DAVID BOWIE, PART 1 BY DAN WRECK
Photo: David Bowie, by Masayoshi Sukita
Anything you write could be your epitaph, as an artist.
If you're fortunate enough to have an audience, then the last public proclamations you utter are both eulogy and epitaph: imbued with whatever poignancy the audience wants to put into them. Whatever we want to read into it we can and we will because greedy consumers all, the customer is always right. It's sad and inhumane but when you've made yourself a product what else can you expect?
It feels tawdry to even discuss this, but seems obligatory: he managed to keep his cancer from the media right up until the end. He'd "withdrawn from public life", as the saying goes albeit a very extraordinary withdrawal from public life where he still released albums, appeared in music videos and gave his blessing to the huge Sound and Vision exhibition which exhibited many of his personal effects and revelled in his past.
It's the kind of sleight of hand withdrawal from public life you'd expect from a man who, it is easy to forget now, came out as gay in 1972 on the front pages of the music press. This at a time when no one was really coming out: still a very brave thing to do. Not something you did just to get a slot on Ellen to plug your book. He later adjusted it to being bisexual (which would still be brave now given how many idiots don’t believe bisexuality exists), then told everyone he was straight when he was expedient for him to do so (in 1982 conveniently distancing himself from the gays when he wanted to be even bigger) then quietly years down the line came back out again when it was safe to do so.
This is also a man who once upon a time gave the gossip magazine HELLO! magazine an exclusive, having them cover his wedding to Iman. In September 2000, the birth of his daughter also merited a HELLO! exclusive. This is the kind of thing we bitch at footballer's wives for doing. So let's not pretend he was a shy and retiring man as we shake our heads and bemoan the circling ghouls and grief culture even as we lap it up. But just as it was his right to make his personal life a matter of public record, it was his right to make the end of it private and shared only with his close friends. Remember, he owed us nothing and gave us a lot.
POSSIBLE EPITAPHS #1 and #2 - I CAN'T GIVE EVERYTHING AWAY / LAZARUS
I Can't Give Everything Away.
A title that both makes a mockery of my point before about how he was as much of a media tart as anyone else and agrees with it. Depending on where you lay the emphasis.There's a well known critical theory of the death of the author which basically says that we, as the readers of a given text decide what it is about and all interpretations are equally valid. It's not one I subscribe to but it's an interesting thought, especially after the literal death of an author.
I Can't Give Everything Away is a beautiful song with motifs from the rest of his back catalogue sprinkled through it: a touch of New Career In A New Town in the harmonica intro, something of Thursday's Child about the vocal melody, hints of Black Tie White Noise in the arrangement. The vocal delivery, though, is purely Blackstar. It's not just a homage, it's the Sound & Vision exhibit in the form of a song. What a performance it is, too. When I first listened to Blackstar five times in a row, before the author was dead, I welled up hearing it then too. There's so much joy and yearning he fits into the repetitions of the title. Then biography bleeds into it and the repetitions of the word "Away" are the ascension of a soul.
“Look up here, I’m in heaven”
The same way that Jhonn Balance's repetitions of "It just is" at the end of Going Up from his own accidental epitaph Ape Of Naples say a lot in very little, it's all in the delivery and the space between the words. I mention Balance partly because he's one of the few artists I love and respect as much as Bowie, and someone I feel a close connection to despite never having met (maybe on the next bardo) and partly because of the very Coil looking black sun appearing very prominently in the Blackstar cover art and the video for this song. He must have known: this isn't the SS variant of the black sun you see used by right-wing morons who underestimate and wilfully misunderstand the power of this imagery. It's not a sun wheel. It's a black sun. The brightest of all Blackstars.
Of course Bowie was no stranger to using, dwelling on and disseminating the kind of occult imagery which has been misappropriated by incompetent, bigoted idiots at different points in history. There's been a thread of it running through most of his career: from the first verse of Quicksand's references to Crowley's Golden Dawn and “Himmler's sacred realm” to the magickal undertones running through 1.Outside that he unfortunately dilutes by couching in references to piss artists like the then contemporary Brit School of artists. Most explicitly, though, he was pre-occupied with these themes around the time of Station to Station and in the Lazarus video we get a more explicit link to Bowie past in the same outfit from the Station to Station back cover.
In the Bowie's Last Five Years documentary we hear that he found out it was, very likely, going to be terminal as he shot the video for Lazarus. Once again life and art merge and make something that was already moving into something heartbreaking. First I'm going to focus on the video before I get to the song itself.
If you're reading this I'm 95% sure you've seen the video a few times but there are two things which're particularly moving about it when art meets life so unfortunately this will at first seem like I’m just describing things for the sake of it.
The first is the joy and release with which he sings, bedbound but levitating.
The second is is the moment where, before, vanishing off into the cupboard, he looks up with pantomime worry before scribbling down some notes. He is shaking as he writes them as if battling to get these last thoughts, they're struggling to come and he laughs with relief before finally putting pen to paper and getting these last ideas out before the inevitable.
The thing about writing your own pitaph is that, well, presumably you're still alive after you've written it and you can't stop there. Having put that to rest, as an artist, you move onto something else. There's always something else ahead, something which could be bigger and better and brighter until one day well there just isn't. You need to finish it now you've started even if it looks impossible because you can't just stop mid-stream or mid-word. But about when the full stop arrives before you do? Unthinkable. Before you're interrupted, before it's time to put your pen down the heart screams "But wait there's more."
Now onto the song itself. Another one of his many beautiful vocal performances but with a vulnerability you never usually heard from the man. The grain of the voice, the way you can almost hear his throat muscles teeth and tongue as he sings "I was living like a king", the k sound in "like" rattling with phlegm and the dying rasp of "king". It's hard to know when to be frail when you've lived as a king. In fact, even more than a king. Bowie was almost a construct. At points in this song we're hearing the man David Jones.
POSSIBLE EPITAPH #3 - THE NEXT DAY
The Next Day as a whole really plays with the idea of the ageing artist talking about mortality and despite the fact that it isn't as good an album as Blackstar everyone would've reacted the same way if he'd died just before or just after releasing The Next Day. For one it’s the first Bowie album not to display his face (even as distorted as it appears on 1.Outside it's still him, it’s just him after he worked out how to play with filters in Photoshop). We get an iconic image from his past with his face obscured by the title as if to say "The Next Day won't include my face" (good at this ascribing pointless significance to things which don't mean anything of the sort aren't I? Pitchfork should give me a ring. Or The Sun.).
The Next Day is rife with references to death, ageing, disease and dementia. The title track built around the refrain "Here I am not quite dying" and a chant of "And the next day and the next day" redolent of Macbeth's final "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow". As on parts of Blackstar he spends a lot of time looking back, more explicitly than on Blackstar in fact, particularly on the first single Where Are We Now, a lovely sorrowful song full of space and ache in a way he tried to do on Hours but didn't really manage. It was accompanied by a video of our ageless hero starting to look, well, look his age. On You Feel So Lonely You Could Die, which isn't a great song in my opinion, after talking about seeing a former foe's hanging body, he leaves us with that iconic Five Years drumbeat echoing out into nowhere. The album closer Heat bears a remarkable similarity to The Motel from 1.Outside and thus also to Scott Walker's Climate of Hunter or one of his songs off Night Flights. A great track, and another example of the great man not insulting his audience's intelligence / giving us something to go seek out and read (the Mishima references) but as epitaphs go not one worthy of the great man. The Next Day is an enjoyable album but fairly underwhelming once you got over the excitement of Bowie doing an album for the first time in a decade which was obviously something.
What really impressed me as a gesture was The Stars (Are Out Tonight) and particularly the accompanying video where Bowie and Tilda Swinton are a married couple and Andreja Pejic is in it being impossibly beautiful as Andreja Pejic is prone to being. After going back in in the 80's one of the things he did in this cycle was remind us queers he was one of us and he still cared. That he did so while at the same time skewering the same celebrity culture he fed into by uneasily straddling the boundary of Celeb and Celebrant is the sort of having your cake and eating it too genius we miss him for.
It’s also worth dwelling on how confrontationally gender-skewing the video (directed by Floria Sigismondi) is in a way you see from few artists as prominent as him even in this day and age: aside from the aforementioned inspired choice of Pejic, casting Iselin Steiro as a young Bowie is a master-stroke as is Tilda Swinton as Bowie’s wife: perfect. His video wife is the only person in the world who looks like him. It’s just a feast of androgyny.
POSSIBLE EPITAPH #4 - BRING ME THE DISCO KING
The closing track on Reality, pre-hiatus and pre-heart attack. Again a very youthful looking and sounding Bowie but for a long time it looked like it was going to be the last thing we saw or heard from him (apart from Little Fat Man in Extras of course which I'm sure some earnest journalist would've managed to contort themselves into calling a "dying man's final joke" or something).
A rolling, roiling jazz song with Mike Garson's piano playing the perfect foil. Full of intimations of doom undercut with an almost Zen resignation. An album closer opening with the words "You promised me the ending would be clear" and containing the line "Soon there be'll nothing left of me, nothing left to release". For a while it looked like there wouldn't be and that he'd settled into being human at last. Just like Damiel in Wings of Desire, an angel who walked among us who gave it all up in favour of beauty you can only really appreciate if all things are finite. Wistful reminiscences of his past "killing time in the 70s" from a man who it was often said was resistant to looking back but you'd be forgiven for thinking (if you believed the critics that is) that he did nothing but.
Of course, as beautiful and sepulchral as the song is, it was written as far back (maybe further, this isn't Pushing Ahead of The Dame I'm not quite that good a writer or Bowie scholar) as Black Tie White Noise and an attempt was made at recording it in the Earthling sessions. It may be an epitaph but one there had been multiple drafts of. Still, it doesn't matter when you write it it just matters when you put it out and there's a certain grandeur given to something by it having been pored over for so long. To think of another great songwriter who died in 2016, Leonard Cohen, you don't think You Want It Darker or Treaty were just off the cuff from the man who spent years writing and honing Hallelujah, do you? No. Until it is written in stone an epitaph can undergo many revisions and be replaced by others, this to be replaced with The Next Day the way Heathen was replaced with this.
POSSIBLE EPITAPH #5 - HEATHEN (THE RAYS)
Yes, I know it would've been shocking for him to go at this age, especially considering how healthy and youthful he looked at the time (he was in his mid 50s, obviously a young age but looking even younger) but for the purpose of this exercise imagine he did. It would’ve been sad but he never would have had to meet Ricky Gervais. Imagine that the title track from Heathen is the last new song you hear from him. Mournful skeins of effects drenched guitar, a distant tribal throb then the man himself enters the picture.
"Steel on the skyline, sky made of glass"
A voice frozen with existential horror, glazed eyes fixed forward, the horror of Colonel Kurtz or anyone who has seen death and truly looked at it without flinching or looking away. A vision of their own death, maybe. All of our deaths. A man singing to his God or to the concept of death itself. Maybe to the angel he sang of as a younger man in Look Back In Anger on Lodger. Maybe the angel who renounced immortality knowing what comes next. Rhetorical questions.
"Have I stared too long?".
Then maybe he's singing to life itself:
The way he sings these last few words and the wordless phrases after it, full of anguish and loss, is chilling even knowing he lived for a while after it. If he hadn't, it would've been his epitaph and it would've been a beautiful one, the Berlin synth atmospherics twinkling away, rays of cold electronic light in the short instrumental outro which fades out and ends as suddenly as....well, life. It can end at any moment you know (you know, you know).
Speaking on the song itself in an interview he describes the writing process as some kind of traumatic epiphany:
"In the distance a car was driving slowly past the reservoir and these words were just streaming out and there were tears running down my face. But I couldn't stop, they just flew out. It's an odd feeling, like something else is guiding you, although forcing your hand is more like it."
Some people talked about the remarkable synchronicity between him writing these songs pre-9/11 and the tragic events of that day but really, is there? Any more than there's synchronicity between any songs mentioning death and a skyline and 9/11? We feel this because he's a voice we look up to, saying these words, and we have decided that's what they mean. In the same way that if he had died after making Heathen it would have been a vision of his premature death. Funny phrase that. Either all deaths are premature or none are. We make the pieces fit and create our own context. Just to make my point.....
POSSIBLE EPITAPH #6 - ROCK AND ROLL SUICIDE
I'm not suggesting he committed suicide in this alternate past but what if Ziggy really had been it? What if he'd fallen silent after that. Knowing the man's love of being the centre of attention unlikely but what if?
Imagine you're a gay teenager in 1972. Something integral to your very being, the way you are has been illegal up until 5 years ago. Things are going to be shit for you in a very different way to the way they are now: although nowadays if you happen to have been born queer you're still four times more likely to kill yourself but that's okay because if you survive long enough to grow up you can get married now so get over it, faggot. Maybe Bowie / Ziggy would've been a ray of light when you saw him and realised that you couldn't be all bad because maybe the coolest and most beautiful man you'd ever seen was the same as you. He was obviously totemic for queer people of that generation. Dockers in Liverpool saying they'd give Bowie one oblivious or uncaring of the fact that was a bloke they were talking about because it's not a matter of gay or straight or bisexual: fancying early 70s Bowie is just a matter of common sense.
"Oh no love you're not alone"
If that's all he'd done, if he'd told us all he was gay, left us with Ziggy and then when he announced "This is the last show I will ever play" he'd kept to his word then he'd still have been more than a footnote in history. It's all context.
Everything that came later, his pathetic attempt at "going back in" the same way dear old Lou did when he sang Women on The Blue Mask, none of this matters now and it definitely didn't matter to the confused queer kid in a small town in 1972 who for once saw someone who moved the way they'd like to move. None of this shit had happened and even when it did it didn’t retroactively undo all the good he’d done for you. Sometimes that's all it takes. Sometimes that's better than a million It Gets Better PSAs from straight actors who think that the approval of someone a million miles away with millions of pounds means anything to someone who is getting it from all corners, inside and outside of the home. Than a million pro LGBT statements from politicians who work in education ignoring the fact that sometimes it's not just the pupils who're bullying you because they reckon you were born wrong. These words, so easy for them to say and so hard for them to believe.
“If I could only make you care” is the crucial line. There're no false promises, it's just "Gimme your hands 'cos you're wonderful" as Mick Ronson's guitar wails an echo of the words "Give me your hands". It's a romantic idea but maybe this saved someone. Maybe that’s the most fitting epitaph of all. If you can touch the lives of people you’ve never met and they feel something real when you die then you must have done something right. Being someone’s hero, that means the world.
