Happy birthday to Ziggy Stardust, to Aladdin Sane, to the Diamond Dog, to the Thin White Duke…happy 65th birthday, David Bowie (8 January 1947- ). Above, in ‘72.
I vividly remember hearing a radio promo for The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars back in 1972, when I was 13 years old, the summer after graduating junior high. They just played little clips of songs, but the music mesmerized me.
A year or two later I made friends with the Ortlip sisters, Bowie devotees, and my total immersion began. I recall Halloween 1974, when Danielle had gone off to a Bowie concert at the Garden, and Shari and I stayed home, listening to Mott the Hoople sing “All the Young Dudes” over and over and over again on the stereo, and cried about our futures. (During those times when we felt more hopeful about out futures, the soundtrack was “Kooks” from Hunky Dory.)
I’m not sure I could specify a favorite Bowie song—or even a favorite album, although Ziggy and Station to Station rank pretty high—but I can say that, every time I hear the opening guitar on the song “Ziggy Stardust,” I get goosebumps and a lump in my throat.
More protean than Madonna (not to mention, a far better actor), more transgressive than Gaga—Bowie did it all first, and better, and for always.
