the last hurrah being the trend towards alternative artists which followed the release of Nirvana’s Nevermind in 1991. But that’s another post.
But my first verifiable memory can be pinpointed to 1978 because it was in the lounge room of the house my family was renting when we first moved to Brisbane. Sometimes, usually following the midday movie, a video clip would be played to plug a gap in scheduling and this one afternoon it was “Heroes” filling in the time. I remember being fascinated by the back light. My mum was not impressed with him, implying that the song and the way he was singing it was a dirge. I think some instinct in my eight year old mind recognised that it was really quite good.
But I didn’t really get into music until the early 80s, and while it is accepted that the 80s wasn’t his most spectacular period, it says something about his talent that even when he was not at his best, he still produced the “Let’s Dance” album, plus “Absolute Beginners” for the film of the same name and the underrated “This is Not America” with the Pat Methany Band, from the film “The Falcon and the Snowman”.
While he is being eulogised now as an innovator and artist, to be honest, back then he was seen mainly as a rock singer (albeit a very well-respected one). I don’t want to get into a nostalgia rip and say that music was better in my day but I will say, in retrospect, that someone like Bowie being readily played on commercial radio would be an anomaly now but it was par for the course for about a generation after the Beatles*. And while much is being made of his ever-changing guises, what seems to be taken for granted is his musical talent. His song writing chops were right up there with the best of them - memorable tunes, evocative lyrics, his singing voice (when his penultimate album, The Next Day, was released, Tony Visconti noted his voice was still as strong as it ever was – in hindsight a hint about Bowie’s frail health) and his musicianship. When I bought Changes/Bowie and read the liner notes, I was genuinely surprised that “Young Americans” was written in 1974. It sounded like nothing else released at the time. And if it was released today, it would sit comfortably next to something like “Uptown Funk“ by Mark Ronson.
Whatever way you found him, whether it was near the beginning with Space Oddity, or Ziggy Stardust, the Thin White Duke, the Goblin King in Labyrinth (as most people born in the 80s first encountered him), or as the coolest guy in the world (he turned down a knighthood and a CBE because he said it wasn’t about what he had been doing all these years – that’s cool) or elder statesman, there was one persona that endured, I’m not sure whether by accident or design: the image of someone who didn’t seem to be quite of this world, the man who fell to earth or Starman, waiting in the sky who really wants to meet us but he thinks he’d blow our minds. Okay, maybe that thread wasn’t an accident.
 |
| Cool, even playing banjo |
I saw him live in 2004 and I’m glad I did because it turned out to be his last tour. It was a brilliant concert, a greatest hits song list. My memories of that night are that I was genuinely star struck that I was in the same space as David Bowie; the version of “Heroes” which built up to the point that I felt it might lift the roof from the Boondall Entertainment Centre; and that there was a woman sitting next to me, on her own because she had been given the ticket by friends who knew she loved Bowie but didn’t like him themselves (which is a clear sign you need new friends). Towards the end he played “Be My Wife” and she left after that because that was what she had come to see and she was happy.
He had a heart attack towards the end of that tour, and perhaps because of this reminder that he was mortal afterall, people started re-appraising his contribution. It should be remembered that he wasn’t the only one dressing up in the 70’s but he was the one who made it make sense (there is still no answer as to why Peter Gabriel dressed as a chrysanthemum). While most bands and singers just got out on stage and played/sang their songs, David Bowie decided to make it theatre. And if you are wondering about his influence, consider this: when he presented those androgynous characters, he (probably inadvertently) gave women a way into the, until then, very macho world of rock. So without him, there would be no Kate Bush, no Annie Lennox and no Madonna. Then consider how influential those three women have been on other female artists. Thanks David.
When the TV show Ashes to Ashes was on, my mum referred to the “Pierrot Clown” that haunted the main character and I explained to her it wasn’t a Pierrot Clown but the costume worn by David Bowie in his video clip for “Ashes to Ashes”. Around the same time there was a Dr Who episode, set on a moon base station which was called the “Bowie station”. So I advised her it would be helpful to have a passing knowledge of David Bowie’s career because it was starting to be referenced everywhere.
When he released “The Next Day” without fanfare or publicity, I thought it was Bowie being ahead of the curve, being enigmatic in response to an era when other public figures have never been so accessible.
Last November I went to Melbourne to see the “David Bowie is…” exhibition (curated by the V&A Museum in London). Near the start of the exhibition, there was this photo of Bowie, with his saxophone, prior to him changing his name from Jones. I stared at the photo for some time, wondering if he knew what he was going to do, and if so, how he knew how to do it. The answer of course is that he was talented. He looks more sophisticated and chic than any other 17 year old. And he didn’t look like anyone else, even then. As I made my way through the exhibition, I thought it was interesting, very detailed and it did have a feel of defining his legacy. But I wondered why now? And on Monday the sad news came through.
 |
| 1963 |
So the stars look very different today, now that he is not here anymore but they are also very different today because he was determined to make art for all of us. That someone as unusual as David Bowie appealed to so many is a mark of his genius (and I don‘t use that word often). Thankfully we realised that before he left us.
* I say this because the Beatles were so popular that mainstream radio had to play them, even once they started moving away from the traditional two minute guitar-based pop songs. No matter how experimental or arty they got, the public still wanted to hear them. In turn this kind of lifted the bar of public taste and allowed a certain amount of creative freedom for artists who followed. This seemed to last for a generation with the last hurrah being the trend towards alternative artists which followed the release of Nirvana’s Nevermind in 1991. But that’s another post.
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