Bowie. Whoa. You wish you could have been there and I do too. If you haven’t seen him live, do so as soon as possible. If you haven’t seen the legend of him, the history of rock that he carries with him everywhere he goes, take a moment and recognize. All hail.
I saw him at the Shrine last night and I am going again tonight to see him at the Wiltern. I wish I could have seen him on the Spiders From Mars Tour, Ziggy, The Thin White Duke, any and all of the incarnations, but the Reality Tour is all of him, right there, spanning all time. He looks great. Age has not affected him in the least, almost as if the “Look Back In Anger” Dorian Gray image is a true story, that somewhere in the home that he shares with the equally enigmatic and beautiful Iman, there is a portrait of him rotting away.
To prepare, I spent hours putting on makeup and watching him on “The Old Grey Whistle Test,” with his jumpsuits and his blue guitar, singing “Queen Bitch” in 1973. I am constantly reminding people to be sure that “Life On Mars” gets played at my funeral, not that I am planning one, but you never know, and that needs to be blasting as I am lowered into the ground. It is the last song I want to hear.
As an artist, David Bowie has been challenging the cultural definitions of gender, music, image, fantasy, identity, politics, sexuality, originality, beauty, fashion, fucking everything. As an icon, he has been the most inspiring deity to hit the world since the beginning of time. He has no peer. No one compares. No one comes close. Strangely, he swaggers onstage with a kind of youthful poppy quality that he had less of when he was the orange haired androgynous fop king in the early 70s. He has grown younger and a certain humility has overtaken his once formidable presence. It is an acquiescence to age, possibly, a modesty only taken on by the truly great, who have nothing to lose in taking down the glossy veneer a notch to show the true human being that lives underneath all the costumes, the Klaus Nomi couture confections, the makeup and the legend.
Through the set list, there were many old classics, which always sound terrific and fresh, like nothing ever heard before or since, and then new songs, that challenge his own catalogue. It is insane how much of a religious experience it can be, the way that he moves, the sound of his voice, his slim, youthful body in possession of the deepest and holiest range – it is a sonic boom, a sarcastic sneer, a lonely passionate plea, the all of it – everything.
The best moment for me was the duet between his guitarist, an amazing black woman, forgetting her name is sacrilege, for she gave the most beautiful Freddy Mercury to Bowie’s “Under Pressure.” Channeling him like he was right there with his tight pants and his bathhouse moustache. I could only weep. That anthem is for me the requiem march of all the men and women lost in the war of AIDS that we still fight. It is as relevant to me now as it was then, and not totally ruined by the temptation to say “Ice Ice Baby” during the opening strain.
It is a pity that no one in LA takes the glam route at these shows anymore, it is too much of a bother to consider dressing in the knicker pants and platform shoes, attaching a bronze sphere to the middle of one’s forehead, no jumpsuits or velvet overalls. It is just tiny celebrities in their denim and All Stars, leather car coats and backstage passes. Not a feather boa in sight. This was not true for me. I wore a white satin gown that had to be pinned to the middle of my head to stay on, so it was like a Jean Harlow as Mary Magdalene look, which was a little inconvenient as it was raining like crazy, and the train of my sacred garments got soaking wet, plus people kept talking to me too close, so I had innumerable lipstick stains on the outside of the hood. However, it was only proper to wear vestments to see the man who sold the world, fell to earth, who was Ziggy Stardust and Major Tom.
We went backstage to meet him afterward, only because I had been invited by David Bowie Himself. I know! When I found out he had invited me, I cried and then I got really sick. He didn’t emerge for a long time, and so I thought I would have a better chance at the Wiltern. I know the layout. I am going to wear the pale suit he wore in the “Life on Mars” video, with a ring of sapphire eyeshadow in homage to him, and I will let you know what happens.