(At
least for a given moment in time).
David
Bowie is responsible for perhaps the most iconic personas in entertainment
history including Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, The Young American and The Thin
White Duke, all of which (and many more) have explored the theatricality of
pop, making use of musical motif, impressionistic narrative, striking visual
imagery, elaborate stage production, and a remarkable wardrobe – it’s as if
Bowie adopted the immersive Stanislavski approach to his work.
Take
the 1972 album Ziggy Stardust (and the Spiders From Mars): the songs about
rocket men, intergalactic daydreams, and outer space; the iconic sleeve, Bowie,
dressed in his turquoise leopard suit, posing on a dimly lit, deserted
side-street, as if he had just fallen to earth.
Or
the ambitious Diamond Dogs tour of 1974, with a set built to resemble Hunger City – a dystopian vision of future metropolis,
where Bowie played detective – which included a movable catwalk, a glass
asylum, a giant hand, and a cherry picker that would send Bowie sailing over
the audience during nightly renditions of ‘Space Oddity’.
Or
the Young Americans LP from 1975, and the Plastic Soul Man. Gone the make
up, the paranoia; in it’s place, a seemingly unaffected air of nonchalance,
swanky R&B rhythms and Philadelphia Soul.
And
yet a later Bowie appears on stage as The Thin White Duke, cabaret suited,
aloof and cocaine cool, with a collection of songs about romance delivered with
agonised intensity, while at the same time feeling nothing – ice masquerading
as fire.
A
masquerade: perhaps the choice word to describe who David Bowie Is;
throughout his career an ever-changing artistic pastiche, paradoxically very
often ahead of the curve, fueled by raving intellect and unparalleled creative
abandon.
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