Happy Birthday David Bowie!!!
David Robert Jones
January 8, 1947
I can still remember the very first David Bowie song I ever heard.*
It was August in the optimistic year of our Lord 2000. I was twenty and only mildly insane, and my friend Derek and I were powering through the dull wasteland of late-summer stickiness and boredom that lay between Nashville and Memphis in a rather old Volvo.
It had been a sudden impulse, that trip to Graceland… We had been casually sweating on my apartment balcony with no particular plans in mind when it had dawned upon us that it was Elvis week and the enchanting rhinestone-heartland tackiness of it all was a mere four and a half hours away. We threw together a few necessities for the trip—mine included caffeine, snackage, and a pair of fuzzy leopard-print platform pumps. Derek’s included a vintage camera with which to take excellent pictures amongst the shag glories of the jungle room and a stash of cassettes for the rather old Volvo’s obsolete tape deck.
We had just gotten back on the road after stuffing our faces with good ole’ country buffet fare at Loretta Lynn’s Kitchen, when Derek put in THE TAPE.
“Five Years” began to play. And thus began my decade-long obsession with the works of Mr. David Robert Jones.
There are so many Bowies and I love them all—I love the curly-haired sweater-wearing young Bowie who waxes surpassingly lyrical as well as the cool, sadistic detachment and immaculate wardrobe of the Thin White Duke; I love the sleek-haired, spacey Katherine Hepburn wannabe and also the spiky, snarling intensity of Nathan Adler; I love the blank-eyed, blank-souled thoughtfulness of Bowie the Heathen and the deconstructed, dancey coolness of Bowie the Earthling; I love the exuberant jumpsuit and jackboot-wearing glitter Ziggy who thanks his wham-bam ma’am so nicely and I love the somber, otherwordly Kabuki messiah who foretold his downfall.
This versatility is Bowie’s greatest gift, you see, and what has always set him far above other “chameleons” of the music world. He creates characters and moods even on his least theatrical albums; the dazzling wardrobe shifts that most people regard as his trademark are really only the outer manifestation of much more profound transformations.
It’s why there’s a Bowie song for every mood.
It’s what makes him so infinitely obsessable.
David Bowie turns 63 years old today. He’s been making music for 48 of those years and I, for one, would like to say THANK YOU, you freaky old bastard you. Many happy returns.
P.S. Clicky here for Hux’s favorite Bowie resources.
*I’m still not entirely sure how I managed to make it to the ripe old age of twenty without hearing “China Girl” or little-girl mooning over the Goblin King; I can only attribute it to the fact that I might as well have grown up under a rock. The zealous censorship practices of my Southern Baptist missionary parents and the island off the south coast of Brazil we lived on in the days before the internets combined to leave me so entirely innocent of 80s pop culture that I have VH1 to thank for my current knowledge of that decade’s high points. As is it, I’m glad. “Let’s Dance” is kicky, and Labyrinth is fun to watch (if not to listen to)…. But, really, there’s a lot to be said for having The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars pop your Bowie cherry.
January 8, 2010 at 11:00 am | Happy Birthday! | No comment