Dey Street Books

Like so many vital figures in British pop history, from Pete Townshend to Paul Weller, Bowie came from a blurry region of British society that encompasses the educated working class, the socially precarious petite bourgeoisie and what could be called the uncomfortably-off middle class, i.e. professional or office workers whose income didn’t quite match their aspirations.

You can hide from it, but alas, that doesn’t work. It’s been tried—by Bowie, for one, a man who spent much of the seventies and eighties freeze-drying his synapses with any chemical within reach, only to accidentally bump into true romance with (of all people) a model

This was how he chose to spend his last year on earth? Working

How did I never notice “The Secret Life of Arabia” before? Or “Win”? “After All”? “Be My Wife”? “Growing Up and I’m Fine

Do all sixteen of us paying customers sing along, right to the end of side 2? Do the band speak in English accents even though they’re from Asheville, North Carolina? Does the lady at the next table keep yelling for “Width of a Circle”? Yeses all around

He took sax lessons from local hero Ronnie Ross. Years later, he repaid Ross by bringing him in to play the sax solo in Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side.”

The other kid turned out to be Marc Bolan, the future superstar of T. Rex, then still known as Marc Feld, but who announced himself as King Mod. Bolan looked him over and said, “Your shoes are crap.” It was the dawn of a lifelong rivalry

moonage daydream believer

Bowie’s cannabis mentor was John Paul Jones, later the bassist of Led Zeppelin. (Jimmy Page played on Bowie’s early records as well

Marc Bolan, now riding high on the charts, invited him to be the opening act on a British tour. The bad news: Bolan hired him as a mime