Monday, September 16, 1985
Daily Nebraskan
Page 9
at ' nm Bte ii mm am imi
owie
By Marc Seger
Staff Reporter
"Bowie," 1985 MacMiilan Pub
lishing Company, 286 pages,
$17.95.
Book Review
Jerry Hopkins has written an excel
lent biography of David Bowie. Titled
simply "Bowie," the book succeeds, as
did the volume Hopkins co-authored
about Jim Morrison, "No One Here Gets
Out Alive."
Oh?
toby, massage my throbbing intellect!
Having been out of circulation, as
it were, for the past couple of
years, I recently endeavored to
venture forth in search of that ephe
meral feeling that can only be accomp
lished by engaging in certain social
interactions where intoxicants are pre
sent. In other words, I decided to hit a few
parties the other night.
I remember, from the not too distant
past, parties as places where football
players monopolized all the female
attention and those handsome intellec
tuals, like myself, were subjected to
ridicule and forced to the remotest
comers of yon room.
Imagine my surprise when, upon
entering the party, I noticed the
behemoths of humanity against the
wall while four-eyed studiers of ancient
philosophies were surrounded, nay,
mauled by the sensual lasses.
"Er, excuse me, miss," I said to a
young lady wearing a leopard skin suit
and purring at a rather good reproduc
tion of one of Rembrandt's finest, "but
wouldn't you rather lust after the car
nal pleasures of yon athlete than peruse
this rather dry piece of art?"
"Oh, get real, guy," she said, in much
the same way former young women had
rejected my offers of a midnight ren
dezvous. "Where have you been? Don't
you know that intellectualism is in?
With this new fitness craze, athletes
are a dime a dozen."
I've been called many things in my
rather short, on a relative scale,
existence, but seldom have I been
called mentally slow. Before, I might
have attributed to her the taste of cer
tain smaller reptiles. But I looked at
the young lady and quite suavely said,
"So, what's your major?"
"Biochemistry," she said, "With mi
nors in English, business administra
tion and Eastern philosophies."
"Wow, didn't I see you on 'Jeopar
dy?'" Huh?"
"Nothing, uh, I don't suppose there's
a game of quarters going on around
here someplace?"
"Quarters? How barbaric. You can,
however, engage in a rather lucrative
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snows chaos of
."Bowie" traces the life of the man
born David Robert Jones from child
hood through early musical endeavors
in rhythm and blues to the end of his
Serious Moonlight Tour in late 1983.
Bowie's is a shocking and sometimes
painful success story that includes
bouts with drugs, mercenary managers
like Tony DeFries and social rifts with
family members and fellow musicians.
The book includes a telling look at
Bowie's unconventional marriage with
Angela Barnett and the factors that
contributed to its breakup.
Hopkins quotes frequently from
musical periodicals and newspapers,
game of Trivial Pursuit that's going on
in the kitchen. I understand those zan
ies are actually playing while drinking
alcohol."
"No, really! You mean if you miss a
question you have to chug a beer?"
"Well, actually, I think they're sipping
wine."
She looked at me like I used to look
at drunk nerds. I wandered, mean
dered, made my way to the kitchen,
where I was accosted by a rather
buxom female who asked me if I might
care to join her in the far bedroom. I
accepted the offer, temporarily willing
to throw away all semblance of self
respect for a few hours of wanton, heed
less passion.
Bill
Allen
Alas, she had just finished a re
search paper on her work at an
archeological site and wanted
someone to hear it before she typed the
final draft.
"Excuse me," I said, at about page
17, "wouldn't you rather open the win
dow and look at the stars, gaze at the
moon and hold hands?"
"Well, it is a bit warm in here," she
said, "so you can open the window, but
how can I read this report if I'm looking
at the stars, and how can I turn the
pages if I'm holding your hand?"
She had a point. So I left.
I went into the living room and sat by
a tall fellow wearing tennis shoes, jeans
and a Nebraska sweatshirt. He looked
really out of place.
"Some party," I said, sarcastically,
caustically.
"Really," he said. "But you know how
it is with guys like us. Girls just aren't
turned on by muscles and athletic
prowess."
"What is this awful music they're
playing?"
"Beathoven, or something like that."
"Never heard of them," I said, "So,
what's your major?"
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mostly reprinting quotations by Bowie.
Inconsistencies surface, most notably
about Bowie's sexuality.
Bowie is a constantly changing per
son who jumped from rhythm and blues
to folk music to being the founding
father of glitter rock and then to
white plastic soul to pop dance. This
dynamism explains how Bowie can
claim to be gay in one interview, hete
rosexual in another and bi sexual in a
third.
Adding to the confusion is the way
Bowie sometimes answers interview
questions in the persona of the stage
character he is using at the time, which
"Oh, that hasn't been decided for me
yet, but I'm the starting quarterback
on the football team."
"Oh, gee, no wonder the girls stay
away from you."
"Yeah, it's no fun being a jock when
all girls want are brains."
"Too bad you can't be both."
"Yeah. If I had a high GPA, the girls
might overlook the fact that I throw a
football around on Saturday."
We looked over in the corner
where a budding physicist was
getting a back and neck mas
sage by a freshman woman in tight
shorts and a halter top. Her twin
sister was looking with dreamy eyes at
a young man spouting Shakespeare.
There was no way I was going to take
this. Like the old saying goes, if you
can't beat'em, outsmart'em.
"Hey QB," I said, while a little light
bulb danced above my head, "Grab a
couple of Einsteins and carry them
outside."
We tied up the scholars with their
own shoelaces, then donned their glass
es and graduation caps. We picked up a
couple of books as we re-entered the
party and tucked them gently under
our arms.
QB looked like Clark Kent. I looked
like Henry Kissinger.
"Just follow my lead, QB," I said,
winking and heading toward a bevy of
intelligent, attractive and sorely mis
guided coeds.
"Er, excuse me, miss," I said, tap
ping one on her gently sloping shoulder.
"But my associate and I, both under
graduates, are at a loss for proper
research partners."
"HI! I'm Bubbles. Ooooh, you look
absolutely scholarly. I'm getting psych
ed just looking at all that academia."
Terrific. Two hundred women at this
party and I hit on a sorority girl.
"Well, urn yes," I said. "I don't
understand this 'psyched' business,
but about the research. . ."
"Research? And you want little ol'
me to help?"
"Help me," QB said. I kicked him in
the shin.
"That is, we want you to help if you
have the correct psychological qualifi
cations for the work, right, QB . . .er, I
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41
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is something he admits to doing.
Hopkins shows how Bowie became
the pitiful, drug filled but extremely
entertaining Ziggy Stardust. We are
shown how a frustrated Bowie tried to
put off recording albums to cut down
on the royalties that his manager, Tony
DeFries, could collect. DeFries was col
lecting more than 50 percent of the
take when Bowie was with RCA.
The book also covers in depth Bowie's
acting career, including his roles in the
movies "The Man Who Fell to Earth"
and "The Hunger," his stage work as
John Merrick in "The Elephant Man"
and his genre-defining efforts with
mean Ph.D."
"She looks fine to me," the lustful
dog said.
"Easy, Ph.D.," I said, threateningly,
"We wouldn't want to rush things."
"Just what kind of research do you
gentlemen do? Bubbles asked.
"S
trictly lab work, Bubbles," I
said, my face a concrete
slab, "Very dry stuff. Only
someone truly interested in academics
and the better of humankind need
apply."
"That's me," she said, "High school
valedictorian, 4.0, captain of the speech
and debate teams."
"Well, we will need another like
minded woman," I said, "and people as
lUl .It-
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music videos.
The biography relates any amusing
stories, including one about an inter
viewer who mistook Bowie's wife for
Bowie himself, even though they were
sitting side by side. Another good one
involves a "Melody Maker" writer who
raved about a "goddess" in Bowje's
"Boys Keep Swinging" video, only to
find out "she" was Bowie.
"Bowie" is a well-done story of an
intriguing performer's career. It effec
tively shows details of the origin and
execution of each stage in the life of an
entertainer who would like to be known
as a general ist.
Tom LauderDaily Nebraskan
interested in research as yourself,
Bubbles, are hard to find."
"No way," Bubbles said. "DiDi, come
over here. We're going to help with
some research. What a great party."
"Get your coats, ladies. QB, is your
lab ready?"
"I left the whirlpool on, Bill."
Thank goodness for rich alumni.
They carried our books, and we
walked out of the party and into
research history.
Our subject," of course, was the
deeply psychological ramifications of
the emotional and sexual relationships
between college men and women.
It's all very dry stuff, but all in the
name of science, my friends, all in the
name of science.
Fall Closeout Sale Now
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