UncutWatch - November 1998 (part 3)
Dara O'Kearney
Success changed the way you wrote songs, too.
"I'd always thought there was more to it than just wandering in a studio and
flapping about. With David and Mick Ronson we found that out to be true. So we
started working really hard at it because now the story was that we couldn't
do it without David. We lived with that for a year, it was scary but it drove
me on at the same time. I guess we got serious, someone was going to have to
write in Bowie's place and we all had a go.
We had a guy called Bill Price working with us, a really underrated figure who
worked with The Sex Pistols and The Clash later on. Roxy Music came by one
night when we were in the studio and Eno said, 'You don't really need a
producer, just carry on what you're doing with Bill.' He was right. Bill was
the best there was. He was extremely fast and, like you can hear in The
Clash's work, he had a variety of effects on hand to allow us chaps with no
real musical ability or experience to just pull up a fader and go whooah!
George Martin used to come and sit in and listen because it was his studio,
but it never dawned on us to go anywhere near him. We regarded him like he was
Sixties stuff - 'We're not touching that.'"
What are your memories of meeting Lou Reed?
"We didn't understand him and he didn't understand us. We were doing 'Sweet
Jane', which was Bowie's idea. We hadn't a clue what this song was about. I
hadn't even been to New York at the time. David suggested Lou come in to
explain what it was about. I found him more than slightly affected. It was all
a bit tiresome. He was in love with David, I think, and we were getting caught
in whatever personal business arrangement they had at the time."
Did you feel like you were becoming Bowie's pawns?
"I was well aware of it. I knew David could eat people, so I wasn't going to
go for that. We never signed our contracts with DeFries. I kept them all in a
piano stool. We didn't want to get sucked in. It was all very wonderful and
marvellous, but something held you back. It cost David dearly to find that one
out."
PAGE 76: A two page feature focusing on musicians who were children in 1972:
"CHILDREN OF THE REVOLUTION
Who was where and what were they doing in 1972, the Year Of Glam
Mansun's visionary singer, PAUL DRAPER, was just a bundle of joy...
"I WAS born in 1972, but I did catch late Gary Glitter on television. But it's
Bowie who stands out for me. I had two older sisters who were massive Bowie
fans, Aladdin Sane and Diamond Dogs were Bowie at his peak. Although it was
way after the actual period, I did get into make-up a bit. There were some
dodgy fashion mistakes.
All that Glam look influenced punk. I've never met a punk who wasn't a Bowie
fan - even Johnny Rotten's orange hair was a throwback to Ziggy Stardust. The
only contemporary group to bring all that Glam ethic togather is the Manics,
especially during the early Nineties."
In 1972, BILLY BRAGG was 14 years old and living in Barking...
"IT was T-Rex for me in '72, that was when they had their own label, the blue
label with Marc Bolan's face on it. The following year, it was all Slade, they
were the lads' Glam band. There was always that distinction between the art
school lot and the rest of us, but art school is where Glam came from. The art
school lot had heard The Velvet Underground, the rest of us didn't know Lou
Reed from fuck.
By 1974, it was clear to us where the girls were going at lunch time. They
were all round each other's houses near the school listening to David Bowie.
So we had to overcome our initial feelings about David Bowie being 'not as
other men', and accept the fact that you couldn't catch homosexuality from
listening to records.
Otherwise we couldn't hang out with the girls.
My strongest memory is not being able to get a ticket to see Bowie on the
Ziggy tour at Romford Odeon. I realised then that I'd really fucking missed
the boat, that I was not part of the cool crowd. It was so seldom that any of
the people we worshipped came anywhere near our school, and there was Bowie -
Romford! It's fuckin' incredible. Couldn't get a ticket, and my parents
probably wouldn't have taken me anyway."
PHIL MANZANERA found himself at the forefront of glam when he joined Roxy
Music as a guitarist...
"In 1972 it was like Christmas every day. We played with Bowie at The
Greyhound in Croydon and later on the Ziggy Stardust tour."
GARY NUMAN was a 14-year-old student called Gary Webb at Ashford Grammar
School in Middlesex...
"I WAS going through puberty and I was into a girl called Shelly Brookes. But
I bottled out completely when I got the chance. Typical. At that time I was a
huge T-Rex fan, and when David Bowie came out there seemed to be a bit of
friction between the two - and if you were a T-Rex fan you didn't get into
David Bowie, and vice versa. I got into David Bowie much later. I never saw
T-Rex live, but I went to see Born To Boogie about 20 times. When I got
expelled from the grammar school and finally got to go to a few discos, I was
the wallflower in his best Marc Bolan outfit.
In 1972, I had a haircut like Dave Hill out of Slade with the really high
fringe. I didn't want it, but I was particularly badly behaved that year, so
my mum did it to punish me. Shortly after that I got into David Bowie, so I
had it dyed and spiked as best I could, but it never really went right."
Flamboyant diva-to-be (BOY) GEORGE O'DOWD was at school in south London
suffering from awful Bowie haircuts...
"I THINK '72 and '73 blended into one for me. I saw Bowie for the first time
on The Old Greay Whistle Test singing 'Starman' in a snakeskin catsuit, and
then went to see him on the Ziggy Stardust tour at Lewisham Odeon. My Auntie
Joan tried to give me a Bowie haircut, but it went horribly wrong and I ended
up looking like Dave Hill from Slade.
Glam caught on very quickly in Britain because we're a small island and we
have a long history of drag. Look at our judges, our priests and our old Kings
and Queens. You have to remember that America was founded on puritanism. They
don't understand camp. I'll explain it like this: England spawned Bowie and
America spawned Kiss."
Sigue Sigue Sputnik's future-terrorist, MARTIN DEGVILLE, was studying Hotel
Management in Birmingham.
"Before Culture Club formed, Boy George used to stay with me in Birmingham and
once he bleached his hair in an attempt to look like Ziggy Stardust. But he
fell asleep with the bleach still on and his hair dropped out. It was
hilarious. We called him Wiggy Stardust."
Saint Etienne's synth-maestro, BOB STANLEY, was a young kid being scared by
Bowie...
"I REMEMBER being frightened by 'Starman' on Top Of The Pops and my Mum
thought he was horrible."
Ex-Frankie Goes To Hollywood singer, WILLIAM 'HOLLY' JOHNSON, was about to
shock Liverpool with his Bolan-to-Bowie metamorphosis...
"I WAS living in Penny Lane attending the Collegiate Grammar School For Boys
and transforming from pre-pubescent schoolboy through Marc Bolan wannabe to
David Bowie devotee. They made my favourite records - such as 'Electric
Warrior', 'Metal Guru', 'Telegram Sam', '20th Century Boy', 'Ziggy Stardust',
'Aladdin Sane', 'Drive In Saturday' and 'Starman'. Bowie was great because he
was the first to declare publicly his bisexuality - at least I think he was.
There are still no 'out' pop stars in America, are there? Only female ones who
don't threaten the male-dominated music industry.
I had a whole list of icons: Bolan, Bowie, Lou Reed, Andy Warhol, Jean Genet,
William Burroughs, Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland and Marlene Dietrich. All my
life-changing moments occurred on The Old Grey Whistle Test. I remember seeing
The New York Dolls, Roxy Music, Bowie and Klaus Nomi on there."
In 1972, Duran Duran's NICK RHODES was a fresh-faced Brummie schoolboy about
to be transformed by Bowie...
"I BOUGHT Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars when I was 10, and that is
when my life began to be engulfed by music. I was at junior school in
Hollywood, Birmingham and all the groovy kids were into Bowie, Roxy and T-Rex.
There were loads of horrible kids who wore parkas and listened to noisy prog
rock and heavy metal. Slade were OK. They came from Birmingham, bless 'em, so
I can't be too nasty about them.
Roxy were great. They just looked so different on television. I loved Phil
Manzanera's sunglasses - straight out of a bug horror movie. They always put
on huge productions live and you knew it would be special. Duran Duran were
certainly influened stylistically by Roxy. They were always so detailed, and,
as we all know, God hides in the details. But other Glam-related stuff like
Sparks, Lou Reed and Iggy influenced me as wll. John Taylor was two years
older than me, but I used to take him to gigs. We saw Mick Ronson together
once he'd gone solo. He really is a forgotten icon of that period.
I started wearing make-up when I was a bit older. I would've used my Mum's
make-up box, but she probably didn't have the colours I was after. So I always
used my girlfriend's make-up instead. I wore anything that glittered and
shone."
ABC's bruised Casanova, MARTIN FRY, was being entranced by Bowie in
Stockport...
"I REMEMBER eating beans on toast watching Bowie on television and nearly
spilling my dinner. I think it weas on Lift Off With Ayshea, which was this
brilliant Granada programme. It was during Glam Rock that I realised that I
was a square peg in a round hole. But Glam was everywhere. I used to go and
watch Manchester United and stand on the Stretford End where all these
hooligans would wear mascara on one eye, copying A Clockwork Orange. I wore
eyeliner to my first gig, which was Steve Harley And Cockney Rebel, and there
were loads of Ferry lookalikes on the train with me. It was wonderful."
PAGE 78: A one pager on "Why the frightening prospect of a full-scale Glam
revival fills David Stubbs with dread...":
"At the age of 10, I thought it was impossible to make a heavier record than
"Ballroom Blitz" by The Sweet, that it was impossible to look cooler than
David Bowie in his Ziggy Stardust phase, that Gary Glitter was the hardest man
in rock and Marc Bolan the scariest.
...
The period tends to be looked back on with a laboured irony, a joke that's
long curdled into Hale & Pace-style tedium, that appeals to that rather feeble
British sensibility that can't help but smile when the words "Tom Jones" are
mentioned. But from Bowie through to Brian Connolly, Glam was undertaken in a
spirit of deadly earnestness, 4 Real. To have said that David Bowie looked
silly in his Ziggy period would have marked you out as a clueless
reactionary."
PAGE 92: A 3-star review of the new Mott The Hoople anthology:
"Mott were facing oblivion in 1972 when Bowie gave them "All The Young Dudes".
The kick this gave to their career carried them into 1974, whereupon they,
like many other old Sixties lags, hit the wall.....
Bowie fans, too, will have to buy it for the curiosity of hearing His Nibs'
faintly cerebral demo vocal for "All The Young Dudes".
PAGE 98: 5-star review of Lou Reed's "Transformer":
"HE'D just turned 30, and Lou Reed's post-Velvets solo career was proving
frustrating. One admirer, finding himself the hottest thing of 1972, offered
to produce his next album and drag the grumpy guru kicking and screaming into
the Glam Rock revolution. Bowie's (and Mick Ronson's) contributions to Reed's
most successful work, now repackaged for a 25th anniversary waltz, are evident
in abundance, from the gorgeous trademark backing vocal on "Satellite Of Love"
to the satin-and-tat swagger of "Hangin' Round" and "Vicious".
..
His dark wit and Bowie's pop charm, make this ode to flux a durable, sneering
classic which smiles despite itself."
PAGE 100: A 4-star review of Placebo's "Without You I'm Nothing":
"They played up a storm with an excellent debut that mixed classic US alt-rock
with the glittery swagger of T-Rex and David Bowie. Not only were they
influenced by Bowie, they were befriended by him."
PAGE 104: a 4-star review of Marilyn Manson's Mechanical Animals:
"This is an unrepentant Glam album, drawing heavily on Marc Bolan's
high-pitched and heavily overlaid choruses and, in particular, Bowie's Ziggy
stomp. It's metal-infused, of course, and frighteningly well-produced, and
Manson, dealing lyrically with faithlessness, narcissism and therapy culture,
intelligently combines Bowie's space-age alienation with Cobain's pained
listlessness to produce an LP that's absolutely state-of-the-art."
PAGE 113: a 5-star review of Velvet Goldmine:
"This wonderful hymn to youthful ebullience, excess and the perennial
posturing of pop examines the case history of Brian Slade (Meyers), aka
Maxwell Demon, early Seventies Glam Rock pioneer and, by any other name, Ziggy
Stardust. That's some legend to live up to, particularly without Bowie's
support, yet Haynes carries off a multi-layered film of kaleidoscopic pizzazz
and wit.
..
On his quest he meets managers Cecil (Michael Feast) and Jerry Devine (Eddie
Izzard as Tony DeFries), and Slade's ex-wife, Mandy, as whom Toni Collette
approximates Angie Bowie brilliantly, with a bomb disposal expert's pinpoint
grasp of the brittle nuances beneath bravado."
PAGE 126: A review of Stella Street:
"INSIDE a sedate suburban tennis club in west London, bizarre transformations
are taking place. Michael Caine is slowly morphing into David Bowie, shedding
his sober Sleuth-era blazer and donning his even sillier Serious Moonlight
threads.
...
Arch impressionists John Sessions and Phil Cornwell provide his cast of
thousands, slipping from Bowie to Brando to Bogarde with just a dab of
make-up, a change of jacket and an obvious wig.
....
Do they argue over who gets to be Bowie or Pacino?
"No, it's very democratically decided," says Sessions."
PAGE 131: A 4-star review of Barney Hoskyns' new book, "Glam! Bowie, Bolan And
The Glitter Rock Revolution".
PAGE 138: Uncut's editor, Allan Jones, revives his now infamous "Lou bops
Bowie" story. This remixed version is somewhat different from the original
(which you can read in full at Bassman's site at
http://www.algonet.se/~bassman/articles/1979/lou%20bops%20bowie.html):
"April, 1979, Lou Reed's just played a famously cantankerous show at the
Hammersmith Odeon, half the audience walking out when he announces he's not
going to play "Heroin", which he does as soon as they're off the premises, the
set ending with a 45-minute version of "You Keep Me Hanging On", sung by his
bass player and played at excruciating volume.
My ears are still ringing on the way out, when I get word that Lou wants to
see me backstage for a drink. When I get there, Lou's already split with David
Bowie, for dinner at the Chelsea Rendezvous in Sydney Street, South
Kensington. Lou's left an invitation for me to join them there. Dinner with
Lou and The Thin White Duke? I'm off to South Ken like a shot.
This is what I find at the Chelsea Rendezvous: Lou and David in a huddle at
the head of their table. Lou's got his arm around David's shoulder. David is
smiling, Lou's laughing, slapping the table. I'm called over by Lou. Bowie
looks up at me.
"Allan," he says, extending a hand.
"David," I say, taking it.
"Nice to see you," says David. "How are you?"
His charm is overwhelming.
"ALLAN!," roars Lou.
"Lou," I reply, less raucously.
Lou grabs my hand, nearly breaking a finger in the process. He yanks me across
the table. I almost end up in Bowie's lap. I have an elbow in the remains of
Lou's dinner.
"Do you know Allan?" Lou asks Bowie.
"We meet occasionally," he tells Lou.
"Did you see the show tonight?" Lou asks me. I tell him I'm still recovering,
which makes him laugh.
"Good," he says. "What did you think of it?"
"I felt like I was being given a good pistol-whipping."
"You probably deserved it," Lou snaps.
I decide to leave them to their supper.
"Yeah," says Lou. "Go."
I go. Lou turns back to David, they get their heads down, the old pals' act
well under way. Lou gets up and waddles down the restaurant to talk to some
people at a nearby table. He grabs a chair for Bowie, who's followed him.
There's a great deal of mutual backslapping, good times remembered. Lou orders
Irish coffee. Lou and David raise their glasses in a toast.
"To friends".
It's a touching scene.
They resume their original places, resume their conversation. Five minutes
later, the place is in uproar. Bowie's said something to Lou. Lou isn't
amused. He fetches David a smart crack about the head. Fists are flying. Most
of them are Lou's and they're being aimed in violence at Bowie. David ducks,
tries to protect himself. Lou is on his feet, screaming furiously at Bowie,
still lashing out. "Don't you EVER say that to me!" he bellows hysterically,
"Don't you EVER fucken say that to ME!"
About nine people pile on Lou, wrestle him away from Bowie. There's an arm
around his throat. He continues to spit insults at Bowie, who sits at the
table staring impassively, clearly hoping Lou will go away, fuck off and calm
down. Lou shrugs off his minders (or are they Bowie's?). There's a terrible
silence. People are watching open-mouthed, incredulous.
Lou sits down next to Bowie. They embrace, there's a massive sigh of relief.
Lou and David kiss and make up. Meals are resumed. More wine is brought to the
tables. It looks as if the tiff has blown over.
The next thing I know, Lou is dragging Bowie across the table by the front of
his shirt and smacking him in the face. The place explodes in chaos again.
Whatever David had said to precipitate the first frank exchange of conflicting
opinions, he's obviously rather foolishly repeated. Lou is besides himself
with rage and rains slaps down upon Bowie's head before anyone can drag him
off.
"I told you NEVER to say that," Lou screeches, fetching the hapless Bowie
another backhander, another furry of blows follows in hot pursuit. Lou is
batting David about the top of his head. David cowers. Lou gets in a few more
solid punches before he's hauled off the whimpering Bowie. Lou struggles with
the minders, tries again to launch himself at Bowie.
The silence that follows is ghastly. Lou's party decide it's time to leave.
Lou is escorted from the restaurant by an especially burly minder, who
frogmarches him to the exit, a restraining arm around his shoulders. Lou's
face is set in a demented scowl. He doesn't look back. Bowie is left at the
head of the table, which is covered in debris. He's sitting with his head in
his hands and appears to be sobbing. I wander over. Bowie asks me to join him.
"There isn't a chair," I tell him.
"Then sit on the table," he replies, a little testily.
I sit on the table, tell him I'm sorry that his reunion with Lou seems to have
ended so disastrously. "I couldn't hear what was going on ... Lou seemed very
upset ..."
"Yes," says Bowie, wearily. He seems close to tears.
"It was nothing. It's all over," says Bowie's female companion, looking at me
suspiciously.
"It isn't," says Bowie, hands clenched, eyes glaring.
"Are you a reporter?" someone asks.
I admit I am and I'm told to leave.
"David's just invited me to stay," I protest quietly. "I was just wondering
what happened."
This does it. Bowie leaps to his feet. "FUCK OFF!" he shouts. He means me. "If
you want to know what happened, you'll have to ask Lou Reed. Don't bother me
with your fucking questions. Ask fucking Lou. He knows what fucking happened.
He'll tell you."
"But he's gone," I tell Bowie.
Bowie, angry now and showing it, turns on me, grabs me by the lapels and
starts shaking me. I think for a minute of headbutting the little squirt, but
don't.
"Just FUCK OFF!" Bowie swears, shoving me back. "You're a journalist - go and
f***ing find him. Ask him what happened. I don't know."
He pushes me again, turns away, knocking chairs out of his way. I'm grabbed
from behind and dragged back to my table. Bowie sits down again. Then he
stands up. He starts throwing the furniture around.
"Ahhhh FUCK!" he declares. He pushes his way down the restaurant, kicking
chairs out of the way. He begins to climb the stairs to the street. Most of
the steps on the stairway are decorated with potted plants and small shrubs,
and a palm tree or two. Bowie smashes most of them on his way out. He kicks a
few, up-ends the others.
There's a most terrible mess on the stairs. The remaining guests are
speechless at this further outburst. The waiters look on, astonished. We share
their amazement, my companion and I.
"I think you've just upset The Thin White Duke," she says.
"I think perhaps I have," I reply.
A couple of days later, I'm talking to the manager of the Chelsea Rendezvous.
He tells met Bowie has already sent "a bodyguard" to the restaurant to pay for
the damage. The cause of the altercation remains obscure, however. Lou's not
talking. In fact, he'd flown out early the next morning to Dublin, cancelling
all engagements.
What seems to have happened is this: Bowie had volunteered to produce Lou's
next album, but only on the condition that Lou cleaned up his act, goet
himself together, off drugs, booze, whatever. At the suggestion that he was
too untogether, Lou blew up. Fists flew. Punches were thrown.
A further irony is added to the tale when it's announced at the end of the
week that Bowie's new single is called "Boys Keep Swinging".
Oh, how we laughed.
Allan Jones
Editor".
Slan libh,
Dara (np: Best Of BOWIE 69/74)