Remembering David Bowie on His 70th Birthday with a Collage I Put Together (click image to enlarge)

"In the event that this fantastic voyage should turn to erosion" -- On the Eternally Extraordinary David Bowie

David Bowie, Rosemont Theater, January 2004. Photo Credit unknown.

David Bowie just seemed like the coolest guy.

I don't mean because he was a legendary rock star, whose musical brilliance ran far deeper than I initially, or even long, knew--as I wrote about in a tribute for his 64th birthday (and reposted on his 65th).

And though my regard for his ceaseless and visionary creativity--as documented in the David Bowie Is exhibit I saw in both 2013 and 2014 and reviewed here--knows no bounds, and was reiterated just last Friday on his 69th birthday, when he released a brilliant new album, Blackstar, only 2 days before he would succumb to cancer, which means he devoted his dying days to new artistic life, this isn't really what I'm referencing.

Sure, Bowie fused art and theater and fashion and visual imagery and alternative personas into popular music like no one before him, and his shape-shifting personas of Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, the Thin White Duke and more made it cool to appreciate, admire, accept and embrace weirdness and outlandishness and gayness and androgyny and bisexuality and theatricality and alienation and misfits and Muppets and interracial marriage and restlessness and uncertainty and reinvention and searching for one's true self, perhaps behind disguises.

Not only was he one of my favorite musical artists of all-time--and second favorite solo act behind just Bruce Springsteen--but he acted on Broadway and in movies, bridging multiple mediums like few ever have. And forever inspired by his high school art teacher, who happened to be Peter Frampton's father, Bowie oversaw every aspect of his multifaceted presence, from concert stage designs & fashions to album covers to music videos, including his staggering way of saying goodbye, "Lazarus,"  released just last Thursday.

Somehow this immortal artist was able to forestall his death--said to have come after 18 months of bravely battling cancer, though other ill health rumors have existed with Bowie living largely outside the limelight for nearly 10 years--until he could foretell it in a new song & video, have his first official theatrical creation (also titled Lazarus) open off-Broadway and celebrate his 69th birthday with the release of a rather adventurous, highly acclaimed new album.

Long wondering "How and where is Bowie?" after a 2004 heart attack curtailed his touring career, I was ecstatically astounded on his 66th birthday in 2013 when--with no advance warning in the age of social media--he released his first song in 10 years, "Where Are We Now?" and announced a new album, The Next Day, which I would name my favorite of that year.

So while I've long had an uneasy notion that the man who fell to Earth might not be long for it, just Friday I was again reveling in a new David Bowie album, with thoughts that his appearing in the "Lazarus" video meant that he must be doing relatively well.

Sadly I was wrong.

Unable to readily fall asleep last night, I found myself checking Facebook at 1:15am and could not believe the news that rendered the Golden Globes fashion and gossip crap even triter than it had been a few hours earlier.

To paraphrase Bowie's great 1971 song, "Life on Mars"--a favorite along with about 100 others, from the well-known ("Rebel Rebel," "Changes") to the obscure ("Joe the Lion," 1964's "Liza Jane" when he was still known as Davie Jones)--I hoped I was "walking in a sunken dream."

But I wasn't.

After listening to several songs, reading tributes, shedding tears and finally falling asleep, I awoke to find it still true.

The "Starman," Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, the Thin White Duke, etc., etc., but most of all, David Bowie--or perhaps David Jones--is gone, at least from our mortal world.

"Planet Earth is blue and there is nothing I can do,"--as Bowie sang on his first hit, "Space Oddity"--and as I posted on Facebook earlier:

Bowie was singular. We will never see anyone like him again. He was Elvis and Picasso and Bertold Brecht rolled into one, and I think the world senses a loss of genius that won't be replaced.

Like Elvis, Dylan and the Beatles--and maybe even more so--he essentially influenced everyone who came after.

When Elvis and John Lennon died, I hadn't yet developed the esteem I have now for Bowie. Other celeb deaths have hit me hard; Kurt Cobain certainly, and Philip Seymour Hoffman and Robin Williams, even Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston. But those all involved a sense of regret; here the sorrow is solely based on appreciation, and both are deep.

But all of this doesn't explain why David Bowie just seemed like the coolest guy.

Nor does his being among the first musicians to champion Bruce Springsteen (with early covers of "Growin' Up" and "It's Hard to Be a Saint in the City") or introduce me and much of the world to Stevie Ray Vaughan (who played on the Let's Dance album) or hung out with Andy Warhol and Lou Reed or lived with Iggy Pop or gave "All the Young Dudes" to Mott the Hoople or worked with Jim Henson or acted with Catherine Deneuve or married Angie and Iman or slept with Mick Jagger or made great, understated albums late in his career like Heathen and Reality and The Next Day and Blackstar that didn't try to replicate the AOR glories of his youth.

While my fandom will forever run deep, I am not extolling David Bowie because I  first came to own ChangesOneBowie on vinyl by the age of 12 or because his show at Dodger Stadium in 1990 was the first concert I attended after moving to L.A.--I still rue missing chances to see Bowie in '83 and '87--or because after seeing him in January 2004 at the relatively intimate Rosemont Theatre, I went again to the next show and then again when he came to Milwaukee that May.

No, while the music and visual stylings and acting and overall artistry of David Bowie has long enriched my life and forever will, what I'll remember most is, more literally, just how cool he seemed.

Onstage at the Rosemont Theatre, where I attended in awe of one of the world's greatest--and purportedly richest--rock stars, a visionary, a genius, a man who had cloaked himself in numerous personas and essentially defined "edgy," Bowie came off as gracious, warm, affable and comfortable in his own skin as any performer I've ever seen. 

And I've seen thousands.

There was no pretense, no pandering, no smugness, no megalomania, obvious ego or star affectations.

There was just David Bowie engagingly addressing the audience as if he were in a living room with friends.

And just happened to be the coolest guy you ever would want to know.
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"I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing will drive them away
We can be heroes, just for one day
We can be us, just for one day"

-- From "Heroes," by one of mine
    David Bowie, Jan. 8, 1947-Jan. 10, 2016

(Blog title quote from "Fantastic Voyage," 1979)

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 Here's a full David Bowie concert from New York in late 2003, just a month before I saw him twice in Rosemont and found him tremendously personable:

The Man Who Fell to Earth Rises Again: David Bowie's 'The Next Day' Proves Well Worth the Wait -- Album Review

Album Review

David Bowie
The Next Day
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In January 2004, I saw David Bowie in concert twice within three days, at the Rosemont Theatre. I would see him once again a few months later in Milwaukee.

Although at the time I was already a huge, longtime Bowie fan--I saw him in 1990 at Dodger Stadium and wanted to attend his 1983 shows supporting Let's Dance--it was around early '04 that I bought all of his albums I hadn't already owned and really started to delve into the depth of his greatness.

Like many, I imagine, who were too young to truly appreciate Bowie in the 1970s, for several years I was aware of his ever-changing personas, the Ziggy Stardust album and the rock radio hits--many on the ChangesOneBowie collection, the first album of his I owned--like "Space Oddity," "Changes," "Suffragette City," "Rebel Rebel," "Young Americans," "Fame," "Heroes" and "Under Pressure," his great collaboration with Queen.

But it wasn't until I made a point of exploring his full catalog that I discovered just how thoroughly brilliant many of his albums are, from early ones like Hunky Dory and Aladdin Sane (and, of course, Ziggy) to Station to Station and what is known as the 'Berlin trilogy': Low, "Heroes" and Lodger.

Though those albums deserve to be heard in full, I made this Spotify playlist of "Less Showy Bowie" to show you what I mean:


OK, so in early 2004, perhaps more than ever, I was really into David Bowie. Although neither his 2002 album Heathen nor 2003's Reality set the world on fire, critically or commercially, I thought both were quite solid, really enjoyed him live and--like I had or would with The Kinks, The Who and Steely Dan--relished realizing that regardless of my vast fandom primarily via the famous songs, I really only knew the half of it.

Then in June of 2004, while on tour in Europe, Bowie had a heart attack. Following an emergency angioplasty, he seemingly survived sans any reports (that I saw) of his condition remaining grave. But other than a few television appearances over the next couple years, David Bowie disappeared.

From May of 2006 through his 66th birthday on January 8 of this year, there was no new music, no reports of anything in the works and excepting a shot of him at the premiere of son Duncan Jones' 2009 movie, Moon, no present tense photographs I could find on the internet.

On the morning of January 8, amidst some employment angst over a job I would eventually lose, I went to my home computer intending to post a video on Facebook saluting Bowie's birthday (rather than that of Elvis Presley, the same day). (See my 2011/2012 Bowie birthday blog post, with several song videos, here.)

But when I loaded Facebook, I saw the post at right.

Just after midnight, Bowie had shocked the world with news of a brand new song and video--"Where Are We Now"--and a forthcoming album, entitled The Next Day.

Especially as I found the song to be excellent in a subdued, slow-burning sort of way, it was one of the best musical surprises of my lifetime.

Bowie had resurfaced, seemingly healthy, with reports that he had secretly been recording songs for the past two years, but still very much Bowie.

No interviews. No tour announcements. No overblown appearance on the Grammy's.

Just high quality music--including the subsequent "The Stars (Are Out Tonight)--from one of the greatest artists the rock genre has ever produced, coming at a time when there is rather little new stuff that I think is any good, at least in a staying power sort of way.

So how's the new album?

The Next Day has arrived--actually last Tuesday--and it is terrific.

As pretty much every outlet in America--as shown in the Bowie Facebook post at left--and around the world has already conveyed, to some degree or other.

So I won't go through the new album song-by-song and tell you how Bowie's somewhat oblique lyrics pertain to "Heroes," other remnants of his past or his interest in English history.

Many others have provided this depth and insight, much better than I can.

What I will tell you is that I love The Next Day, not just because it sounds like the all too rare work of a great, professional musical artist demonstrating what that means, but because for a guy who hasn't put out a new album in 10 years, the whole thing--like "Where Are We Now"--just feels so beautifully unhurried.

Co-produced by Bowie and Tony Visconti, who did likewise for the Berlin trilogy--though Brian Eno is more famously noted as his collaborator on those albums--the new disc opens with the title track, which rocks pretty strongly and wouldn't seem out-of-place on "Heroes" or perhaps more so, Lodger.

But casual listeners, especially in this iTunes age of selective songs in lieu of cohesive albums, may find the slow dirge of track 2, "Dirty Boys," a bit boring.

Yet it is exactly what reminds one that at 66, after many thought he was terminally ill and/or professionally retired, Mr. Bowie is--still remarkably--doing exactly what he wants to do.

There are a number of upbeat-sounding songs that come at the tail end of the album--"I'd Rather Be High," "Dancing Out in Space," "How Does the Grass Grow?" and "(You Could) Set the World on Fire"--that, if sequenced earlier, could really get The Next Day off to a rollicking start, to better dazzle those without the patience to listen all the way through, or repeatedly.

Don't get me wrong; as is, The Next Day isn't a tough listen, it's just not front-loaded nor encompasses anything as accessible as, say, "Rebel Rebel" or "Let's Dance."

But I enjoyed it the first time I heard it in full, and several spins later am liking it even more.

At this point, I don't think it quite reaches the heights of "Heroes," Low or Lodger, Station to Station, Ziggy, Hunky Dory, Aladdin Sane, etc. But I'm guessing that the German trilogy albums weren't instantly to everyone's liking--they had no hit singles except "Heroes"--but all are now considered masterpieces that perhaps define Bowie even more than the hits or the costumes.

Many years down the road, I imagine The Next Day will continue to hold up quite well. If it isn't quite the finest moment in an extraordinary career, it's already one of the most welcome--and best--comebacks in rock history.
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This is definitely an album worth owning--and I have bought the CD though I could hear it in full on Spotify--but if you want to listen first, here's your chance:

[ Re-Post ] Of Heroes, Fame, Changes, Modern Love and Aladdinsanity -- Celebrating the Brilliance of David Bowie on His 65th Birthday

(Originally written and posted on 1/8/11, when he turned 64. Revised only per his age.)

As far as rock 'n roll birthdays go, January 8 is much more famous for being that of Elvis Presley, in 1935. But 12 years later, a baby christened David Robert Jones was born in London.

While I consider myself an Elvis fan--if not quite a fanatic--and appreciate his immense impact on music, culture and celebrity, the man who would in 1967 rename himself David Bowie (so as to avoid confusion with The Monkees' Davy Jones) has been much more significant to me.

And while he has not recorded or toured since having heart surgery in 2004, David Bowie remains alive, seemingly well and quite vital.

I first "got into" Bowie in the early '80s, before the Let's Dance phenomenon, probably based on hearing "Rebel Rebel," "Space Oddity," "Changes" and "Suffragette City" on rock radio stations like The Loop in Chicago. But I am living proof that it is possible to have been a big fan of David Bowie for a long time without really having a clue as to the depth and breadth of his brilliance.

The first album of his I bought was ChangesOneBowie, and to this day it probably remains the Greatest Hits collection (of anyone) for which I have the most affection. The CD version--which has since been supplanted by other compilations--was expanded and dubbed ChangesBowie, but the original record I had contained the following tracks:

1. Space Oddity 2. John, I'm Only Dancing 3. Changes 4. Ziggy Stardust 5. Suffragette City 6. Jean Genie 7. Diamond Dogs 8. Rebel Rebel 9. Young Americans 10. Fame 11. Golden Years

I imagine that even for passing Bowie fans, this seems like a pretty stalwart collection of songs. Add to it my instant fondness for 1983's Let's Dance album when it was released--along with four excellent songs, including the title track, "Modern Love," "China Girl" and "Cat People (Putting Out Fire)," the record introduced me to Stevie Ray Vaughan, who played guitar on it--and reaching back to discover his remarkable Ziggy Stardust album, I had a rather substantive appreciation for David Bowie by the time I was 15.

Or so I thought.

Yes, the July 1983 Time cover story drew my attention to Bowie's chameleon-like stylistic changes throughout the '70s. Sure, I came to know a number of other songs, such as "Heroes," "Ashes to Ashes," "Panic in Detroit" and "Under Pressure," his outstanding collaboration with Queen. And, after being a smidgen too young to attend the Let's Dance Tour, I saw Bowie for the first time on May 26, 1990 at Dodger Stadium, soon after my relocation to L.A.

But it wasn't until years later, likely revolving around the next time I saw Bowie in January 2004--I attended 2 of his 3 shows at the Rosemont Theater plus one a few months later in Milwaukee--that I decided to delve a good bit deeper into Bowie's oeuvre.

And I continue to dig until this day. Somewhat similar to explorations of The Kinks prior and Steely Dan since, I came to realize that Bowie's greatness goes exponentially beyond his greatest hits. And in saying this, I'm not even alluding to how he introduced the idea of a rock star adopting an alternate persona, how his ever-changing fashion stylings presaged the MTV-era or how he rather successfully transitioned into acting. I'm really only referencing his music itself. 

Back when CDs were still the norm--at least apart from illegal downloads--I bought nearly all of Bowie's back catalog and came to hear many of his albums in full for the first time. To give you a sense of the stature of his output from 1970-1980, AllMusic.com awards 5 or 4-1/2 stars to nine studio albums during that span, and two "lesser lights," Diamond Dogs and Young Americans, also have a number of superb songs.

So that's eleven substantive releases in the same number of years, and almost all of his material is so good it's hard to cite my favorite albums. The early output, including Hunky Dory, Ziggy and Aladdin Sane is sensational. I can't argue with anyone who cites 1976's Station to Station as his best record. And his German "triptych" recorded with Brian Eno in Berlin--Low, Heroes and Lodger--are just as rewarding as his more accessible albums. A friend of mine picks 1980's Scary Monsters as his favorite.

And though Bowie's output slid after Let's Dance--some would say with--I really liked both 2002's Heathen and 2003's Reality. So while it certainly wouldn't be wrong to start any exploration with a greatest hits compilation--the 2-disc Best of Bowie seems fairly comprehensive--realize, like I did way down the line, far past his 1996 Hall of Fame induction, that Bowie's legacy goes way beyond the rather remarkable surface.

No wonder my Bowie collection imported into iTunes would keep me audibly occupied for nearly a full day. And although I initially intended to accompany this post with 10 videos mixing more popular songs with some lesser-known gems, I couldn't help but go to 15, and could easily pick a completely different selection every bit as good.

So in response to The Beatles' legendary query, "Will you still need me ... when I'm 64?", my answer when it comes to David Bowie, is a resounding, "Yes." (And even 65, as I thought I should re-post this today.)

Happy Birthday, Mr. Bowie.

To celebrate, I give the rest of you 15 choice cuts from throughout his career, with a compilation video at the very bottom that allows you to run all the songs in sequence. (I put the videos below a "continuation jump" so click below left to see them if you can't.)