Well, Bob Belvedere left a comment at my Bowie post from the other night, but if I've still got fence-sitters, this clip of "Moonage Daydream" should be decisive. I don't know exactly, but when I reached rock musical sophistication in my mid-20s, I just had a thing for David Bowie. He's British, for one thing. And Americans have always had a soft spot for at least a couple of British bands, whether it was the Beatles, the Who, Elton John, or the Sex Pistols. We love 'em. I think Bowie was such a huge influence on the later rage of the "New Romantic" genre, and of course gothic rock and some punk, that I glommed onto to him (with one of my best friends, Steve Stone, who's now dead, sadly, from a heroin OD sometime back). And of course I mentioned previously I saw Bowie in concert at the US Festival in 1983 (see, "'Jesus Christ! Where'd You Get that Cadillac?'"), so that was something of a pinnacle of experience at the time. When you feel like you've reached the mountaintop there's much less urgency to later experiences.
Anyway, Bowie is cool as Ziggy Stardust here. Something about his early vocals that had an extra "Cockney" clang to them. But it's Mick Ronson who ultimately steals the show at the clip. This is Jimmy Page spaced-out (or Jeff Beck, Ronson's hero). And perhaps even better if you prefer your rock all glammed up. When Rolling Stone does those periodic fluff pieces on the greatest guitar songs of all time, you can discount it if Ronson's gig on "Moonage Daydream's" not included (as he is here, but can't find him here). Look at the women screaming and crying for Mick in the audience. Not since the boys from Liverpool toured the U.S. had you seen that kind of emotion.
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