Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Off the Record is a production of I Heart Radio.
David Bowie's face was pressed against the glass of the
helicopter windows that hovered high above Wembley Stadium. From the heavens.
He watched his friend Freddie Mercury on the massive screen below,
presiding over a crowd of eighty thou people. They swayed
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as if a single organism. Though David couldn't hear much
over the relentless thump of the chopper blade, it was
clear that Freddy had them in the palm of his hand.
Talk about a tough actor follow and in less than
an hour David would have to do just that. It
was July. David was on his way to perform at
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the British stage of Live Aid, the Transatlantic All Star
benefit concert to raise money for Ethiopian famine relief. He
had been one of the first headliners to lend their
name to the event, opening the floodgates for a host
of rock and roll a listers like Elton John, You
to The Who and Paul McCartney to sign on. The
weather it thankfully cooperated. It was a beautiful summer's afternoon
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without a cloud in the sky. The same couldn't be
said for inside the helicopter, which was fogged by the cigarettes.
David anxiously chain smoked. The pilot could barely see his
instrument panel through the haze, and begged him repeatedly to stop,
but David just ignored him. He needed something to steady
his nerves. His hands trembled as he drew each cigarette
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to his lips. Perhaps it was just the turbulence, but
his whole body seemed to shake. It wasn't the prospect
of following Queen that had him spooked. Heck those kids, please.
He knew Freddie back when he was just another guy
selling you's clothes at Kensington Market. David remembered him well.
Freddie was on his hands and knees one day, fitting
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David with a pair of suede boots when he muttered
something about starting a band of his own. David's only
experience with success at that point was Space Oddity, but
he was already pretty jaded. Why would you ever want
to get into this business, he replied. Ultimately. Freddie didn't
listen to David, probably for the best. From David's present
point of view in the helicopter, he was doing quite well.
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Good for him, No following Queen wasn't a concern, nor
was the prospect of performing for a televised audience of
over a billion people in a hundred and ten countries
around the globe. He wasn't even troubled by the fact
that his band had only rehearsed three times. No, the
problem was the twelve minute flight from central London to
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the stadium. You see, the starman hated to fly. After
years of stubbornly refusing any sort of air travel, he'd
begrudgingly begun taking planes. But helicopters. That was just ridiculous.
What kind of death trap was this? How much longer?
He constantly asked the pilot during their brief time in
the air. But it was the only way to get
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to Wembley. Heavy traffic surrounding the stadium made it imposse
able to get the steady stream of artists in and
out in a timely manner. There was, after all, a
strict schedule to keep The entire event had been timed
with military precision to keep pace with the satellite broadcast
of the corresponding concert occurring simultaneously across the Pond in Philadelphia.
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Everything about the day had grown somewhat larger in scope
than anyone in anticipated across the country. It was all
anyone was talking about. There was no escaping it. As
David drove to the helipad, he could hear the radio
reports spilling out of every car on the road. The
drive had taken him past the house where he was
born in Brixton, and the sidewalks were eerily quiet. Everyone
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was indoors, glued to their television sets, all tuned to
the same channel. No one had seen anything like this before,
at least not since the moon landing. There was a
similar sense of optimism in the air. The Union of
Talent and Technology seemed to make good on the umanitarian
promise of Woodstock a decade and a half earlier. The
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Flower children had grown up, and now they were in charge,
and they were determined to use their power for good.
It's a laughable notion when considering the greed is good
ethos of the eighties, but just for one day, a
brighter future seemed in reach. David's helicopter touched down in
a cricket field behind Wembley, where a motorcid was on
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hand to whisk him inside the stadium. As he exited
the car and as Cris Blue Suit, a hungry horde
of two photographers scrambled to get their shot to the uninitiated.
The firestorm of flash bulbs would seem terrifying, but he
loved this bit. The nerves were gone, the flight was over,
The hard part of the day was done. Now only
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had to do. Would sing a few songs in front
of a billion people, a fifth of the planet. Only
David Bowie can make him look easy. Hello and welcome
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to Off the Record, the show that goes beyond the
songs and into the hearts and minds of rock's greatest legends.
I'm your host Jordan Runtug. This season explores the life,
or rather lives of David Bowie. Today's episode looks at
David in the eighties, a time that saw him grow
from a famous artist to a global superstar, A one
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man brand bolstered by the fresh force of MTV. David
embraced the exponential growth of mass media and shamelessly corded
mass popularity. He got it, but the success changed his
reputation in a way that was irreversible. Up till then,
he was the world's most famous outsider. To all who
felt marginalized or misunderstood. He'd been a towering example of power, strength,
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grace and courage. Now his move to the mainstream read
as a reject action of those who felt mothered and
looked to him as their patron voice and guardian. Bowie
himself would struggle with the impact of his creative choices
in this period. Was he a sellout? It was a
classic case of careful what you wish for. David Bowie
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closed out the seventies with the song that began it
for him, Space Oddity. The saga of Major Tom had
brought David his first notoriety, launching him into the decade
he'd grow to dominate. Now, he unveiled a new version
of the track on a New Year's Eve television special
in Britain. Instead of the technical tour to force heard
on the original, he delivered a stripped down acoustic rendition,
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just drums, piano and David's furiously strummed twelve string guitar.
This new version was striking, almost shocking, and its sparsity.
Instead of the lushly orchestrated lift off section, he offers
just twelve seconds of silence. The interplay between ground control
and major Tom becomes an intensely passionate, solitary vocal shorn
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of the production pyrotechnics, it goes from being a theater
piece to something more personal. He was practically naked. David
Bowie had been many things over the last ten years,
but rarely as unadorned self. It was a fitting way
to end the decade that, as one paper noted, would
have been pretty boring without him. The musical book end
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not only appealed to his sense of dramatic symmetry, but
also helped him in taking stock of the last ten years.
The character of Major Tom had come to him in
nineteen sixty nine after years of commercial failures. It was
a time when his dreams of artistic success were starting
to fade. He had been dropped by his label and
his girlfriend had just left him. Flash forward a decade.
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He was famous around the globe and was in the
midst of a messy divorce. He'd gotten what he wants.
It was it worth it? Knowingly or unknowingly. David and
his doomed space Man had been on parallel journeys. Like
Major Tom, David adventured out into the furthest regions of
the human experience, far above the world. Also, like Major Tom,
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he felt like he'd had little choice in the matter. Sure,
he'd signed up to go on the journey, but he
hardly realized what it would entail. As the fame, drugs,
business pressures, and personal problems mounted, he nearly drifted into
the abyss. The force was just too much to alterra trajectory.
Life became something that was inflicted on him a series
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of increasingly out there occurrences. Often this is the point
when casualties occur. Yet through some combination of strength, will
and luck, he regained control. Towards the end of his
time in Berlin in the late seventies, he told a
friend that he had quote grown up at last. David
would face challenges and pain in the future, but he
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would never be quite as lost again. For a man
who was loath to look backwards, processing his past would
be a crucial part of moving forward. He'd long confounded
critics with as many faces. Now he was searching for
a through line. You have to accommodate your pasts within
your persona, he'd later say, of the period. You have
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to understand why you went through them. You cannot just
ignore them or put them out of your mind and
pretend they didn't happen, or just say oh, I was different.
Then he'd absorb all of his alter egos into one,
a strong, self assured artist who could be whatever he
wanted on demand. David Jones would just be David Bowie,
the ultimate character. His reflective mood carried over into his creativity.
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David poured over old demos and session tapes as he
geared up to start work on a new record. The
remarkable three year creative streak with Brian Eno had yielded
the groundbreaking records forever known as the Berlin Trilogy, but
now their partnership was coming to an end. A new
decade called for a fresh start. I felt I was
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becoming static, David would say, I wanted to break away.
Every few years, I have to redefine what I'm writing.
I had to do it when I went to Berlin,
and now I had to do it again. His reacquaintance
with Major Tom inspired him to write an update on
the Spaceman saga, checking in to see what ten years
had drift had done to him. The Astronauts journey had
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driven him the drugs. Now he was addicted and risk
taking permanent leave of his senses. Once more, David used
Major Tom as a lyrical proxy for himself. The song
was called Ashes to Ashes, and he addressed listeners with
uncharacteristic frankness. Do you remember a guy that's been in
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such an early song. I've heard a rumor from ground control.
Oh no, don't say it's true. Ashes to Ashes, funk
to funky. We know Major Tom's at junkie strung out
in Heavens High, hitting an all time low too many.
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It seemed to be an almost literal depiction of his
mid seventies crisis, a time when his music was going
from the funk of young Americans to the supremely funky
avant garde station, the station he battled substance abuse in
the City of Angels, strung out in Heavens High. Then
he departed for Europe, hitting an all time low that
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ultimately produced the album of the same name. But he
saves the most damning lines for the lacerating lament of
the bridge. I never done good things. I never done
bad things. I never did anything out of the blue.
Years later, David would single out the words as crucial
to understanding as meaning those three particular lines represented in
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tinuing returning feeling of an adequacy over what I've done,
He'd say, I have a lot of reservations about what
I've done, inasmuch as I don't feel much of it
as any import at all. Denigrating the image of the
hero from his breakthrough hit was certainly a bold move
for Bowie. The act of outlining Major Tom's tragic fall
from Grace had much the same effect of killing off
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Siggy Stardust on stage. By destroying his own creation, is
set him free to charge into the new decade, unfettered
by his past. Perhaps that's why David called the track
ashes to ashes in death. There was a rebirth if
the song was a chronicle of the rough and tumble
road that had led him to the eighties. The video
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featured his first overt acknowledgement of a younger generation of
artists that had followed in the trail that he blazed.
Such reckoning is always a bittersweet moment in a pop
star's life. Rock and roll is, after all, a young
person's game. By acknowledging the younger crowd, you admit that
you're not a part of it. It's not a long,
logical leap to consider yourself old. Being young didn't interest
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Bowie as much as being new, or at least perceived
as such. Constant reinventions had staved off the inevitable staleness
that comes with a long career in the public eye.
But being fresh forever it was simply impossible. He was
only thirty three, but he was already being treated as
a star from another era. Time was no longer waiting
in the wings, it was beating at his door. Was
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the dawn of the first post Bowie decade, and there
was already a kind of ziggy revival taking place in Britain.
The kids whose lives have been forever changed by watching
David and Veils starman to the masses during his appearance
on Top of the Pops eight years earlier. We're growing
up now and in some cases already making names for themselves.
Just look at bands like Joy Division, XTC, Susie and
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The Banshees, and a short time later you too. Even
David's electro experiments with Eno inspired British kids to invest
in since inform groups like Depeche Mode and The Human League.
For a time, David paid little mind to these upstarts.
Punk had passed him by completely. He'd been in Germany
when the first wave it crested in London. Aside from
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his tour with Iggy Pop, he rarely engaged. But when
he began to hear electro tinged art pop singles that
seemed to his ears a little too close to his
recent work, that got his attention real quick. They say
imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Despite David's reputation
for borrowing influences and styles freely, he wasn't exactly gracious
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when people paid him the same uh compliment. David was
more tolerant of a new subculture springing up around London
known as the New Romantics. Most were recovering punks who
become distancing themselves from the movement due to a combination
of changing tastes and it's increasing reputation for attracting skinheads
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and nationalists. Instead, many punks reverted back to the glam
rock that they've been raised on. The alternative attitude in
general flamboyance that had led them to mohawks and piercings
made them feel right at home in the theatrical realm
of ziggy They suited up in velvet and ruffles, and
decked themselves out and costom jewelry and elaborate sexually ambiguous makeup,
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setting the stage for new waivers like Boy George and
Duran Duran. The burst of nostalgia for the early seventies
sparked renewed passion for Bowie. New romantic dance clubs held
dedicated Bowie Knights where they blasted Jeane Genie and Rebel
Rebel like it was still in three The most famous
of these hot spots was called Blitz, a wine bar
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inexplicably decorated with images of the Nazi blitz Creeg from
World War Two. Every Tuesday, hundreds of Bowie fans turned
up in their glam finery, forming a line that stretched
around the block. Admission was not guaranteed. They had a
pretty strict door policy. Even Mick Jagger was turned away
one night, supposedly for being drunk and borish. But when
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Bowie himself showed up to Bowie Knight, they were a
little more accommodating. Hell, it was like God himself had
showed up, and the crowds parted like the Red Sea.
He'd come not just to check out the scene, but
also the recruit extras for the Ashes to Ashes music video,
due to be filmed later that week. He rounded up
a handful of suitably stylish clubvers and told them to
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meet at his hotel on a few days. To these
Bowie worshippers, it was like they died and gotten to Heaven.
It wasn't heaven exactly, but a frigid beach on the
English coast, not much to look at in person, but
director David Mallett worked as technical magic, turning the visuals
into with jarring fever dream fantasy, using the early computer
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graphics program Paintbox the radically alter the colors of the film.
He rendered the sky a hallucinogenic black and the ocean pink.
So it seems slightly dated now, this was some of
the earliest technology available to achieved such an effect, and
its use added to the exorbitant cost of the video
some five hundred thousand dollars then or almost two million
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dollars today, making it the most expensive video ever made
at the time. Bowie appears in several guys is, most
notably a puro style clown that recalls his early mime days.
He also donned outfits for a major tom like astronaut
and an impatient at a psych ward, quite possibly a
reference to his half brother Terry. He strolls the beach
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draped in these relics of his past, as the new
Romantic Kids follow quite literally in his footsteps. The clip
would be a pivotal moment in the history of music videos,
helping kick off the MTV age a year early. The
song would be the centerpiece of the new album. David
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began recording with Tony Visconti in February of Night after
years of plucking song fragments from studio experimentations with Eno
or jam sessions with his band. These sessions mark David's
returns to slightly more traditional composition. Rather than improvised the
lyrics as he'd done for much of the Berlin trilogy,
he took a two month break to craft the words
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and melodies. His focused approach is reflected in the songs,
among the most melodic and commercial that he'd produced in years.
In addition to Ashes to Ashes, another highlight was Fashion,
a relentless dance stomper that took aim at slaves the style.
In a way. It was the spiritual sequel to his
song Fane. Deconstructing the image that was so essential to
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the very notion of celebrity. He tackled a similar subject
on teenage Wildlife on the flip side, Screamed Like a
Baby is an unsettling tale the ugly price one pays
for failing to fit in the society. The paranoid themes
continue on the song Scary Monsters, which finds David running
scared from a stalker. The track would lend its name
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to the album's ultimate title, Scary Monsters and Super Creeps.
The record was released in September of nineteen eighty, just
in time for David to conquer a new stage Broadway.
That summary had been offered the lead role in the
production of The Elephant Man. The show was based on
the life of John Merrick, a severely deformed man whose
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job as a circus attraction at the turn of the
century earned him a living but little compassion. David threw
himself into preparation for the role with his usual verve.
He embarked on a self directed research trip, visiting the
British hospital where Marek had been treated. He examined his clothes,
including the hood he had been forced to wear to
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shield his disfigured face from the public. He even saw
his misshapen skeleton, a testament to the extreme physical pain
that Merrik constantly endured, exacerbating his emotional anguish. The experience
left David in tears. It evoked his strongest boyhood feeling
of being alone. He was especially moved by the model
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Church America, constructed out of cardboard, a poignant symbol of
his desire for beauty and tranquility in his own troubled life.
David felt a kinship for the late Merrick. Both were smart, articulate,
sensitive souls who spent much of their life as performers
being dismissed as freaks. His co stars were the first
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to witness David's stunning portrayal of Merrek. His talent was
bigger than his ego, which is rare. One cast mate
would recall David has showed makeup and prosthetics, fearing that
it would reduce the character to a caricature. Instead, he
played him the hard way, with grotesque facial ticks and
torturous movements. The expressions of physical agony were so intense
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that he required chiropractic treatment after each performance. His background
as a musician made him an excellent listener, a subtle
but crucial skill that all actors must master. The winning
instant praise from his cast mates the pre show jitters remained,
as he told journalists at the time, this is the
most terrifying position I've ever put myself in. Ever. The
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show was scheduled to open in Denver that July, before
moving briefly to Chicago and finally Broadway. David stood backstage
minutes before the curtain went up for his first performance,
very seriously wondering what on earth am I doing? He
needed the worried the show was a triumph, So is
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his Broadway debut that September, which drew a dazzling array
of figures from David's past, like Elizabeth Taylor and Andy Warhol.
Even his former manager Ken Pitt flew over from England
to catch a performance. He always knew that David had
what it took to be an actor, even when David
himself couldn't care less, and he was thrilled to see
him on the Great White Way. The reviews were effusive,
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and so were the groups of Bowie die hards who
couldn't resist shouting Starman or Ziggy at some point during
each show. The cast grew to expect it. They were
disturbed to see how closely David's life mirrored that of
the circus freak he played on the stage. Everywhere he
went he was chased by mobs of people. Yes, they
loved him, but it was frightening. Nonetheless, for one show,
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he had to be driven to the theater hidden in
a garbage truck and slithered into the venue through a
basement window. When the show towards Chicago, major hotels were
unable to guarantee his privacy, so David was forced to
stay at a grubby apartment above a local department store.
Even then, his residence was discovered and his clothes were
stolen by over zealous fans. If he could even call
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them fans, it was hard to tell. The line got
even more blurred when the cast recognized the same group
of six girls who showed up to every performance for
a week. They were kind of hard to miss, always
in the front row, with funky clothes and dyed hair.
At first, they thought the kids were just unusually devoted.
Bowie remembered the sweet dedication of the Sigma kids back
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in Philly. Then one night, during curtain call, the six
girls stood up in tandem, clutching metallic items from their purses.
Security intervened before they could get very far and hustled
them out of the building, but it was still unsettling.
David never found out what they intended to do, but
it's doubtful that it was anything good. David arrived home
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there was Manhattan Loft on the night of December eight
and heard the news John Lennon had been shot murdered
outside his Upper West Side apartment. His wife, Yoko Ono,
was at his side. They were coming home to tuck
in their five year old son. David's mind went blank.
The information was impossible to process. His initial numbness soon
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gave way to anger. What the hell is going on
with this world? He repeatedly screamed between tears. He would
recall A whole piece of my life seemed to have
been taken away, A whole reason for being a singer
and songwriter seemed to be removed from me. It was
almost like a warning. He was left with his memories.
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John had gone from a hero to a mentor, an
elder brother who advised him on business. Being a celebrity
and had to communicate effectively and efficiently through music. It's
very easy, John told him as they collaborated on the
track fame In. Say what you mean, make it rhyme
and put a backbeat to it. It was classic Lennin, honest, unpretentious,
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and achingly sincere. More than just a giver of sage
rock star advice, Lennin was a good friend. A few
years back, they bumped into each other by sheer chance
at a hotel in Hong Kong. David was passing through
following a tour with Iggy Pop. John was just on vacation,
a favorite activity after clearing up his immigration issues that
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have prevented him from traveling for much the seventies. He
loved setting out for far flung locales with just a
small briefcase containing his wallet and a T shirt. He
was a freeman. As soon as Lennon and David saw
each other in Hong Kong, the fund began instantly. First,
they went to a fancy resort restaurant, but the atmosphere
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proved too stuffy, so they went for a swim, and
then they browsed the street markets, where John found the
kiosks that sold Beatle style jackets. He couldn't resist posing
in one for Bowie's polaroid camera. As the day grew late,
they slunk around the backstreets to, according to David, at
least find a place to eat monkey brains. Members of
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a Chinese gang recognized the two superstars and brought them
to a back room, where they persuaded them to take
shots of snake's blood, which got them hopelessly stoned. John
then tricked David into eating something called a thousand day egg,
an egg cooked in urine and buried a manure not
for a thousand days, but was disgusting all the same.
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The rest of the night was a bit of a blur.
They wound up at a strip club, were excited patrons
bought them an unhealthy number of beers. John, who was
never great at handling his booze, started mouthing off, and
soon they were escorted out. The scene ended with an
indignant John pounding on the door shouting, let me back in.
I'm a freaking beetle. The mere mention of the B
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words sent Bowie into hysterics. He'd never seen him pull.
The FAB four card was now the middle of the
night outside of back Alley Hong Kong strip club. Really
the time I can't believe you said that, David said,
between tears of laughter, Say it again, I dare you.
I'm a freaking beatle, Jump bellowed as they both collapsed
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in heaps of giggles. And now he was gone. It
was inconceivable. The shocking crime hit so close to home,
and it could have been even closer. Detectives told David
that he was next on the hit list of Lennon's killer.
Investigators reportedly found a flyer for The Elephant Man in
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the Gunman's Hotel room with David's name circled in black.
He bought a front row ticket for the production, scheduled
the day after Lennon's murder. It was a fallback if
his deadly mission with John failed. He would wait for
David at the stage door of the Booth Theater, named
for the brother of John Wilkes Booth, who shot Abraham
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Lincoln in the middle of a play. In another erie coincidence,
John and Yoko also had front row seats for the
same show as John's murderer. None of them made it.
When David stood before the spotlight that night, he found
it hard not to focus on the three empty seats
just beyond the stage. I can't tell you how difficult
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that was to go on. He later said, I almost
didn't make it through the performance. The producers offered to
let David take some time off from the Elephant Man,
but David wouldn't hear of it. He also declined and
their offers to rework the show, minimizing the amount of
time that he needed to be on stage. But he
did take other precautions. He hired a bodyguard, an ex
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Navy seal who was trained to kill. This was a
common response after Lennon's murder in the Rock community. Keith
Richards took it a step further, carrying a gun for
self protection. David and others took courses designed to teach
high profile figures to interact with fans and the safest
possible way, educating them on possible warning signs and threats
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from stalkers or even killers. Intimate encounters like he'd had
with the Sigma Kids in Philly all those years ago,
were now a thing of the past. John and David
had both loved New York for the freedom had offered
they could go out together and stroll the streets without
any hassle. For brief moments they could live normal lives.
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Two days before his death, John marveled at these simple
pleasures to a journalist, I can go out this door
right now and go to a restaurant. Do you want
to know how great that is? For David, that freedom
was over and he never did get it back. David
told producers that he planned to leave The Elephant Man
after his contract was up. He performed his final show
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on January four, just weeks after the murder. A proposed
stadium tour for his new album, Scary Monsters and Super
Creeps was abandoned. Instead, he returned to his home in Switzerland.
The Scary Monsters and Super Creeps were just too real.
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After David took his final bows for The Elephant Man
in January of one, he returned to his home in Switzerland,
where he secluded himself for the better part of a year.
Instead of music, he said his focus on being an attentive,
loving father to his son, Zoe, who was nearing his
tenth birthday that spring. David had been an infrequent presence
in the boys early years, often called away for tours
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and recording dates. Now he was eager to make up
for lost time. He was a hands on dad, driving
Zoe to school and visiting on parents night. When David
had dinners with rock star friends like Mick Jagger and
Keith Richards, he brought Zoe along and bragged about the
boys skill on the sports field. They went on trips
to the zoo and even on safari to Kenya. They
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bonded over many things, but music wasn't one of them.
Zoe would sit backstage at David's concerts, bored out of
his mind, waiting for Dad to finish work so they
could go home. Performance life just didn't interest him. David
gave Zoe an impressive assortment of instruments to try to
spark his interest saxophone, guitar, piano, drums, but it just
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wasn't happening. Instead, Zoe was much more taken by their
movie nights. Dvid would sometimes wheel out a primitive video
player the size of a shopping cart for Star Wars
viewing parties with friends. David fostered the boys growing passion
by getting him an eight millimeter camera and showing him
how to make little stop motion films with his toy
action figures. He also taught him the basic process of
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movie making like storyboarding, screenwriting, lighting and editing, sowing the
seeds for his future career as a successful film director,
and there is legal name Duncan Jones. In many ways,
they were less like father and son and more like
a pair of brothers, with David learning as much from
Zoe as the boy did from him. Having a son
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helped cure David of his more nihilistic tendencies a decade earlier.
His work reflected a man obsessed with dystopia and the apocalypse.
As he's sang on the Diamond Dogs track, you'll be
shooting up on anything. Tomorrow's never there. Now he was
a little more optimistic about a bright future. My son
keeps me remembering that there is a tomorrow, he'd say.
(32:03):
For someone who's fearlessly freaky as David, he could be
a surprisingly straight laced dad. He later enrolled the boy
in the highly disciplined and also highly exclusive British boarding
school Gordonston, which counted Prince Charles and other members of
the royal family among its all male graduates. When Zoe
dyed his hair a punkish green and red as a teen,
(32:25):
David was aghast, and he uttered that famous phrase familiar
to parents all over the world. You are not going
out looking like that. Even Zoe had to laugh at
the absurdity of it all. David Bowie was telling him
that he looked weird. In addition to being a better father,
David did all he could to be a better son.
(32:45):
His relationship with his mother, Peggy had never been an
easy one, especially since she grumbled about him in the
press back in the mid seventies. Over time, they reached
a tentative understanding, and slowly the iciness between them began
the fall. David kept his distance, but he was sure
to send your tickets to his shows, which she attended
with pride. Nine eight gig in London was the scene
(33:08):
of a minor breakthrough. Peggy was sitting in a private
box thumbing through her copy of the tour program. When
the door opened. There stood David in full makeup and
stage costume, grinning from ear to ear. They hadn't seen
each other face to face and so long for a moment.
Peggy was dumb struck before blurting out, you didn't have
to come up here and see me, David replied, you're
(33:31):
my mum. That this minor courtesy was a big deal.
Gives some indication of how strained their relationship had been,
but the baby steps added up. He flew Peggy to
New York to see him in The Elephant Man, introducing
her to each member of the cast and crew. They
exchanged letters, spent holidays together, and fell into a routine
of warm, regular contact. I've gotten closer to her, David
(33:55):
said at the time. I think the recognition of the
frailty of age makes one more sympathetic to the earlier
strains of the parent child relationship. For much of one
David was unusually absent from the columns of entertainment magazines
and trade papers. Several unfavorable contracts were due to expire
(34:16):
the following year, and he was more than content to
wait them out. One was with his former manager, Tony
de Freeze. The lawsuit that terminated their partnership seven years
earlier gave the Frieze a sizeable percentage of David's record income.
Through everything David released till then, the Frieze got a
chunk of the sales. As a result, David was less
(34:38):
than motivated to get back in the studio. He didn't
like the idea of making his ex associate rich off
his own Sweat and Blood. David's deal with his label
r c A was also up in two. He'd become
disillusioned with his longtime musical home, especially after the tepid
response to his Berlin experiments with Brian Eno. All c
(35:00):
A had responded to Low, an album that's now hailed
as a groundbreaking masterpiece, by sending him a formal rejection letter.
David had to throw his weight around to get it
released as he saw fit. The incident left him convinced
that our Cier had lost faith in him as an artist.
He believed they weren't promoting his new work, instead preferring
to repackage is more commercial past on greatest hits albums
(35:23):
and other cash in collections. They viewed him as a product,
pure and simple, he thought, and he wanted out as
soon as possible. David's two major musical offerings from one
We're both collaborations. The first was the title song for
the film Cat People, which saw him pair with the
(35:45):
Italian electro pioneer Georgio Moroder, famous for Donna Summer's robo
disco hits, interesting but mostly as a curio in the
Bowie cannon. The other song as a somewhat bigger reputation.
It began David was recording Cat People and Mountains studios
in Montrose, Switzerland. By chance, Queen was working at the
(36:07):
studio next door. David decided to stop by and say
hello to the band. He'd known those guys since forever.
David remembered Freddie Mercury standing down front at his early gigs,
practically taking notes on his flamboyant attire and stage moves.
His influence on Queen was no secret, but they had
the musical talent and originality to pull it off, David
(36:29):
would admit. Of all the more theatrical rock performers, Freddie
took it further than the rest. Queen was in the
midst of recording their album Hot Space. Initially, they tossed
around the idea of David's singing background on the song.
They were working on, a slinky R and B number
called cool Cats, but it just wasn't coming together. Instead,
(36:52):
they started jamming on an unfinished Queen song called Feel Like.
Freddie and David faced off for an improvised vocal battle,
each trying to outdo the other. Was Scott Syllables sung
with superhuman levels of passion. The music coalesced around a
repetitive riff by bassist John Deacon. It became the hallmark
of the song under Pressure. Neither Bowie or Queen or
(37:14):
sure whether it should ever see the light of day.
It seemed too raw, almost half baked. Eventually, someone on
the business end realized that a duet between the two
biggest British music acts of the last decade would probably
do quite well. It did, reaching number one in the UK.
Under Pressure was released on Queen's label E M I.
(37:36):
David was in no mood to give our ci a
something good instead for the final release he owed them.
Before his contract was up, David turned in a five
song EP the soundtrack to the play by Berthold Brecht
called Ball. David had grown fascinated by the German dramatist
during his years living in Berlin, and eagerly accepted a
(37:56):
role in a version of the play broadcast on the
BBC in March of now teen two. Like most of
David's finest performances, the role wasn't too much of a stretch.
The character of Ball was a wandering, sexually promiscuous, egocentric
poet who occasionally drank too much. In short, the classic
Brectian anti hero. It was a role David was born
(38:17):
to play. The performance earned praise, as did the soundtrack.
As a piece of art, it had all the integrity
in the world. The tasteful arrangements were recorded at Hansa's
studios in Berlin. Was some of Breck's original pit musicians,
and David's vocals were strong, showcasing his range in a
way he seldom could in his pop career. But baroque
(38:39):
stylings of tragic chance from an early twentieth century drama.
This was never destined to set the charts on fire.
It seemed like Bowie's perverse revenge against our Cer for
dismissing Low and the rest of his Berlin trilogy. It
was like he was saying that wasn't uncommercial. I'll show
you uncommercial. In any event, the release ended dave It's
(39:00):
association with our c a closing a chapter that began
with Hunky Dorry in vent One. One of the last
links to his past was now severed. Before diving back
into the rock and roll rat race, Bowie spent most
(39:22):
of nine eight two further developing his acting chops. He
appeared in two feature film roles that year. The first
was The Hunger, an overwrought vampire flick most notable for
its sensationalized love affair between leading ladies Kathine Deneuve and
Susan Sarandon. The movie was directed by Tony Scott, whose
brother Ridley had directed David in an ice cream advertisement
(39:44):
back in nineteen sixty nine. Ridley Scott had graduated from
Ads to Blade Runner by this point, but The Hunger
was not blade Runner. Bowie plays an eighteenth century vampire
living in modern day New York, tarling Manhattan's discos for
Blood Don't Us. Following The Elephant Man and Ball, The
Hunger was lowbrow in the extreme. It was build rather
(40:07):
optimistically as a modern classic of perverse fear. Well, they
had the perverse part right at least. The movie was
panned upon its release, but filming was not without its
high points. David and Susan Sarandon enjoyed a brief affair,
though her radical liberal tirade started a grade on him
after a while. Zoe also visited him on the set,
(40:29):
further stoking his passion for movie making. He was there
the day they shot the scene where David's character ages
two hundred and fifty years. Unfortunately, no one warned the
poor kid and he burst into tears at the side
of his father. As an ultra elderly man. David, on
the other hand, loved the makeup because he could walk
around in public completely unnoticed. On more than one occasion
(40:51):
he snuck out to the pub to have a rare
taste at true privacy. Filming brought him back to England
for his first substantial stay in years, and as a rival,
brought a flood of unhappy memories. Many concerned his elder
half brother Terry. After years of being shuttled in and
out of the Cane Hills Psychiatric Hospital, Terry could bear
(41:12):
it no longer. He threw himself out of a second
story window of the facility in an apparent attempt to
take his own life. He suffered a fractured arm and leg,
but survived. A few weeks later, hospital staff were stunned
when David turned up to see Terry bearing gifts of cigarettes, books,
and a cassette player. They hadn't seen one another in years,
(41:34):
and spent an hour talking alone, just the two of them,
just like they did in their bedroom while those years ago.
Then it was time to go. David promised Terry he'd return.
Terry excitedly told his nurses that his famous little brother
was coming back to rescue him and take him away
from this terrible place. His brother was David Bowie. You know,
(41:55):
he could do anything. But David never came back. One
of his aunts took shots at him in the press,
accusing him of ignoring his stricken brother, turning his back
on the family, and generally being heartless. But of course
that wasn't true. David certainly never stopped loving Terry. He
(42:17):
would be one of the most influential figures in his life,
but the bonds between them had been broken beyond repair.
The man David had known in his youth, the wild,
free thinker who set his soul alight with beat, poetry
and free jazz, it was no longer there. He was gone,
consumed by mental illness. Authentic communication was made all but impossible.
(42:40):
David would say, I've never been able to get through
to Terry about how he really feels. I guess nobody has.
Seeing what his beloved brother had become was too much
to bear. A painful reminder of what had been and
what will never be again. Once The Hunger wrapped, Dave
had left England for the South Pacific to shoot his
(43:02):
part in the World War two drama Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence.
It was something of a one eighty from The Hunger.
David played a British prisoner of war, a man racked
with guilt for failing to protect his handicapped brother throughout
his tormented childhood. Once again, David found himself in a
role that allowed him to draw on feelings from the
depths of his soul. He would admit as much when
(43:24):
speaking to a reporter when the film opened at the
con Film Festival in three. I found in the character
all too many areas of guilt and shortcomings that are
a part of me, he said. I feel tremendous guilt
because I grew so apart from my family. I hardly
ever see my mother, and I have a half brother
I don't see anymore. It was my fault. We grew
(43:44):
apart and it's painful, but somehow there's no going back.
By the end of two, David was finally free of
his legal obligations to his record label and his former manager.
I'm massive psychic weight had been lifted, and he also
stood to make a great deal of money for the
(44:05):
first time in his professional life. An enormous portion of
his income wouldn't be going to management. If there was
ever a time to score a massive smash, this would
be it, though it's strange to think now. Up to
this point, David had never been a commercial success on
a truly global scale. His base in England had always
been kind to him since breaking UK sales records with
(44:27):
Ziggy Stardus back in two British fans could always be
counted on to push his releases into the upper echelons
of the charts, but aside from his duet with Queen,
his top forty success in the US was limited to
just three singles in Young Americans Fame and Golden Years.
His albums were well reviewed and sold in healthy numbers,
(44:49):
and he was certainly known around the world, but more
as a character than as a commercial force. It had
always been part of his illusion, dating back to his
main Man days project the image of success, but totald
gargantuan blockbuster sales figures had so far eluded him. With
his next record, he wanted to change that. The incentives
(45:11):
were many. He would make a mint with his new
financial deal and stick it to his ex associates, who
had doubted him for the first time since showcasing his
avant garde streak on Station A Station nearly seven years earlier.
He would actively pursue a hit. More than that, he
would wage an all out assault on the worldwide music markets.
(45:32):
Now into his mid thirties, practically ancient in rock terms,
he was aware that it may be his last chance.
He cleaned house creatively just weeks before sessions were due
to begin for his new album. He parted company with
his tried and true co producer Tony Visconti, a friend
since the sixties and the guiding hand during the Berlin
(45:53):
Trilogy and Scary Monsters record. Instead, he turned to Nile Rodgers.
Nile helped to find the sound of the late seventies
with the quicksilver electro funk of his band Chic and
the chart topping single t He'd produced for Diana Ross
and Sister Sledge, But the anti disco backlash at the
start of the decade had been hard on Nile two.
(46:15):
He'd had a string of flops. Like so many important
meetings in Bowie's life, it happened by chance or at
least carefully arranged happenstance. They met in the fall of
two at an ultra hit Manhattan nightclub called The Continental.
Nile walked in just before closing time with Billie Idol,
who was a little worse for the wear. Suddenly, Billy's
(46:37):
eyes grew wide. There's David Bowie, he exclaimed, or at
least that's what he was trying to say. The word
Bowie was slightly obscured by the vomit that suddenly sprayed
out of his mouth. Nile was shocked, and not by
his friends poorly times spew that was David Bowie. He
was expecting ziggy stardust, not this average look guy drinking
(47:00):
an orange juice by himself. Hell, the guy was in
a suit. This was the early eighties. Everyone had shoulder
pads and fox tails hanging off their jackets. David was
the least freaky guy in the place. Despite the inauspicious start,
their intro would prove memorable. Nyland David hit it off
right away. R and B was an immediate point of connection.
(47:24):
Nile was old friends with David's Young Americans era collaborators
like Carlos Alamar Luther Vandross and Dennis Davis like them.
He was impressed by the depth of David's musical knowledge.
They talked till dawn. Then a few days later, David
s Nile the producer's next album just like that, but
he had a crucial directive Nile, David said, I really
(47:47):
want you to make hits. They met up a short
time later at David's new home at Chateau style Residents
in the Swiss town of Blazon. The purpose of the
visit was mostly just to get to know one and there.
It all seemed casual, but Nile recognized that he was
being programmed. David was downloading his influences into his new collaborator.
(48:09):
They thumbed through copies of his extensive vinyl collection, poring
over the vibrant, colorful album covers from the nineteen fifties,
some of which he'd purchased as a boy back in Bromley.
The Isley Brothers doing Twist and Shout, Henry Mancini's swinging
theme to Peter Gunn, James Brown Elmore, James Johnny Otis,
Stan Kenton. This was the stuff that had made him
(48:30):
want to make music in the first place. He'd recently
become reacquainted with these oldies, passing the long hours on
film sets with homemade mixtapes. It was very non uptight music,
and it comes from a sense of pleasure and happiness.
He'd later explained. There's an enthusiasm and optimism on those recordings.
David showed Nile a vintage shot of his hero Little Richard,
(48:52):
looking too cool for this world in a red suit,
hopping into his red Cadillac convertible. Even though it was
from the past, it also looked like it could be
from the future, Nile Darling, David said as he pointed
to the image. I want the album to sound like this.
David walked into Nile's bedroom one morning, strumming a new
(49:13):
song and his old war torn twelve string guitar. It
sounded almost folky, like something Peter, Paul and Mary or
the Birds would have done. I think it's gonna be
a hit, David said. Nile didn't quite get it at first.
He thought it was a prank or even some kind
of a test. He called a mutual friend in New
York to get a gut check. Would David play me
(49:35):
a crappy song just to see if I'm some sort
of a yes man. The answer came back no, so
David was serious. That meant Nile had his work cut
out for him. David called the song Let's Dance, but
how the hell was anyone going to dance to that?
He'd have to funk it up, which was after all,
what Nile Rodgers did best. Slowly, a production plan began
(49:57):
to take shape, borrowing from many of the run since
David had shared. The stacked vocal oz from Twist and
Shout became the songs intro. The horn blasts from the
Peter Gun theme were lifted to punctuate David's verses. Like
all the best stuff, it came together fast. David and
(50:18):
Nile books twenty one days at New York's Power Station
studios in December. It only took them seventeen days to
record and mix the whole album. It was the easiest
record either of them had ever made. There was no
one to answer to. David didn't have a record contract
and paid for the sessions out of his own pocket.
As Nile would later say, it felt like just me
(50:40):
and David against the world. There was only one minor
disagreement whether to use a young hot shot guitarist named
Stevie ray Vaughan, who was just starting to make waves
with his Texas blues collective Double Trouble. Nile thought it
was a little too derivative, like a retread of Albert
King's stuff, but Bowie had seen Evie at the Montre
(51:01):
Jazz Festival and insisted they give him a chance. Stevie
laid down his part for six tracks, instantaneously tearing off
rips on his old beat up Fender Strat. The rest
of the crew were handpicked by Nile, including chic bandmates
and his usual session pros, filling out the sound that
he dubbed modern big band rock. For the first time,
(51:24):
David didn't play a single instrument on his own album.
He trusted niles proven track record as a hit maker
and pretty much left him to it, affording him a
degree of control rare for one of his co producers. Often,
David would just hang out in the lounge to the
studio watching TV as Nile worked as digital sorcery. Then
Nile would invite David in and blow his mind with
(51:45):
the playback. David would later admit, with a touch of resentment,
it was more Nile's album than mine. Nile would more
or less agree, later saying, but we spent the entire
session sitting on the sofa while I made his record.
The record it in question was Let's Dance. If David
had desired commercial material, it succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. Catchy, accessible,
(52:09):
and radio friendly in the extreme, The tracks helped fuel
a bidding war between a host of record labels. On
Freddie Mercury's recommendation, he signed with E M I, negotiating
himself a deal valued at a reported seventeen million dollars.
It was the first serious money that he'd ever had.
After a decade of worldwide fame, David had finally entered
(52:31):
the financial realm of the Stones, Elton John and the Beatles.
All that money had gone through in the seventies suddenly
came back to me, he'd later marvel before clarifying, but
I'm not wealthy. I'm rich, and there's a difference. The
rich know how much money they've got. The wealthy don't.
And that was just the beginning for Bowie's bank balance.
(52:52):
Let's Dance was released on the fourteenth of April to
unprecedented commercial success. It eventually sold eleven million in copies,
far more than any other album of his career. His
new label, E M I would declare it their fastest
selling release since the Beatles. Sergeant Pepper in the title
track topped the charts on both sides of the Atlantic
(53:14):
for the first time in David's career, and he followed
it up with a pair of Transatlantic top twenty hits,
Modern Love and China Girl. Even Bowie was taken aback
by the reaction, believing he'd never actually surpassed his mid
seventies apex I thought, well, I've had my big deal.
This is where I am, He'd say. Then the explosion
happened when that song was a hit, and that really
(53:36):
threw me for a few months. It's just snowballed. It
was unbelievable. The song's pervasiveness was due in large part
to a gargantuan pr push by E M I, keen
to kick off a fresh era for their newly acquired
prestige artist. They were TV specials, Home Videos and Stories,
and Time and Newsweek, but the biggest factor was the
(53:58):
advent of music television. Let's Dance was Bowie's first album
of the MTV age for one of the most visually
conscious artists of his generation. David took to the network immediately.
(54:18):
Music videos were no new thing to him. He'd been
doing them since the late sixties, when Ken Pitt shelled
out for a Space oddity promo. David was quick to
realize that these music videos were not merely visual companion
pieces for new songs. They were, in effect advertisements. Bowie,
the son of a pr man and a former ad
agency employee, was one of the first major artists to
(54:40):
recognize the value, the necessity, even of building oneself into
a brand. His son kissed face and bright yellow popolore
that featured so prominently in his videos became a logo
for his one man corporation, beamed out across the air
waves at regular intervals, alongside sneakers, swooshes and soda swirls.
Critic Paul Trenko would observe that if seventy two was
(55:03):
the year that mass media discovered David Bowie, three was
the year that David Bowie discovered mass media. He was
an easy sell. The afprofescent music, the thoroughly charming charisma
on display during his press tour, and of course, the
pair of vibrant videos for Let's Dance and China Girl,
directed by David Mallett and shot on location in Australia.
(55:25):
David looks tanned, blonde, handsome and healthy. Everything about him
is remarkably positive, including the underlying themes of the videos,
which David summed up bluntly as it's wrong to be racist.
Let's Dance was a full throated endorsement of Aboriginal rights
in Australia, and China Girl Trump's interracial relationships and satirizes
Asian stereotypes as a way of condemning the west demeaning
(55:48):
view of the East. These were messages of tolerance that
everyone could get behind, miles away from the fascist flirtations
of the thin white Duke era. David also acted on
his principles, becoming of the few artists to directly challenge
the burgeoning MTV monolith on its questionable policy concerning videos
by black artists. Nil Rogers had alerted David to the
(56:09):
problems that many artists of color had getting mainstream play
for their music. The records Nile produced with Chic were
perfectly in line with prevailing new wave of electropop sensibilities,
yet they were automatically categorized as R and B and
ignored by white stations who felt the music didn't fit
their demo. It was musical prejudice. It didn't matter what
they sounded like. Black songs were R and B and
(56:31):
white songs were pop. This distinction carried over into MTVS
early programming practices. MTV saw itself as a rock network,
and music by black artists wasn't considered rock enough. Even
Michael Jackson wasn't immune to give his videos crossover appeal.
He needed a Hollywood style epic with Three's Thriller or
the guitar pyrotechnics of Eddie Van Halen on beat It.
(56:57):
That same year, David halted an interview with an m
t V VJ to ask point blank why they didn't
play more black artists. The VJ offered a meek excuse,
effectively saying that this music wouldn't resonate with audiences and
the flyover states. David didn't buy the argument. I'll tell
you what the Isisley Brothers or Marvin Gay means to
a black seventeen year old, he said, and surely he's
(57:19):
part of America as well. Shouldn't it be a challenge
to make the media far more integrated. It would be
wrong to suggest that David forced anyone's hand or played
a personal role in MTV's decision to broaden their playlists.
Like the fall of the Berlin Wall, change was inevitable,
but He's set an important example. But no amount of
MTV plays could replicate the ground swell of publicity generated
(57:41):
by a tour, especially the way David Bowie did them.
He'd been away from the concert stage for five years,
the longest stretch in his career. For Let's Dance, he
launched the trek for the Ages, spanning sixteen countries over
ninety six performances. It would be known as the Serious
Moonlight Tour, own named for a delightfully nonsensical lyric and
(58:02):
Let's Dance. Not even David's rivals and the Stones could
compete with such a gargantuan undertaking. It would become a
definitive stadium event. Every show was sold out, with David
playing to more than two and a half million people
over the course of seven months. To prep, he trained
like an athlete and started boxing obsessively, a significantly healthier
(58:22):
alternative to the mounds of cocaine that had fueled prior tours,
like the album it promoted, the serious Moonlight Tour was
designed to normalize David Bowie for a mass audience. As
he said at the time, I was getting really piste
off for being regarded as just a freak. This time,
I won't be trying to put on a pose or
a stance. You won't see weird ziggi or whatever. I
(58:45):
was just gonna be me having a good time as
best they can. That was my premise for this tour,
to re represent myself. He played an active role in
every aspect of the production, including set design. A master
stroke of modern minimalism, the stay, which was dominated by
a large moonset piece and four enormous light columns affectionately
(59:05):
dubbed the condoms. Weighing sixteen tons of piece. They set
the mood for the career spanning setlist by bathing the
arena and colored light. The band was styled and what
could be best described as futurist tiki outfits, flushed with
pastel zoot suits, wide brimmed hats, and the occasional sailor's cap.
The colors aimed to soothe and excite, transmitting sunshine and
(59:28):
positive energy. David himself took the spotlight in a high
cut jacket and bow tie, a masterclass in eighties style.
He seemed to glow with health. David had effectively stopped
doing drugs and barely even drank for most of the tour.
He was a self professed good boy, cleaner than he'd
been in years. His biggest vice with a cigarettes that
(59:50):
he chained smoked at all hours. Maybe he did a
little line of blow every now and then with friends,
but hey, he had a lot of friends. The tour
attracted royals, politicians, movie stars, and titans of the entertainment world.
David seemed to belong to everyone, and in a way
he did. Yeah With Let's Dance, David Bowie had made
(01:00:14):
the most accessible album of his life, a record everyone
could enjoy, certainly an admirable achievement. To some, it was
a jubilant celebration after years of music mired in his
own personal health scape. This wasn't the post apocalyptic holocaust
of Diamond Dogs, or the coked out paranoia of Station
a Station, or the emotional desolation of Low. For perhaps
(01:00:38):
the first time on record, David Bowie was happy. Critic
Charles Sharr Murray would rave that the record was quote
a tribute to love and life that is as uncontrived
as anything he's ever done in his entire career. This
album just goes straight to the heart of it. It's warm, strong,
inspiring and useful. You should be ashamed to say you
(01:00:58):
don't love it. Rolling Stone was a little more muted,
calling it merely functional, but Mass Appeal had its drawbacks.
Some were disappointed by the blindingly glossy sheen found on
David's latest work. The concerns were summed up by critic
Michael Watts, one of the few voices of outright descent
at the time. Bowie's new album seems to be a
(01:01:20):
step sideways. He wrote, He's not doing anything particularly new,
and I suspect for the first time ever, his fans
are up there with him and he's not ahead of
the game. In addition to happy, David could now be
described with another word that was altogether new to him, safe,
and from safe, it's a short journey to boring. On
(01:01:57):
the album Diamond Dogs, David Bowie had painted a pretty
bleak portrait of the year four then still a decade
in the future. He's sang of faceless forces, sucking thoughts
out of u cranium and shooting up anything just to
dull the pain of no tomorrow. But when finally arrived,
it actually wasn't so bad. For a start, the overwhelming
(01:02:20):
success of Let's Dance and the pact dates for the
serious Moonlight Tour had made David seriously rich. For the
first time in his life. He didn't have to worry
about money, and he spent accordingly. Gone was the family
man Volvo and in its place a new Mercedes. He
renovated his Manhattan apartment, painting in a vibrant red, and
(01:02:41):
filled his new Swiss abode with art from London's finest galleries.
Awards and honors poured in from all sides. His status
as a bona fide MTV idol was cemented at the
first ever Video Music Awards in four when the network
presented him a coveted moon Man statue for the China
Girl visuals. His on stage charisma was so strong that
(01:03:02):
the James Bond producer was considered casting him as a
villain in the next Double O seven movie, a casting
that tragically never materialized. David made the cover of Rolling
Stone and was named Playboy's Man of the Year. Not
tied to any single relationship, David was enthusiastically unattached. I've
got a number of girlfriends that I see around the world,
(01:03:24):
He'd say, I'm a bit sailor, like I suppose. Notably,
no mention of boyfriends. The bisexual relationships he's so publicly
declared in his ziggy era now seemed to be a
thing of the past. In the Rolling Stone cover story,
he told journalist Kurt Loder that his homosexual dalliances were
merely quote, youthful experimentation. Perhaps that's true. However, many you
(01:03:48):
lauded David's coming out in the seventies felt a sense
of betrayal, as if homosexuality or bisexuality had become inconvenient
in the Reagan era, a time when aids the so
called gay play have further stigmatized the LGBTQ community. Some
homosexual fans weren't bothered, believing that artists had no obligation
to anything but their art, but others felt used to them.
(01:04:13):
It was no different than MTV's reluctance to play black
videos for fear of alienating Middle America. Being gay didn't
play in the Heartland. The incident was indicative of David's
tricky maneuvering towards the middle of the road. The mainstream
popularity of Let's Dance had given him so much, but
it had also taken something away, something potent yet indefinable, danger, individuality, freakiness.
(01:04:41):
For all of his career up to this point, David
Bowie had challenged convention, gleefully dancing on the edge of
social and cultural norms. Yes, he'd had some success in
the seventies, but he remained at hard a fringe artist.
To say he sold out with Let's Dance isn't fair
or even accurate. Yet something was irrevocably changed at least
two fans who looked up to him as the patron
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saying of the weird, it's never pleasant when something that
feels like your little secret becomes ubiquitous. It feels less personal,
less precious, less special. It's human nature and iron clad
rule of fandom. Bowie had been a comforting figure, summoned
in countless teenage bedrooms with the spin of a record.
(01:05:24):
Now is tanned face and perfectly quaffed blonde popolore made
the rounds on television every few minutes. He was a
vision of hetero normalcy, or just plain old normalcy. What
happened to daring to be different? There was an incident
that occurred years earlier. It was the height of his
ziggy androgyny, a time when he seems more alien than human.
(01:05:47):
David asked the famous music producer about the final form
he should take. How should I end up in a suit?
The man responded, you can only be liberaci for so long.
They both laughed, but it was true. For Bowie, a
suit was the last frontier. No more masquerades, no more masks,
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no more costumes, just a man in a suit. Too
many fans, David's transition into a bronzed mtv ida would
be his last major character shift. More than just his image,
the rebelliousness that had fuelled his best work also seemed
to have deserted him, albeit temporarily. That had, after all,
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been what attracted David did the musician's life in the
first place, But nearing his late thirties, there was little
rebel against He was an obscenely rich rock star who
spent his days skiing in the Alps with his adorable
son before retiring to his exquisite home with one of
any number of equally exquisite escorts. Life was good. Rather
(01:06:49):
than falsify angst to fulfill any adolescent expectations, he chose
happiness and positivity. Wouldn't you Murtunely for fans, this had
a somewhat disastrous effect on his musical output. His creative
apathy is clear on his next album, Tonight. David made
(01:07:10):
the record not because he had something to say, or
even because he necessarily wanted to. For the first time
in his career, he made the record for no other reason.
Then it was time to make a record. E M
I was anxious to capitalize on Let's Dance with an
immediate follow up. They didn't much care what it was.
Apparently neither did David. Tonight was basically a covers album,
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but without the clear intention and quiet dignity of being
a covers album. Five of the nine songs are covers.
Three of these had originally been recorded by David's Berlin
buddy Iggy Pop Don't Look Down, Neighborhood Threat, and Tonight.
The latter was recast as a vaguely reggaeish duet with
Tina Turner scrubbing every bit of Grit from Iggy's raw original.
(01:07:57):
Two of the four new songs on the album, Dancing
with the Big Boys and Tumble and Twirl, were also
co writes, with Iggy leading some of the wonder if
the whole album was simply a scheme that just brings
some cash to David's frequently broke friend. The track list
is rounded out by a decidedly lackluster cover of the
Beach Boys God Only Knows, and also an old soul
number by Chuck Jackson called like Keep Forgetting. That left
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just two new originals solely penned by David, scraped together
from demos, Loving the Alien and Blue Gene. Both are
high points of the album, but that's not saying much.
In his defense, David had every right to be exhausted.
It had been just a few months since wrapping the
punishing serious Moonlight tour, and he probably would have rather
been resting. The album's co producer, Hugh Pagum certainly seem
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to think so. He'd recall the Bowie's boredom during the
sessions in Canada that spring was palpable. The public were
even less enthusiastic. It hit number one in the UK
briefly with all of the advanced press, how could it not,
But it vanished from the charts almost immediately, as if
slinking away in shame. This was far from the transatlantic
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smash of Let's Dance, and the critics were quick to
point it out. This album is a throwaway, rolling Stone, declared,
and David Bowie knows it. He appeared almost apologetic while
doing interviews to promote the record. In private, he referred
to it almost immediately as a bomb. Tonight was David's
first major musical failure since The Laughing Gnome In in
(01:09:29):
a sense, it flopped for much the same reason David
had looked outward instead of inward for inspiration. I really
liked the money I was making from the touring, he'd say,
and it seemed obvious that the way that you make
money is give people what they wanted. And the downside
of that is that had just dried me up as
an artist completely. More than that, he'd ceased to higher
(01:09:50):
collaborators who would push him. It was a tactical error
common to many legacy artists of the sixties and seventies
as they made their bumpy transition into the eighties. They
tired young bucks who understood the new musical landscape. But
these kids were too overawed by working with legends to
offer constructive criticism and honest opinions. The results were generally tentative, unfocused,
(01:10:12):
and in a word, bad. Hugh Pagem, no fan of
the production work he did on tonight, summed it up best.
Who am I to say to Mr David Bowie that
his songs suck? The strongest song on tonight is the
Bowie original Blue Jean. It's an up tempo fifties pastiche
the Bowie would jokingly referred to as quote a piece
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of sexist rock and roll about picking up the birds,
taking a page from the same playbook Michael Jackson had
used for Thriller. The single was launched with a twenty
one minute short film called Jazz and for Blue Jean.
It was directed by Julian Temple, the man responsible for
the notorious sex pistols mockumentary The Great Rock and Roll Swindle.
(01:10:56):
David plays two characters in the clip. One is a
appless Cockney nerd who attempts to impress a girl by
introducing her to a wild and braddy rock star, also
played by David. The plot is nothing revolutionary. The rock
star steals the girl, but David's performance really sells it.
He plays it for laughs by poking funded himself and
(01:11:17):
his career, slipping in numerous references to his drug use,
hyperactive sex life, and of course, his music. I caught
your tour in Berlin, Bowie the Nerd tells Bowie the Star,
I thought they hung the music up too much on
light and trickery, bit over the top, don't you agree. Later,
as the rocker makes off with this date, David the
Nerd screams after him, your record sleeves are better than
(01:11:40):
your songs in the case of tonight, this was certainly true.
Julian Temple, who got to know Bowie closely as a
friend over the years, would cite the short as an
uncharacteristically revealing performance a rare moment when David Jones made
a public appearance instead of David Bowie. He played the
(01:12:03):
shy guy with heart and compassion because at his essence,
it was him. Temple would say, the ordinary version of
himself that he plays in the film was the closest
approximation of what David was actually like. It's the nearest
thing to the real David that's ever appeared on screen.
As far as the director was concerned, His near constant
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performance as David Bowie was a character that he based
on his brother Terry. Terry was the mad one. Literally,
Temple would say, he was the wild one, the extrovert
who devoured the underbelly of London. It wasn't David. Terry
fed him all this fabulous stuff when David was still
very young and impressionable, and he carried it with him
(01:12:44):
throughout his life. Since the brothers last saw each other
two years earlier, Terry had remained in Cane Hill's psychiatric hospital,
his home for most of his adult life, despite David's
assurances he had and returned. On some level, Terry must
have been used to his absences. David also didn't make
(01:13:06):
it to his wedding day back in two He was
busy playing his first ever gig as Ziggy Stardust, introducing
his fantastical dream brother to the world. If Terry minded,
he didn't show it. The marriage didn't last, and now
he was alone in the psych ward. He kept the
loneliness at bay by listening to his Kid Brothers albums
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on the cassette player. David had brought him on their
last visit. He was charming like David and well liked
by the staff, often wandering around, singing and bumming cigarettes
off the order lease. But whatever treatment Terry received wasn't helping.
He fell in love with another patient, Wants. When she
was discharged, their relationship came to an abrupt end. Terry
(01:13:50):
was heartbroken and his underlying depression worsened. Just after Christmas,
he'd had enough. Terry climbed over the hospital wall and
trudged through the snow until he reached a local train station.
Hearing the rumble of the oncoming London Express train, he
put his head on the tracks. The icy metal vibrated
(01:14:12):
against the skull. The headlight appeared in the distance. Terry
turned his head in the opposite direction, but the intensifying
shakes and ear splitting whistle told him that death was
getting close. At the last minute, he rolled out of
the way and down a muney embankment. Two railway workers
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had seen the whole thing and tried to tackle him.
Before they could stop him, Terry shoved fistfuls of sleeping
pills into his mouth. He lost consciousness before the paramedics arrived.
He awoke in the same hospital where he had been
treated two years before, when he tried to take his
own life by jumping out a window. The last time
David had appeared, Maybe he would again. Terry demanded that
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he be driven home to his mother Peggy's house. David
will be waiting for me, he said. Instead, he was
taken back to Cane Hill's psych ward. He went back
to the station two weeks later and waited for the
inbound train. This time, he didn't roll away. David got
(01:15:24):
a call that morning from his mother Peggy, telling him
that Terry was gone. He was David's immediate response is unrecorded,
but not difficult to imagine. His hero, his protector, his muse,
his biggest influence, his big brother was dead. The loss
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was incalculable. There were eleven mourners at Terry's funeral. David
wasn't among them. He stayed away, fearful of turning the
service into a media circus. In his place, he sent
a bouquet of flowers with a note that read, You've
seen more things than we can imagine, but all these
(01:16:08):
moments will be lost like tears washed away by the rain.
God bless you, David. He hunkered down at his home
in Switzerland to recover. It took some time. He spent
much of early plotting his next move, living a life
that bordered on reclusive. As a friend would note, David
(01:16:32):
did nothing by halves when he dropped out. He vanished,
stunned by Terry's death and disoriented by the unfulfilling experience
of making Tonight. He didn't seem to know what to
do next. He told one confidante that he was facing
an artistic crisis. Did he even want to be a
musician anymore? He regretted making the nakedly commercial Let's Dance,
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telling friends that it was a cop out. The self
loathing left him guilt ridden, and he was unable to
sleep at night. I was better off before, he moaned.
At Least I kept up the fight. I had fantastic
luck now what. He's seriously considered abandoning music in favor
of the visual arts that had intrigued him as a student.
Back at Bromley Tech, he painted and worked on a
(01:17:18):
long jest stating film script. He'd try anything except making
a new David Bowie album. It just didn't interest him.
Director Julian Temple was able to coax him out of
his funk with the role in the movie Absolute Beginners,
a period piece set in the late fifties, and the
same Soho club Land He'd Proud with Terry as a
timid schoolboy out way past his bedtime. David was moved
(01:17:42):
by the project and composed two new songs for the soundtrack.
To record them, he'd assembled a group of session players,
including guitarist Kevin Armstrong, bassist Matthew Seligman and drummer Neil Conti.
At some point during the sessions in the spring, he
casually of them about a benefit gig he agreed to do,
(01:18:02):
but his usual touring band all at other commitments. It's
just a little gig, will you do it? He asked.
The little gig was live aid, an event witnessed by
a fifth the planet Earth. It was the brandchild of
Boomtown Rats singer Bob Geldof, who had been moved to
tears by a BBC news report documenting the Ethiopian famine
that would kill upwards of a million people. Geldof and
(01:18:26):
organized Britain's Biggest Acts to record a charity single called
Do They Know It's Christmas? Over holiday season, but Bowie
had been unable to participate this time. He wouldn't let
Geldof down. Once Bowie signed on, other big names practically
tripped over themselves the follow suit. David wanted to do
(01:18:46):
more than simply perform at the concert. That's what everyone
else was doing, how boring. His first choice was a
sing a duet with Mick Jagger from Space. That's right, Space,
you know, the final Frontier. David actually had someone call
NASA to see if they'd fly one of them up
into orbit to duet with the other back down on Earth. Hey,
(01:19:10):
he's made your tom after all, and it's for charity.
Someone eventually had to break it to David that NASA
didn't rent out their space shuttles, so they moved on
to a plan B, a transatlantic duet via satellite with
mixed singing from Live aids American Stage in Philadelphia and
David at Wembley For a song. They chose Bob Marley's
(01:19:31):
One Love, thinking that the loping, laid back reggae beat
would suit the half second satellite delay. David and mixed
management teams organized the conference call to try it out,
with the two superstars swapping lines back and forth, Sadly,
the technology wasn't good enough to make it work. The
meeting quickly devolved into David and Mick, forever rivals, trying
(01:19:52):
to outsing each other in the boardroom as their respective
handlers looked on awkwardly. They continue the showdown that evening
at a nightclub, where they engaged in a hilariously intense
dance battle, two peacocks, both pushing forty, competing for the
attention of every female in the place. The night on
(01:20:14):
the town inspired a new idea, although less ambitious than
a space due they'd record a cover of the motown
chestnut dancing in the street. The Rolling Stone was a
diva from the moment, as Limo pulled up at the session,
demanding numerous retakes and generally prancing around like Nick Jagger,
But their competition yielded good results as the two handed
(01:20:36):
it up on the vocals. The whole ridiculous recording reaches
an even higher level of absurdity thanks to the music
video made up on the spot in just a few
hours shortly after leaving the recording studio. There's nothing high
concept about it. The pair are literally dancing in the street.
The public may be expected something a little better from
these twin titans of British popular music, or at least
(01:20:59):
something better than a karaoke level singing performance and I
clearly improvised promo video. Initially intended to be a one
off broadcast only once at Live Aid, the response was
good enough to merit a single release, which raised badly
needed funds for famine relief. With the recording out of
the way, it was time to focus on his live act.
(01:21:20):
The preparation was pretty spotty. David was busy filming the
Jim Henson Children's Fantasy Labyrinth, could only afford three afternoons
to rehearse with his untested eight piece band, which now
included technopop prodigy Thomas Dolby. For a while, they couldn't
even figure out what they were gonna play. David's assistant,
Coco Schwab, arrived at their first rehearsal with a computer
(01:21:41):
print out of all two hundred of David's songs for
him to browse. It proved overwhelming, and he kept changing
his mind. They were still tinkering with the set list
at their last rehearsal. When it was over, they still
didn't know what they were gonna play. Bowie would figure
it out later. His parting words to his band were
be lucky and where blue. They would need all the
(01:22:03):
luck they could get. There would be no dress rehearsal
at the venue or even a sound check. They've never
even had a chance to play their four songs set
all the way through. They were going in cold July
go time. Live Aid organizers had assembled the biggest airlifts
(01:22:23):
since the Falklands War. David's chopper delivered him to the
makeshift landing strip on a cricket field behind Wembley. A
wedding reception was taking place nearby on the field. Bowie
stopped to wish them well, apologize for the noise, and
pose for some pictures, a quick, lighthearted pit stop before
performing for a billion people. He arrived just in time
(01:22:47):
to see Freddie Mercury stride off stage, secure in the
knowledge that he and Queen had stolen the show. Thank God,
that's over, he screamed, before downing a double vodka. Freddie
and David were thrilled to see on another and they
chatted for a few minutes. It was a playful, intimate
atmosphere backstage, with everyone similarly famous, an odd sense of
(01:23:08):
normalcy prevailed. Elton John wore a chef's hat and man
the barbecue. David and Paul McCartney engaged in a faux
boxing match for the camera. Bob Geldof, the Man of
the Hour, was doubled over with a muscle spasm trying
to crack his own back on a flight case. David
came over and gave him a quick massage. After greeting
(01:23:30):
his friends and fellow rock star brethren, David retired to
the shared dressing room a little more than a cracked
mirror folding table and a child's makeup box. He had
to freshen up and change, and it was immaculate, double
breasted blue suit. It dated back to the Diamond Dogs
era over a decade earlier, and he took great delight
in telling all an earshot how well it's still fit.
(01:23:52):
He looked good. Freddie, Mercury's boyfriend, had done his hair
the night before. Just before walking on stage, Freddie gave
him a once over. If I didn't know you better, dear,
I'd have to eat you, he said with a wink.
The compliment was still ringing in David's ears as he
stepped through the canvas flap and onto the stage. It
(01:24:12):
was just after seven fifteen Thomas Dolby hit the intro
for station, the station's TV C one five. David smiled, waved,
dipped into his trademark bow legged stance and got it rolling.
So far, so good, then into Rebel, Rebel a little fast.
David held on for Dear Life as a song lurched
(01:24:33):
forward at breakneck speed. What would you expect from a
band who rehearsed the grand total three times? He followed
it up with modern love before sending it home with
his show stopper heroes. He dedicated the song to his son,
and to all the children, and to the children of
the world. As he looked out at the eighty thousand
(01:24:53):
of static fans, many of whom were moved to tears,
he must have rethought any ideas of musical Ironman come on,
He'd missed this, He'd miss them. When the song was over,
there was only one thing left to do, take a
(01:25:14):
bow off. The record is a production of I Heart Radio.
The executive producers are Noel Brown and shan Ty Tone.
The supervising producers are Taylor Kogn and Tristan McNeil. The
show was researched, written and hosted by me Jordan run
talk and edited, scored and sound designed by Taylor she
(01:25:38):
coogn and Tristan McNeil, with additional music by Evan Tire.
If you like what you heard, please subscribe and leave
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