Like Some Cat From Japan
NOTE: This eulogy was originally written on the occasion of David Bowie’s death in 2016.
“A bold, knowing, charismatic creature neither male nor female wearing a bewitching costume straight out of the Surrealist art shows of the Parisian 1930s: a seductive black fish-net body suit with attached glittery plaster mannequin’s hands (with black nail polish) lewdly functioning as a brassiere. I instantly realized that Bowie had absorbed the gender games of Andy Warhol’s early short films, above all “Harlot,” with its glamorous, sultry drag queen (Mario Montez). Hence I viewed Bowie, who became one of the foundational creators of performance art, as having taken the next major step past Warhol in art history.”
The first time I ever saw David Bowie, I didn’t even know who he was. In elementary school, my babysitter used to play VHS tapes like The Goonies, Edward Scissorhands, and Jim Henson’s Labyrinth. I don’t remember a whole lot about Labyrinth, aside from the premise of Jennifer Connelly’s baby brother being captured by goblins. What did stick in my mind, however, was Bowie’s performance as the “Goblin King.” For Bowie was no haggard or frightful goblin from the stories of Tolkien or Rowling, but a suave and seductive monarch. Little did I know that this was just one of the many costumes he wore over the course of his artistic career. I am truly sad over Bowie’s passing, as I often sought comfort in his music whenever I was in low spirits. Now that he’s gone, I’ve realized that he affected me in ways that most musicians usually don’t.
I first became acquainted with Bowie as a musician during my high school years. He reminded me of Queen, in the sense that his rock music had a high quality of his vocals and instrumentation. Which made it all the more appropriate when he sang the masterful duet “Under Pressure” with Freddie Mercury. Though Bowie was just as appealing visually as he was vocally, taking on personas such as Aladdin Sane and Ziggy Stardust in his concerts. Bowie shifted between sexualities and between genders in his “glam rock” appearances, as he wrote in “Rebel, Rebel,”: “Not sure if you’re a boy or a girl.” He shocked, excited, and aroused, always capturing the ever youthful spirit of freedom. This was exemplified poignantly in “Changes”, “And these children that you spit on/ As they try to change their worlds/ Are immune to your consultations/ They’re quite aware of what they’re going through.”
Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars remains his best album, and one of my personal favorites. Much like The Who’s Tommy or Pink Floyd’s The Wall, the album is a rock opera, which tells of a bisexual messiah who speaks of the “starmen” that will bring salvation. He is foretold by “Starman”, a melody which echoes Judy Garland’s “Over The Rainbow”, in which he warns the children, “Not to blow it, ’cause he knows it’s all worthwhile.” Sexuality is dealt with gently in “Soul Love” and forcefully in “Velvet Goldmine.” The signature song of the album is “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust”, a ballad with strong electric chords and colorful lyrics like, “He could lick ’em by smiling.” There may be parallels between the life of Bowie and that of Ziggy, though Bowie’s did not end in a “Rock’N Roll Suicide.” While making reflections on his career with “Thursday’s Child”, “All of my life I tried so hard/ Doing the best with what I had,” Bowie exited the stage quietly behind the wardrobe in “Lazarus.” Almost like a ghost.
By far, Bowie’s most moving songs are both about space: “Space Oddity” and “Life On Mars?” One tells of an astronaut drifting off into the dark, while the other is a rather nonsensical bit a girl who watches bad television. Yet both carry emotional weight. “Space Oddity”, among Bowie’s first hits, stands out for its clever musical transitions. Written during the launch of Apollo 11, the song evokes images of a blue planet Earth and the varieties of glittering stars, before vanishing into the abyss. It was most famously covered by astronaut Chris Hadfield while at the International Space Station. What makes “Life On Mars?” so effective is that Bowie delivers each line with gusto, accompanied by the sentimental piano and the grand swelling of the orchestra. The song’s lyrics are purposefully absurd, but its melody still moves me every time. “Life On Mars?” taps into our hope that there’s something more out there in the far reaches of space.
Many things will be said about David Bowie over the next few days. Though what can best be stated about his career is this:
“Ziggy played guitar.”
Originally published at http://sansuthecat.blogspot.com on January 15, 2016
