It is a fascinating fuck-up. There are some spots where it's really cool and interesting. I've always wondered what the world would be like if SRV and Bowie kept collaborating after Let's Dance. Would David have stayed straight Rock/Roll for a while, or at least the sort of pop that he had with Let's Dance?
Maybe no, it seems. This little version of LOM? is deese, but I like it better than some others for some retarded reasons:
Bowie forgets the lyrics. He dee dee dees it. I forget lyrics a lot. Points.
Then they disrupt the recording to "fix" it. No points.
SRV's guitar flourishes make the song rock a little hard, a little more Queen-y. Points.
But sometimes it's indulgent booshit. No points.
It's mostly just goofy and adorable. This is the equivalent of that time that David and I sang dental hygiene-related lyrics to Bang a Gong.
Steal the rest from the internet if you're that curious, but I'm not twisting your arm on this one.
Not as big an influence on me as I had previously thought he was, Marc Bolan still occupies a place in my mental pantheon that's not to be ignored. There's nothing in any of his songs I can really relate to, with the possible exception of 20th Century Boy. He knows how to put together words that don't make any fucking sense ("The President's weird- he's got a burgundy beard").But despite his shortcomings of being completely unable to write a bridge and adding so much echo it sounds like Batman was his producer, the music is so completely infectious that I am still taking antibiotics to stop it. He layers his fascinatingly inane rhymes and lyrics over a crunchy groove so tasty that the phrase "Mince pie dog-eye Eagle on the wind" seems profound. He's just this wild-haired elven god of dandyish pomp. I'm watching a video of him performing Get It On on VH1 classic right now and he makes me want to put on a satin tunic and frolic in the woods.
I learned about Marc Bolan in 10th grade while talking to my friend Dylan (A constant companion and wellspring of musical information due to the fact that his dad owns the largest independent record store on the east coast) about a new sensation I had just learned about from a girl that I was desperately trying to wife. The sensation was not Marc or his band T.Rex but was actually fiery androgyne David Bowie. Obviously I started talking about both the girl and David Bowie almost nonstop to Dylan. As usual, he knew more about music than me and as usual he gave me some other directions to branch out in. It was a momentous conversation that I still remember today, for a number of reasons. It went something like this:
"And she was like 'I'll put on a little space oddity.' and I pretended to know what she was talking about because she was really excited about it- and then the song started and it was SO COOL. So I said 'who is this' and she said 'HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW DAVID BOWIE?' (Extensive/boring recap of the rest of the quasi-date here, and then...) ...So anyway, it was real cool, I think I have to hang out with her again if only to listen to more Bowie."
"Yeah, Bowie's real good. But it was really T. Rex that started Glam Rock, they were the originals."
Key words have been emphasized, comic book style, to show you how momentous a conversation was. (If life were a comic book, this issue would be fetching high dollar amounts as the first appearance of several things that would become my trademark obsessions much later.) I sort of pushed T.Rex out of mind as I had no money and this was before I knew how to steal from the internet to get what I wanted- so purchasing music was not the most important thing on my shopping list (That spot continues to be occupied by "Ghostbusters Memoribilia").
Flash forward another year or so and I have been told by the cool people I know (At the time it is likely older women or the consistently hip/unhip fluxing Dylan Roth) that proper music listening is conducted using Vinyl Records- which my father has a proper stock of. So I head upstairs and sticking out of the record box like the sword in the stone (Or like the Lady of the Lake was holding it, if you prefer) is The Slider, T. Rex's second glam-era album and one of their top three, if not THE top. I remember looking at Marc being some confused Mad Hatter and deciding that nobody else has ever worn a top hat to rock and not looked like a tool. I still hold that opinion, actually. I listened to it and fell in love. I had been missing out. Again, though- didn't know how to steal from the internet. Wasn't using wikipedia for any/everything to find out which T.Rex albums I should be looking for. My parents bought me the album on CD for christmas my freshman year of college (Along with Hunky Dory, what a glammy christmas) and the tearing, echoing blues sound of it kept me going for months until I finally figured out how to steal from the internet and got the discography. That's when the obsession truly began.
I watched Born to Boogie at least five times (Along with Velvet Goldmine, of course) that summer and brought the gospel of Bolan back with me to my sophomore year of school. He was inspiring onstage. Bowie was a laser on stage, not doing one thing that he didn't intend. Marc was another story. He had a sloppy, churlish magnetism that was completely entrancing. Here's him performing Jeepster, from Born to Boogie.
I brought that churlish magnetism with me back to school and in the fall, T. Rex was the soundtrack to me being a proper twit. It fit the mood magnificently.
His style's a classic, of course. The top hat hasn't been done as well since. His first splashes of glitter on Top of the Pops are eternal. I love that he wore ballet shoes all the time. All of the glitter blazers with the huge lapels make him look like some woodland nymph devoted to rock and roll and making everybody feel cool.
That was longer than I intended it to be. here is my favorite picture of him. The guitar is his boner.
I'm celebrating by listening to all my favorites, and maybe persuading my lady to watch a Bowie-centric movie with me like Velvet Goldmine. Labyrinth, The Hunger and The Prestige are also all good, but those only HAVE Bowie- they're not really about him, you know?
A far as his birth, Bowie's probably been born six or seven times, really. Physically just once, but Ziggy, Aladdin, The Thin White Duke, The DJ, The... Dancer(?) are all really new people that share awesome, awesome music.
If you found this blog because you actually know me, you've heard me talk about David Bowie. It's just a fact. And even though I'm off the kick that I was around a year ago, I'm still all about Bowie. Let's get the basics out of the way:
Good, we're clear. I love all of that. I love everything from the laughing gnome to hang onto yourself and alllll the way through kraftwerkian Low and up to New Killer Star. The unimpeachable fashion. The totally obvious re-invention and self creation. Nobody figured out until way later that Bob Dylan was a big ole' mumbley fakey fake. But anybody who was anybody could see that Ziggy Stardust was a glittery plastic mask. The faux-bisexuality. The history of well-fitted suits.
And then there's the stage persona. It's surprising, you expect something crazy and explosive when you listen to the music but onstage it's less straightforward. He's doing all this complicated Mime and working with stage lighting before people knew how to make rock shows look good and at the end of the day he's just as alien today as he was in 73.
I can't say enough about this man to clarify exactly how much I love him. Every time I bend genders or write about space all i can think about is how badly I want to make an album that makes me as happy and speaks to me as much as Ziggy Stardust.
Here's a quick, handy guide to figure out if you're watching a video of David before or after he "sold out"(Even though I think he's as subversive as ever): If his teeth look like a pile of french fries, you are watching coke-addicted kabbalist pre-1980's bowie. You know, like this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ueUOTImKp0k
But if they're as straight as tombstones, you are watching the David Bowie that even middle aged moms love.
You know, this guy. But you know what? I love him, too. Mullet to platform boots.
This blog isn't really for anybody in particular. Mostly just in case I get inspired for some reason. But now that you're reading this, that means that there are at least two of us.
