"Right before he left, for some reason, he did not want to go. He had talked about it for years, and specifically for the last two months, but something, something nagging at him, scared him. The fear of the unknown? No, that never scared him before. Perhaps it was being by himself. Alone.
Right before he left for some reason, he fell down twelve times as if he had suffered a stroke, fucked up his hat, clothes and his body and barely made it home. Then a couple of days later, he fell off of a barstool, then again on the sidewalk, but this time in the comfort of very good, and documentary-minded friends.
But once he got there, everything was okay. Eventually. At least when the city started to make sense. When things started to calm down. When the people around him started making sense.
He missed that now. Far away and fading, but not too far away."
The go-go bars in Jersey are harder and harder to tolerate. It's the shake your booty for four seconds and then expect a dollar deal. In a bikini. And the Corona is still six bucks. This makes you end up at a joint where the dancers can actually disrobe, and you have your choice of Becks Clean or O'Douls, which makes you want to brush your teeth. It might be a dive on 2nd Avenue in Brooklyn, where there's no hope. And it doesn't matter if you tell them you want to buy the joint, unless they believe you, which none of them do. Even if you tell them your name is Slim. Even if you are sort of serious. There's no hope there. And it's not for sale.
What's happened to this country? That state? This borough?
We've lost our good old Mama and must have whiskey or you know why...
Fun Fact: The second largest city in Germany is Hamburg. Port town. Red light district. The Beatles became The Beatles there...
Cover Star: Candle Headlining Band: Ever Feel Like You've Been Cheated?
This means nothing. This means everything. This means EXACTLY what YOU want it to mean. This don't mean shit to me. Well, it does, but that's between me and - me.
"She began to wail, jealousy scream, waiting at the lights, know what I mean?"
Sunday morning, wine and cigarettes for breakfast.
"Be My Wife" from Bowie's first of the three "Berlin Trilogy" albums, "Low", is one of my favorite songs in the world.
Since he was living in West Berlin with Iggy at the time, I have no idea who this song is about, if anyone - perhaps Iggy.
The "promotional film" (pre "music video") is a gem.
A couple of things:
The white cyclorama with the long guitar cord is the nazz. With god-given ass...
I digress.
Bowie played all of the guitar on "Diamond Dogs" after parting ways with Mick Ronson (RIP). However, he is not known as a guitarist, per se.
The guitarist on this song is a strange genius named Ricky Gardiner. He also played on Iggy's "Lust For Life" and composed the music for Iggy's "The Passenger."
Note: Bowie DID NOT play guitar on "Be My Wife".
A frame by frame dissection, with commentary:
0:00 - 0:28 - Great lipstick, questionable clothing. 0:28 - 1:11 - One shot close-up of Bowie's face while he's playing the first guitar solo. We see him making the "jam face" but we don't see his fingers on the guitar. Hmmm... 1:11 - 1:15 - Abandons playing guitar altogether. 1:15 - 1:21 - In a long shot, you can't tell if he can play or not. Suspend disbelief. 1:21 - 1:38 - Abandons playing guitar altogether. Also does cool Bowie hand gestures. Really cool ones that you and I cannot get away with. 1:38 - 1:48 - Approximates guitar notes. 1:48 - 1:57 - Abandons playing guitar altogether. And what the fuck is up with that close-up of his hand doing nothing? Genius. 1:57 - 2:27 - Approximates guitar notes, but not really. 2:27 - 2:34 - Acceptable cut-away to close-up on face whilst making "jam face." 2:34 - 2:55 - Approximates guitar notes, but not really. 2:55 - 3:12 - Abandons playing guitar altogether. Does cool Bowie shit with his body. The last close-up of his face looking at the camera is priceless. And then Duran Duran and Japan were born, amongst countless others...
- refuse to answer inane, self-serving, one-sided questions. - better yourself. - stop defending yourself against anything. Everything. - leave and disappear. - be famous. - realize your dreams. - figure out what your dreams were. - stop being so...
What would you do?
Better question:
If you had to pick one musician/band that "defines" you, who would it be?
"Consensus in the English language is defined firstly as unanimous or general agreement; and secondly group solidarity of belief or sentiment. Ideally, achieving consensus requires serious treatment of every group member's considered opinion. Those who wish to take up some action want to hear those who oppose it, because they count on the fact that the ensuing debate will improve the consensus. Action without resolution of considered opposition will be rare and done with attention to minimize damage to relationships."
They're people I know - people I love. And they say. Go. So, after a lot of independent thought, here I go...
..dredging the oceans, lost in my circles.
Cover Star: A Station Headlining Band: My beloved Swans
Where artists flock to, where artists try their best "to define." For the moment.
It really is a city without definition.
Sure, there's strata level to "Berlin" that one can talk about - hell, I'm talking about it now, but Bowie, Iggy, Lou, The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Einstürzende Neubauten, Nick Cave, and even Bob Fosse, channeling Liza Minnelli and Joel Grey, attempted to do so as well. To define it.
This is a city without definition. Just like any city. Just like my beloved NYC.
Artists have always tried to define my city in the moment. The Ramones. Jasper Johns. John Cage. Philip Glass. Deborah Harry. Dorothy Parker, Jack Kerouac...
"Before you go Do me a favour Give me a number Of a girl almost like you With legs almost like you I'm buried deep in mass production You're not nothing new I like to drive along the freeways See the smokestacks belching Breasts turn brown So warm and so brown Though I try to die You put me back on the line Oh damn it to hell Back on the line - hell Back on the line Again and again I'm back on the line Again and again And I see my face here And it's there in the mirror And it's up in the air And I'm down on the ground By the way I'm going for cigarettes And since you've gotta go Won't you do me that favour Won't you give me that number Won't you get me that girl Yeah, she's almost like you Yes, she's almost like you And I'm almost like him Yes, I'm almost like him Yes, I'm almost like him Yeah, I'm almost like him"
Happy birthday, Sarah.
I want to take photographs like this song.
There's gonna be a silence, here. For a while.
Cover Star: Feedback Headlining Band: Mr. Osterberg in Berlin, reminiscing...
James specializes in portraits, fashion, erotica and narrative imagery and has shown in national and international juried exhibitions. His first monograph, "Some of This is True" is out on Luxxus Press. He is also featured in the Taschen book, "The New Erotic Photography" (first and second editions). Working as a filmmaker over the last twenty years, his current practice is primarily in still photography. He is from Raleigh, North Carolina and lives in Brooklyn, New York.
