Lazarus – Karen's New York Love Affair

Karen as Ziggy with Mick Rock — *Me and Mick Rock, the photographer who did the “Life on Mars” video in which Bowie wore this blue suit, and many of the iconic Bowie photos in the early 70s*

In the last entry, I talked about some of the reasons I imagine explain Bowie’s popularity and general appeal. Now I’d like to share a bit more about his impact on me personally.

The first Bowie song I heard on the radio was Fame, when I was 10 years old. My parents didn’t usually play music in the house, or if they did, it was classical. But for some reason the radio in the large wooden console stereo was tuned to a rock station on this day. (My aunt must have changed the station the previous night when she was babysitting me and my sister.) I turned on the radio, and suddenly I was hearing something astonishing! I had never heard music like this before. The rolling bass line! The groove. The soundscape of tinkling and puncturing and rising and falling vocal lines. So much complexity. I couldn’t understand many of the words, beyond Fame, so it was the pure sound and the physical impact of it. The excitement! This music moved my body to dance. It filled my heart with possibility and longing to be somebody other than a shy, lonely suburban kid. It blew open my sheltered, limited life, and I knew that someday it was all going to be different for me. Now bear in mind that I didn’t know who Bowie was, and I didn’t know who was playing the song when I heard. I didn’t find that out until years later. But the impact of the song was marked indelibly–a significant moment in my life.

The next encounter with Bowie was the discovery of this record album at a used record swapmeet, with my boyfriend Rick and my sister Kim, when I was about 16.

By now I had been listening to rock radio avidly for a few years, and I knew who Bowie was. But I wasn’t a nut for him like many fans probably were. I just fell in love with his face on this record. I was intrigued because it looked like he had one blue eye and one brown eye. I thought I recognized a few of the songs, and I bought it.

This is when my feeling of connection to his music began, particularly with Rebel Rebel. Hey, I was 16! Totally the right time to find a voice for the wish to rise up and rebel against my parents, be my own person, be wild and free. Again there was that rolling, relentless twanging guitar sound, the insistent drums and bass, the driving force of it. And then the lyrics were about a girl I wanted to be. The hot tramp that Bowie loved! At around this time my sister and I saw Christiane F, and the teenage girl in the movie was going through the same stage of rebellion and trying to find herself, and it all was MC’d by Bowie.

Kim and I also found The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars around this time, and rented the VHS movie from the video store, and this story, visuals, and music entered our consciousness and stayed there for many years, well into our early twenties when we were sharing a series of apartments in New Westminster and partying most nights of the week at the local biker bar, Rockin’ Tonite. The whole storyline of the savior from space, and the end of the world, and the feeling that there was some magic somewhere–illlustrated by the movie with Bowie in all those fantastic costumes–stirred that longing for a special life. It spoke to my inner knowing that I was meant for something more than the limited suburbian world I grew up in (Burnaby) and the safe, ordinary life of an accountant that I’d chosen for myself.

As you all know, this drive for something more has illuminated my life, leading me to the Diamond Approach and inner journeying, to Monkey Valley, vision questing, and eventually to New York City, where I feel I’ve come home.

Karen as Bowie at Soho photo exhibit — *With my friend Andrea at a Bowie photography exhibit in Soho*

So I’d like to close this post with a quote from Bowie’s song Lazurus, from his final album, Black Star:

“By the time I got to New York I was living like a king. Then I used up all my money.” The aptly named Lazarus depicts the end of life, rising up to heaven/the next realm of existence, seeing what we left behind down below, the feeling of freedom. The sorrow of the loss of what’s left behind. Oh, the cleverness, humor, and soul of Bowie. He shared the course of development of a human soul throughout a lifetime with us.

And from “Soul Love: “Inspirations have I none, just to touch the flaming dove. And love is not loving… And reaching up my loneliness evolves…” It could go on and on, but it has to end sometime. David Bowie.

April 2, 2017 – And I think the spirit of David Bowie was there too. Saturday night’s (April 1, 2017) scintillating performance at Carnegie’s Zankel Hall demonstrated that Donny McCaslin has developed into a world-class, big league band leader, composer, and sax player. I saw McCaslin perform in early 2016 at the Village Vanguard, shortly after David Bowie’s death, and the events of the past year seem to have transformed McCaslin from an angry young(ish) man into a joyful, seasoned artist who is streaming his creative gifts into the world.

Last night McCaslin opened with a discordant, in your face composition from his earlier repertoire of published music, and then the quartet took a leap into two new (as yet un-named) numbers that McCaslin wrote specifically for the performance at Zankel Hall. The band members were beaming, and so was I, as I heard the driving rhythm section (bassist Jonathan Maron and drummer Zach Danziger) provide counter-point to an astonishing fusion of McCaslin’s sax and keyboard wizard Jason Lindner’s never-before-heard arrangement of electronic noise. The sounds were so unexpected and new, a feeling of wonder filled the hall and penetrated into the minds and bodies of the audience like a magic dust, floating down, pinging off the earbones, and ringing bells of awakening in every cell of the collective body. This music was exciting! A fresh invocation of joyful wonder, and the band was fully enjoying the revelation as well, with smiles on their faces throughout the performance. They felt the rapture, and made us feel it too.

As you may know, McCaslin and Lindner played on David Bowie’s final musical gift to the world, Black Star, released two days before his death in Jan. 2016. Clearly some audience members were Bowie fans, and McCaslin did not disappoint. The band played “Lazarus,” bringing tears of remembrance and sorrow as we heard the song, perhaps for the first time, without the vocal track of Bowie’s achingly familiar, distinctive, age- and wisdom-tinged voice.

The song begins with the (now silent) vocals, “Look up here, I’m in heaven…” and expresses humor, Bowie’s love of New York, and further musings on the afterlife… “By the time I got to New York I was living like a king. Then I used up all my money, I was looking for your ass. This way or no way, you know I’ll be free. Just like that bluebird, now ain’t that just like me. Oh I’ll be free…”

This missing element struck home the loss to the world of our dear David Bowie, and perhaps by making the loss so real, helped to bring a year of deep mourning to a close. I am moved beyond words at Bowie’s generosity to write this music as his continuing creative contribution to the world, and help us prepare and come to terms with his death, and perhaps our own.

McCaslin generously shared an anecdote about accepting a Grammy award for Blackstar on Bowie’s behalf (the album garnered five in total), together with Lindner, at the ceremony in February. McCaslin outfitted himself for the awards ceremony at Agnes B. in Soho, a designer who had often created clothes for Bowie, and even designed wardrobes for Bowie tours. McCaslin had selected a black Euro-fit suit with a reverse-logo Blackstar t-shirt—very hipster and ringing that note of musical triumph of Bowie’s final work. McCaslin confided with the audience that this was the very suit he was wearing for our performance, and shared that Gail Ann Dorsey, Bowie’s long-time bass player, also gets some of her fantastic clothes at Agnes B. Check out the hard-core punk meets Buddhism dark green dress she wore during Bowie’s Oct. 2, 1999 performance on Saturday Night Live! I noticed that Lindner was also paying subtle homage to Bowie vis-à-vis tiny astronauts floating on the dark background of his socks, and silver denim high-tops.

The group played another shrieking, body-armor penetrating track from McCaslin’s 3^rd and most recent CD, Beyond Now (released in Oct. 2016). And then another homage to Bowie, “Warzsawa,” a song he’d written with Brian Eno on 1977’s Low, Bowie’s first album in his Berlin trilogy.

McCaslin has a growing body of original music to draw on in his live performances, but his new work takes us to another level entirely. McCaslin’s generosity of spirit shines through this new creative font of joy, and he demonstrates it doubly with making space in the evening’s program for two Bowie songs. There was enough time and space for it all, and by drawing Bowie’s early and final work into the melange of his own oeuvre, McCaslin showed how these two streams are intertwined and that Bowie’s gifted soul continues to impact the world in the next generation of musicians and audiences—if the young man head-banging in the row in front of me was any indication!

It was an all-ages crowd, with older audience members sharing memories of seeing Bowie at Madison Square Garden in the 1990s, and a young child talking in the balcony, penetrating the silent spaces between Maron’s acid bass notes in his introduction to a song of further keyboard magic. McCaslin riffed on the child’s play, repeating the words “Uh-Oh” that floated down from the balcony and generating a ripple of laughter and repetition through the crowd. Then Lindner struck, with waves upon waves of overlapping repeating sequences of electronica notes, joined by tinkling ivories reminiscent of Bob Geldof’s “I don’t like Mondays.”

They received a standing ovation, and played an encore of two more pieces of splendor. Joy was in the house.

As you may have noticed, I had a lot of fun dressing in homage to Bowie.

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Tag: Lazarus

Bowie’s Impact on Me

Karen Rempel hears joy in the house with Donny McCaslin