This album was easily one of the greatest musical accomplishments, ever. Without hyperbole or sarcasm, Ziggy Stardust has it all: Great tunes, aliens, mentions of spiders, just someone named Ziggy gets like 250 points, and the imagery of a cat from Japan. Kick. Ass.
I have spent the last two weeks totally married to this album. We drove to Dallas together, drove to work together, whilst jogging to "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide," I stopped in the middle of the trail and vehemently exhaled, "Oh No, Love! You're not alone!" to the amusement of our village idiot, a Boo Radley of sorts who vagabonds around the park all day in the same clothing, staring at clumps of dirt or the sky for hours at a time...
and I shuttered and wondered; Hark, I am not much different from this being. for I am the crazy shouting to myself and constantly constantly constantly living under the shadow of an impending doom of ongoing existential angst that began with my first heartbeat, anyone's first heartbeat, all of our last heartbeats and stand alone in the park channeling Eliot through the immortal vibe of Bowie:
|I have measured out my life with music albums;|
|I know the singing ceases with an ending drawl|
|Bowie contemplates the limits of his ego.|
|So how should I presume?*|
Ahem. I know how. So, if I could ask David Bowie one question, it would be, "If you could go back in time and have sex with ANYONE, who would you pick?"
Many chew on the question, taking it rather seriously and try to come up with something clever like, "I'd be Teddy Roosevelt's Rough Rider" or "Watch out Audrey Hepburn, Holly doesn't come lightly" or what have you.
But Bowie would probably answer this question with the same force and vigor of a God answering the question of the meaning of life to a mere mortal. He would stoically respond, "Why, I would of course fuck myself, my child."
While listening to this album, I was told by several people, "well, you know he and Mick Jagger had a thing, right?" So, after careful pondering, I came to the conclusion that the closest thing our dear solipsist, David Bowie, could get to copulating with himself was to have sex with the only person on the planet cooler than him, gender be damned. It probably wasn't even sex. It was probably a way to call the rest of their alien brethren to earth for a jam session.
I was all on a cloud about this album until I watched the movie of the 1973 concert. And it was like someone ripped the beating heart right out of my chest and ate it while I tried to scream. As I watched a 90 pound creature prance around the stage in wallpaper, it occurred to me that the spread of the AIDS virus was not because of government experiments on monkeys in Africa, nor was it God's punishment to the gay community, but it was caused directly because of the Ziggy Stardust tour. Every time Bowie flipped up his kimono, it was not for rapturous applause, but it was to secrete microscopic spore-puffs from his ballsack, thus gassing the virus out onto an enthralled community of coked-up unsuspecting teens.
I do not think that he will sing to me... *
Anyheum-- what the spiders from Mars have to say:
This album documents one of the most elaborate self-mythologizing schemes in rock, as David Bowie created the glittery, messianic alter ego Ziggy Stardust ("well-hung and snow-white tan"). The glam rock Bowie made with guitarist Mick Ronson on tracks like "Hang on to Yourself" and "Suffragette City" is an irresistible blend of sexy, campy pop and blues power. The anthem "Ziggy Stardust" is one of rock's earliest, and best, power ballads. "I consider myself responsible for a whole new school of pretensions," Bowie said at the time. "They know who they are. Don't you, Elton? Just kidding. No, I'm not."
Read more: http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/500-greatest-albums-of-all-time-20120531/david-bowie-the-rise-and-fall-of-ziggy-stardust-and-the-spiders-from-mars-20120524#ixzz2LPfGwZ7M
Follow us: @rollingstone on Twitter | RollingStone on Facebook