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New York gave me David Bowie.

In March of 2018 I had a belly full of Grimaldis Pizza (pepperoni, peppers, and olives if you’re curious) and time to do what I love most in NYC; wander and wonder. After zig-zagging through the streets of suburban Brooklyn, I took a break from the bracing icy winds and sauntered into Brooklyn Museum of Art for refuge and a ticket to see the “David Bowie Is” Retrospective.

To my everlasting shame, I didn’t realise David Bowie as the genius he is until this exhibition.  Watching Countdown in the late ’70s and throughout the ’80s, I didn’t clock that David Bowie was the same David Bowie that shape-shifted through “Ashes to Ashes” to “China Girl” to “Dancing in the Street”. He occasionally came on my radar during the late ’90s and aughties when my lord and savior Trent Reznor spoke reverentially of his influence on his own art and later after Bowie had passed, as someone who he owed an unpayable debt: Bowie helped get him off the gear and saved his life.

So standing at the entry to the exhibition with a larger-than-life Bowie striking a pose, I was only looking to escape the howling winds of the New York Bight and not to have my tiny mind blown by greatness.

I mooched about in the early stages of the exhibition: an embroidered cape here, a pair of bejeweled platforms there, and oh yes, lovely, a folded cardboard diorama of the Diamond Dogs stage set over there.  Smashing. Fabulous.  Maybe I need a doughnut from the cafe…Bowie was present but I was deaf to his siren call.

The glass display cases in the introductory area of the retrospective soon opened up into a larger audio visual space. A looped video clicked over and there was Bowie, larger-than-life, bright orange mullet, cheekbones that could slice cheese, oscillating between the maracas and the harmonica as he belted out the joyful stomp “Gene Genie” from the lost 1973 “Top of the Pops performance”. His weird and wonderful band looked like they were STILL out of time in 2018 so I can only imagine the response by the Brits, tucked up at home in 1973 in the frigid winter being scandalized and mesmerized by this gender-fluid mash-up lead by the confident and charismatic Bowie.

Christ on a bike, I finally “met” Bowie at age 47.

I half staggered over to one of the cardboard stools in the theatre and sat captivated for 12 rounds of the same “Top of the Pops” footage trying to understand and decipher the magic and allure of Bowie. Reader, I have no answer to the mystery of Bowie. He is simply a genius who created and defined so many genres of music. I also suspect he was a time traveler that knew we’d need an awesome catalogue of music to dip into during Covid times and got the fuck on with producing a flawless body of work while he was on this spiritual plane.

I’m thinking a lot about Bowie these days. “Gene Genie” has been the lead-out song to so many of my 5km tethered walks around my neighborhood.  The driving groove propelling the song is an excellent metronome for setting my walk pace.

On my daily stomps, I’d been obsessed thinking I was going nowhere with nothing to look forward to during these lockdown times but in this past week, I’ve thought about Bowie and how he must have felt throughout periods of his creative life knowing he was marching towards something, or nothing,…the great ambiguity. Being so ahead of the game, Bowie was out front in his evolution as a performer, trying on new personas and killing his darlings. But you can only see that in reverse, right? At the time you have to have faith and march on, in the highest bejeweled platform you can.

I might be stomping across my local government area but I’m following Bowie’s example and knowing that I’m moving toward something that I can’t see yet. With every day the same and no firm end to lockdown, there’s still a sense that with every vaccination, with every local business supported, with every donation to so many causes in great need, with every person that reaches out to another to offer help and assistance, we’re moving towards “something”. That “something” is ambiguous and not defined but it takes faith and hope to keep marching forward to meet whatever is on the other side of now.

Me. Everyday.

I hope Bowie can provide you some comfort in these times and if you’re after some recommendations, Bowie’s got you:

“We can be heroes” – if you’re feeling like you need a session with a life coach but generally they shit you to tears, this song if for you.

“Blue Jean” – if you’re feeling like you want to have the experience decadence of another era. 

“Sound and Vision”  I love Becks’ cover but the original is expansive and funky belying its lyrics referencing depression.  Even Bowie got the blues, kids. And yet, he marched on.

“Sunday” – the sound of Bowie’s starting over. Again.

“Hurt” – it’s the cover of Nine Inch Nails’ seminal song. Reznor says that the cover that Johnny Cash did claimed ownership of the song. That’s fine. For me, Johnny got a lifetime loan from this version that Bowie and Trent did live. Can you even imagine writing a song in your bedroom about the vice-like grip that heroin had over you and some years later you’re on stage with your number one influencer performing that same song? Johnny might have ownership of the song but this version proves that its ownership was generously gifted by Bowie and Reznor.

“Where are we now?” Another song in my list of compelling evidence is that Bowie is indeed a time traveler and has been here before. This is Bowie looking forward and backward.

“Lazarus” – if you need to break your own heart and mend it again, this is for you.

Oh, I’ll be free

Just like that bluebird

Oh, I’ll be free

Ain’t that just like me?

 Songwriters: David Bowie

Lazarus lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Strut on, lovers.