Bowie

And there I was, lost in the musical honour roll sutured to my sulci. Digging around for the top five rhythm sections ever, in the history of my record collection. Essentially, shovelling cop(rophil)ious filth-piles into ordered mountains, so I could write you a blog entry.

Write you a blog? What is this - an obligation? perhaps. A compulsion? not quite. Glad to be here/of service, nonetheless. Where were we?

Oh yeah. Thinking about this rhythm section thing led me to thinking about David Bowie. Again. He's everyone's hero after all. He changes lives, believe me. If you don't think he's your hero; wrong. You just don't know he is yet. Here are two more words that refute ANY other argument against him...

Scary Monsters. Still with me? No? Love your coattails, by the by.

Anyway, one morning I ran into an old school mate Gaz at a Vinnies charity shop on the way to my uni, where he'd just started. Gaz and I had a weird habit of meeting by complete chance in second hand (mainly record) stores around Sydney (generally off our gills too, even more strangely) at maybe yearly intervals for about 5-6 years. Very odd.

We were both vintage plastic junkies - that morning I was looking for a vinyl fix, he for some rare rayon - sizing up vintage shirts with large cuffs and larger collars. I was in the early throes of a Bowie fixation and flicked across a copy of my latest mistress - Hunky Dory* - for a dollar. I swung around to proclaim to Gaz, who was nose deep in polyester armpits:

"Gaz, this record will change your life in so many ways."

"What's that, Hunters? Bowie? Sweet! But how's my life gonna change with Hunky Dory?"

"Your house will never be cleaner, for a start."

"???"

After buying the album we continued walking amongst a crowded throng towards uni, records under our arms, spouting recommendations back and forth on whatever shit had recently been pickling our mind-tanks. Lost in our own collided worlds for the briefest moment that year.

Startlingly, a girl drops to her knees in front of Gaz and lets out a shriek, testifying in front of scores of onlookers:

"David Bowie? Oh. My. God. You are my hero! Hunky Dory is the shit!"

She was the Ziggy Stardust to Gaz's Mick Ronson**. That moment was catalytic... possibly erotic... definitely pornographic, and oh sooo right. Even though the moment froze in time, we continued walking after a moment chatting with Ziggy, figuring out just what happened.

"What'd I tell you Gaz? This record will change your life".

"Already has, Hunters. Already has."

Roughly 12 months later when I ran into Gaz (in a record store, both on various ends of a bender), I'd recently matriculated to Ziggy Stardust. Pressing a record into my palms, he graciously paid tribute to some sound guidance:

"Hunters? Scary Monsters. It will change your life. The best Bowie there is."

Played it at the time. Couldn't fathom it. Hindsight says that Gaz nailed it - Scary Monsters is the best Bowie there is. It's the pinnacle of a journey. Each new persona of the man adds to a greater sum than before. Each Scary Monster discovered within is teased out, characterised and dealt with until

BLAM! there you have it: your Ubermensch, your new hero. A Scary Monster himself, yet utterly human.

It's funny: on reflection I can plot the last nine years of my life in rough synchronicity with Bowie's 70's output (except I never made a record I couldn't remember making; that's no reason to dismiss Station to Station, people).

Our hero serves to show that every misstep has its own continuity; its own path. If a person's growth and maturity is the culmination of their influences, then I'm coming to terms with Scary Monsters. We all are. No wonder it's the best Bowie there is.

Thanks Gaz. And you guys. You've been a great crowd.

HSL (steps from pulpit, wiping tears from eyes)

*My second favourite Bowie, also my favourite album to clean house to.

**A famous "Ziggy" era photo with Bowie on his knees performing fellatio on Mick Ronson, mid-solo. I dare you to search for it. Also, just wanted to say 'fellatio'. So Latin, so holy.