My very first exposure to David Bowie came from an unlikely source. It was 1971, and I was 9 years old.
I was watching Sunday morning television, and a show called "Big Blue Marble" was on. It was an educational outreach program that tried to expose children to other world cultures by featuring the daily lives of several different kids from several different countries and/or cultures every week. At the end of each show they would advertise how you, yes you, sitting right there, Indian style on the orange and yellow carpet in the middle of the basement wreck room in front of the boxy old Zenith with Bugles on each one of your fingertips like witch fingernails, could get a pen pal from another country and experience the joys of cultural exchange for yourself.
Intrigued, I scrawled my postcard and sent away for my pen pal. When her first letter arrived from Finland,
I had no idea how the contents of her exotically stamped envelope would shape my life. Her name was
Terhi Koskella (and I'm sure I am butchering the spelling of her name now, because keep in mind It's
been 32 years) and of the many things she shared with me about her life in far away Finland- the thing she
was most excited about was her love of a unique new music artist named David Bowie. He had no eyebrows, wore make up and fabulous costumes and was the sexiest man in all of Europe. She enclosed a picture she had ripped from a magazine so I could see him. From the first instant that my tiny fingers worked to gently unfolded that well traveled newsprint picture and my eyes absorbed the image of the inordinately thin, wild, flame haired imp with a silver circle painted on his made up face, in skin tight shimmering kaleidoscope fabrics, I was inextricably bonded to Bowie.
I made the young librarian on the Bookmobile insane with my weekly requests for any magazines or books
that might tell me something, anything about my new favorite treasure so I would have stories to trade
with Terhi. But Virginia saw something urgent in me, took the challenge of my out of the ordinary request
and never failed to search out rock books and copies of magazines that covered Bowie for me. It didn't
take me long to realize that it was as fun for her as it was for me because most of the time what she brought in was from her private collection.
And over my 40 years, Bowie was a constant. We both kept changing over the years, but it all seemed to run completely parallel for me. So when tickets went on sale for the Rosemont shows with Macy Gray, I was
excited and intrigued, but I hesitated. I had already seen him 7 times over the last 30+ years, did I need
to see him this time????. So I followed reviews on the net, saw that he had been building tons of my old
favorite songs into the set, had gathered up a crack band featuring Earl Slick on guitar and he himself was
reported to be in excellent form, and yet I still put it off. Dem and I had spoken about going casually,
but neither of us had made any forward movement towards getting tickets. Until last week, when a pair
of first row center balcony seats literally fell into my lap.
The years have been good to Bowie. He has aged gracefully, seems extremely comfortable with his
current life and has not lost his innate sense of personal style. Even in just a simple short sleeve
t-shirt, straight leg black jeans with short gold toned zippers at the back of his ankles, leather
jacket and seductively dangling woven Army/Navy surplus style belt he radiated cool, comfortable Soho
chic. Nothing fancy, nothing elaborate, no rock star trappings, just a very laid back, accomplished, casual
man on stage with a couple hundred of his old mates getting together to run through the good old days
together for a laugh. He still has complete mastery of his vocal range and the song writing, which was
always solid shows just how relevant Bowie has always been. The only flash over substance element of the
evening was provided by the elaborate computerized laser lights and overhead video screens.
The show kicked off with Rebel Rebel. When it was over, David launched into funny, off hand and engaging
banter on how long it's been since he's seen us. What had we been up to?? Gotten married? Had kids?
Stayed the same sex? He began telling stories of his life journey, of recently arriving at the reality that
even now post 50- no one, not one of us including himself who has been credited with writing such deep
meaningful lyrics, really knows anything much at all about the world.
He ran through great versions of New Killer Star, Afraid, Hang Onto Yourself, and Fashion, then stopped
to chat again. Railing against the infidels who own and program the conglomerate radio stations these
days. How really great bands from say even 10 years ago or so never got the airplay they so richly
deserved and certainly fabulous bands who deserve airplay now aren't getting it because of these
corporate assholes…. And then he said "like this one band - The Pixies": launching the band through a
stellar cover of Cactus.
Onto Starman, China Girl, Fantastic Voyage and then She'll Drive the Big Car. More hilarity ensues as
Bowie goes to gather up his harmonicas for the song. He playfully gestures that the two harmonicas he is
now holding in his hands are really his new set of dentures! Click click!! His smile and laughter are
genuine and infectious. The band begins to play, Bowie blows the mouth harp and they get through about
2 minutes of the song and David waves his arms dramatically and stops it all. "Stop! Wait! Wait!
Who is responsible for packing these harmonicas in the wrong boxes???? I want the person responsible brought to my office right now! (mock bossy type tones with a petulant stomp of his sneakered foot) Who was responsible?? Nick? Right! You're fired! Now let's try this again with a harmonica that at least closely
approximates the key that this song is being played in" and we go on with the show.
Teasing us with what the next song would be "it is one word…… and it ends with an s…." I'm thinking ha!
Easy! Heroes! It's not Heroes, instead, it's Days, followed by a luxurious, extended instrumental
arrangement in the body of The Man Who Sold The World, simmer turns to boil as the band maneuvers through amped up versions of Hallo Spaceboy, and Heathen. Bowie biting off the hard edged lyrics with wry
acidity.
Then David brings it down again and begins to speak of a song about living life in the modern world that he
did once with a wonderful man who is now gone (again, I have goose bumps even at the memory of David
speaking about Freddie in this way) and we are treated to an uplifting, yet chilling for me rendition of
Under Pressure with his bald female bass player handling Freddie's harmony parts perfectly with her
ringing, angelic voice.
More goosebumps ensue as Bowie poses center stage and with a dramatic flourish of his arms brings in the
first notes of one of my all time favorite songs: Life on Mars, the piano notes at the end wrapping neatly
into the opening bass line of Panic in Detroit, onto Ashes to Ashes, and Never Get Old. Oh but David we
all have, and really, we don't mind, because where we are now is just fine, we're as comfortable in our
"golden years" as you seem to be...
Bowie introduces the band and moves them through a spot on cover of The Velvet Underground's blistering
White Light\White Heat… at which point the little girl next to me leans over and says- isn't this a Lou Reed
song? And I am forced to regale her with the story of David and Lou and Max's Kansas City….. "Really? She
didn't know any of that….."
The frustration and paranoia of I'm Afraid of Americans bounced into the show closer, Heroes…. Which
though hard to believe after such a fabulous evening-Bowie kept mangling the lyrics to!! At one point
realizing how off he was by hearing the verse that the audience was singing, he stopped, said "I can't sing-
you all sing" and turned the mic to the audience to carry on properly.
He reclaimed the stage, catlike, prowling the upper regions of the risers with a new, slow, soulful
arrangement of the first verses to Let's Dance letting the song open like the petals of the "fall into his
arms trembling" flower he sings of , Always Crashing in The Same Car, and onto another charming story
before bedtime. This one about one of the first shows he ever saw as a youth. A story of seeing the late
great Gene Vincent, and a show at a fucked up venue. Gene Vincent after his motorcycle accident, his leg in
a cast, playing the whole set standing in a scissor like straddle and how he (Bowie) had thought it was so
cool that he nicked the stance and used it for the whole Ziggy tour…. Which was the open door to
Suffragette City, which then led into Ziggy Stardust to close the show. And much to my disappointment,
though he had played it the night before, he skipped 5 Years. Even though I screamed for it at the top of my
voice in the last completely silent moment between Suffragette and Ziggy. He looked up, seemed to smile
and shook his head as he let loose the first lyrics to Ziggy Stardust. He also skipped his latest cover, JR
& The Modern Lovers Pablo Picasso. The previous evening he put more classic material into the set, but
as he said at the start of the show they were going to "mix it up a little so that the people who had been
there the night before wouldn't be disappointed."
I left Wednesday night in a state of euphoria that has not diminished one bit. I have been through, Rise and
Fall, Hunky Dory, Diamond Dogs, Aladdin Sane, Heroes, Pin Ups, Reality, Heathen, Lodger, Low and several
live bootleg recordings in the hours since the concert trying to fill in the gaps….... I am still completely
blissed out and truly amazed at how many points in my life can be defined or associated with Bowie's music.
I feel like Gary in "The Major Tom Letters", only better…… it was a "Sweet Thing" indeed.
--Sky
