I went.

It was worth it.

That was the extasis I was after; Chords lift­ing and sur­round­ing, that voice soar­ing. He played Five Years, and Hang on to Your­self and Ziggy Star­dust and Heroes and Ashes to Ashes. He played four tracks from Low (Sound and Vision, Always Crash­ing in the Same Car, What in the World and Be my Wife) which would have made Jonath­an’s day, but he would have been at last night’s gig.

When I was 17, I read a Bowie bio­graphy. I’d taped Ziggy Star­dust quite a few years before. I was going out with a schizo­phrenic guy at the time and I was fas­cin­ated by the bio­grapher’s read­ing of vari­ous Ziggy songs as odes to Bowie’s schizo­phrenic brother: so much of the sym­bol­ism res­on­ates, hands, voices, ego. 

I’m going to have to drag out the old video Rowan Greaves taped for me when I was at ATYP: full of rare clips. Bowie in Berlin singing Kurt Weill. The clip for Wild is the Wind. The clip for John, I’m Only Dan­cing. Inter­views. I hope it still works.

He’s still so vibrant. So cheeky. So sexy. The way his body moves. This is the Bowie I wanted to see in the eighties, when I went last time. But that’s okay. I went this time. And it was brilliant.

Oh… and I’d like to thank the lovely dai­syn­erd for her gen­er­os­ity in chan­ging plans and the lovely people at Tel­stra for “pay­ment arrange­ments” that let me spend my phone bill money on this concert.