David Bowie
Rock'n'roll suicide

THE REVIEW

Nothing is more important than the space of illusion, a kind of horizon line that gives possibilities the sweet contours of a dream.

Art is part of that space, of that horizon line. And it's a tonic that serves to keep going...

And then there's nothing better, especially at sixteen, especially if the tonic has to be strong. than a new whore of rock'n'roll.

Bowie, melodramatic and excessive, flashy and improbable, was that whore... but he was also the mom and dad..

In a succession of clichés, about a million, in a plot straight out of a series zeta uranium, and zeta is the most beautiful letter of the alphabet, a certain Ziggy bursts in with the power of early rock'n'roll.

Enhanced power, as the baby rock'n'roll had been devoured by its own growth (oh never grow too much!!!)... And diluted, for here we are after all on Broadway and everything is rather parodic...

Everything, however, captivated eyes, body, and mind...

"Rock'n'roll suicide" is yet another cliché, but it works great... It starts with the portrait of yet another crazy rock star... and Bowie's singing, the way he enunciates words, has something transcendent. A kind of impactful Brel/glam...

But it's the next move that stays even more in memory, it's the rock star who becomes mom or dad again. That in a madness of strings and horns here's the caress: "Many knives seem to tear at your brain, it happened to me too and now I'll help you with the pain."

And that apotheosis, banal or not, silly or not, was a call to all outsiders. It also contained a sort of horrible fascism. And Bowie knew it.

Hell if he knew it.

Dad/mom, fascism, space of illusion, Broadway, Brel, rock'n'roll and even punk before its time... Stupidity and genius...

There's a lot of stuff here...