David Bowie (and Iggy Pop)

[Update: Here's Iggy saying the same thing with less bourbon in him.]

Oh jeeebus. I'm a little drunk, so bear with   me here.

Bowie? Come on, not Bowie. There are so many other peoiple we could give up. I know it's sacrilege, but I'd giv up Prince (PRINCE!) before Bowie. Robert Plant. Keef, even.

I'm not supposed to say this, but yeah, I did meet him. Once.

This was not long after "Let's Dance". We ended up at the same restaurant. I was drinkin g more than I shoud, especially since I was not 21. Bowie was not. He was drinking sparkling water.

I told him that I really liked his stuff, sure, who didn't? So many amazing songs. ZIGGY! "It's not the side effects of the cocaine, I'm thinking that it must be love".

But what I really liked was what he had done with Iggy Pop on "The Idiot": "Funtime" to be exact.


Bowie smiled briefly and said "Jim's my friend, I really liked making that record." We talked some more. About drum sounds and movies and women.

HGere's what I really remember about Bowie; He was a goo dfriend. He helped make Iggy's solo career, with producing his records and stuf.f But if you know anything about Iggy, you know he has struggled to breakthrough to the mainstream and HAVE A HIT (ahven't we all?)

And in the 80s, Ig was having a tough time. No money. Living in NYC and having bad habits will do that to you.

So Bowie says "well, Jim, I'll cover one of your songs on my new record. I need material anyhow."

So he puts "China Girl" on "Let's Dance". Long story short: BIG hit. Bowie gets a "free" hit single, Iggy gets some money. We get Bowie's China Girl, adn everybody wins:


Still, Iggy's hurting. So what does Bowie do on the follow-up to "Let's Dance"? 5 of the 9 songs are either written by Iggy Pop or co-written by Iggy Pop. The album is guaranteed good sales even if it's terrible (it's not terrible, but critics are not kind). It's not exactly charity, as Bowie wasn't writing much, but he could have made more...commercial choices.

And even the record after that, (the also not well-reviewed) "Never Let Me Down", he thro0ws ANOTHER Iggy song on there ("Bang Bang"!, 1987).

And right before that (1986), he uses all of his newfound commercial wisdom (and Duran Duran's drum machines) and produces Iggy's best "pop" record, the oft-overlooked "Blah-Blah-Blah". He sings backup on it (it's obvious when you listen), too (and co-writes some of it)...but he doesn't make a big deal out of it. Because it's Iggy's show, and he wants his friend to succeed on his own terms.

What a friend. What an artist.

I'm super sad.

I'm sad because this genius musician is gone. And I'm sad because he's gone too soon. He just put out a record, had a birthday.

It's hard to believe he didn't really enjoy his life in the last bunch of years, but it seems like he should have had like a decade to just goof off and watch Netflix and play video games or whatever he does for fun. Go see his son's movies. Eat lasagna.

But really? I'm sad because I think about the kind of man Bowie was -- a guy who'd do anything to help his friend make it, and have fun doing it. I wish I had known him more than the records and our brief intersection at that restaurant.

I am sad because I wanted a friend like that. Who wouldn't?

His music said "you're not alone", and when he sang or looked at you with those beautiful eyes, you knew he meant it.

Goodbye. and thank you thank you thank you. Goddamn it.

Well, how come you only want tomorrow
With its promise of something hard to do
A real life adventure worth more than pieces of gold
Blue skies above and sun on your arms 
strength in your stride
And hope in those squeaky clean eyes
You'll get chilly receptions everywhere you go
Blinded with desire I guess the season is on

So you train by shadow boxing, search for the truth
But it's all, but it's all used up
Break open your million dollar weapon
And push your luck, still you push, still you push your luck
A broken nosed mogul
are you one of the new wave boys?

Same old thing in brand new drag comes sweeping into view
As ugly as a teenage millionaire pretending it's a whiz kid world
You'll take me aside, and say

"Well, David, what shall I do? They wait for me in the hallway"
I'll say "don't ask me, I don't know any hallways"

But they move in numbers and they've got me in a corner
I feel like a group of one, no no they can't do this to me
I'm not some piece of teenage wildlife

Those midwives to history put on their bloody robes
The word is that the hunted one is out there on his own
And you're alone for maybe the last time
And you breathe for a long time
Then you howl like a wolf in a trap
And you daren't look behind

You fall to the ground like a leaf from the tree
And look up one time at that vast blue sky
Scream out aloud as they shoot you down
No no, I'm not a piece of teenage wildlife
I'm not a piece of teenage wildlife

And no one will have seen and no one will confess
The fingerprints will prove that you couldn't pass the test
There'll be others on the line filing past, who'll whisper low
I miss you he really had to go well each to his own, he was
Another piece of teenage wildlife
Another piece of teenage wildlife

Here We Go Again (slight return)

I get to the rehearsal room a good half-hour before everyone else. I hope I brought the correct key. It's been over a year and a half since I even set foot in here, the last time being when I loaded gear back in after our show with Madam and The Ants. That was in December. Of 2012.

A lot has happened since then. Births, deaths, illness, catastrophe. Dubstep. Lorde. Thurston and Kim breaking up.

I fumble for the light switch, and as it snaps on, I feel like I was just here. The cheap industrial carpet is still disintegrating into curly strings, and sprinkled with segments of guitar strings, broken picks, and bent beer caps.

Our PA is still there. A few minutes of searching behind piles of gear yields my mic stand. Ha! Hard to believe the gear hasn't been thrown out or broken.

I reach into my bag and pull out my Shure SM-58 Beta microphone. This was the mic I bought myself when I first started to get serious about singing. I've had it for almost 25 years.

Still here. Still working.

I find bags of coiled cables. Definitely ours. A backpack with cables and a tuning pedal. Is this ours? Hmm. Not sure. Some of this stuff...I just don't know. Maybe?

I clear some space and think about where everyone is going to set up. I plug in the PA and start tuning the EQ for the room. I never have enough time to do this.

Dante arrives next. He sees the drum kit of the band we share the room with set up and says "that's not going to work for me." He sets up his kit. I point at his Rototoms. "You should play those." He says "Are those mine?" Yeah. I saved them. Rototoms were very cool for a while, then super-uncool for even longer. But like a lot of things with a similar trajectory, I expect them to make a Halley's Comet-style return any day now. I also have 9 cowbells of his in my recording studio.

The rest of the gang rolls in, one of them stepping out of a black Lincoln Towncar. Hiatus has been good to some of us, I guess.

They've all forgotten stuff. Straps. Picks. Cables. Batteries. Songs. Keys. We start 40 minutes later than planned, after lots of fumbling around. Tuning. Spilling beer. Catching up. Hugging. "It's been too long."

We play the traditional set opener, "Baby Space". It's not too terrible, and like a camera being pulled slowly into focus, by halfway through the second verse, most of the band has mostly remembered how this one goes and it starts to sound like music.

The rest of the songs materialize in similar fashion. As I call the titles, everyone gets a look on their face like they were hoping the teacher wouldn't ask them to hand in their homework. But as Dante counts off each one or plays the drum intros, memory kicks in. The terror, confusion, and embarrassment give way to big smiles when things go right and laughs and winces when we hit the wrong notes.

Foxxx Trottt yells out the chords, or at least shortcuts and cheats like "this one is mostly D. There's a lot of D in this song." I am pretty sure (but not certain) that at least one of the guitar players knows which chord is D.

We play our big hits. We avoid the tricky tunes tonight. Gotta walk before you run. But really, at this point, I don't even care how it sounds. There's time for that later.

Yeah, you know, I miss the fame and fortune sometimes, and the fancy hotel rooms and groupies and all that. But I also remember how dismal it all seemed when we weren't having fun, and how quickly all of that faded. The good parts were the result of playing with my friends, and when we stopped that -- when we stopped playing and started treating it like WORK, and when we stopped being friends and started being business associates or colleagues or whatever -- that's when it all fell apart.

I look around the rehearsal room. I see my friends. My BAND. They're smiling. They're laughing. We're having fun. We're playing music. We're together.

I look at the mic in front of me and I think "Still here. Still working."

PS we're looking for gigs. And I'm gonna write a new song or two.

Bono's Lever

Bono. Super-nice guy.

The phone rattles and hums. It's like 2 am. I roll over and fumble for it.

It's Bono. Great. Gotta take this one.

I unlock the phone. "Hey, mate, what's up? You know it's like 2 am here?"

Bono is super-excited. He wants to play me some tracks from the upcoming album. Apparently he's been doing this a lot. He says "Check this out!". I guess he's holding his phone up to the stereo. I can't hear anything, it just sounds like white noise (which I suppose is a rather succinct, if harsh, review of U2's last couple of records).

Or maybe he's been listening to a lot of Jesus and The Mary Chain. I dunno.

After skipping around and playing bits of other things, I tell him it all sounds great, and that it's good that U2's trying to write their own songs again, instead of rewriting other people's. He laughs and says that's pretty rich coming from me.

Bono gets a bad rap. There's all the G_d jokes and the constant piss-taking in the media and elsewhere. But the fact is, he's a really nice guy in industry full of total jerks. He's still married to his girlfriend. He hasn't broken up with his band and/or made self-indulgent solo albums. He'll put you on the guest list.

Let me tell you a story.

This was a couple years back (like, 10), when The Pants were just about to start their comeback. I had been having kind of a rough time, problems with my voice and being in shape and life and love.

I ran into Bono in London. He drags me into a pub and we talk. He's actually a really good listener. He gives me some advice, and one of his private numbers and says "look, CALL ME if you need to talk." He meant it.

I asked him "Hey man, how do you put up with all the criticism? I mean, people are always trying to beat you down for, I dunno, everything. Your last album. Your glasses. Project RED. Your VC firm. Your good works. That's a lot to take, right?"

Bono chuckles. He looks down at the table for a few minutes. He gets kinda quiet and puts on his Serious Bono face. He looks at me and says, all with that charming accent:

Sid, everybody's got problems. Everybody. You just sat here and ran me through some of yours, and some of those seem pretty tough.  

The thing I realized a while back was that it's not what your problems are. What matters is how you deal with them. 

I don't mind people making fun of me. Where I come from, that's part of how people show they love you. Or what they do before they punch you. It's just part of life. If I was worried about what people said, I'd have never got on stage the first time. Or the second. Or in front of the 20,000 people that saw us play last week. 

As for why I do it, well, it's like Archimedes said about levers. We're all tryin' to move the world a little bit every day. Some people are moving it to make a bit more money or be a bit less sad. A few even try to make things better (as they define it) for other people. 

I've got a pretty big lever. Bigger than most other people's [and he winks at me]. And I believe I have an obligation to use it. Do good works and all that. I'm tryin' to make the world a better place. Tryin' to be a better person. Tryin' to make a good record. Tryin' to have a good time doin' it.

Now, the thing about that big lever is that yeah, I can move the world more than most can. But that also means if I make mistakes, they're bigger, too. Bigger fuck-ups, bigger problems. That's what I have to think about all the time. It's not easy, but I wouldn't have it any other way. 

What's my alternative? I could retire and do nothin', I guess. People would eventually leave me alone. But how could I live with myself, knowing I had that rare opportunity to try, to do something, and I let it pass? 

Besides, at some point I'll have to retire anyhow. God will take that lever away. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe if the new album flops. There's plenty of time for doin' nothin'.

I sat there for a minute or two, turning over what he had said. I was just getting ready to reply when his minder found him and he left. As he got up to leave, he gave me one of those winks of his.

"Thanks for the chat, Sid."

Thank YOU, Bono. Still thinking about it.