Intro I waited to put out this issue for many reasons. I didn’t want to get lost amongst the enormous whirlwind of media that bombarded our televisions, magazines and computer screens the moment we heard of David Bowie’s return to Mars. I didn’t know quite what to say about his legacy that hadn’t already been said by everyone else, and I wasn’t sure what was appropriate to divulge about my personal experiences and what should remain information privy only to those who have it. Entwined by a frequency that likely comes from our own flesh intermingling with our electric guitars and turntables, there is a certain unspoken knowingness that just exists within the fiber of every David Bowie fanatic I call Ziggyanity. His presence was a mystery that called to certain people and led them to monuments of greatness at best, cosmic self-discovery at least. I have my own Ziggy Stardust/David Bowie saga that picked me up somewhere along the course of my life, making the occasional appearance, but in the last couple years, I was “called upon.” The lines of that call coming from Ziggy Stardust, or David Bowie the man, are blurred since apparently, he was keenly aware of my work. I knew I should say something officially, and though I respect all the other tributes and articles, I didn’t want to write a puff piece on Bowie’s cultural impact, tear apart his latest album Blackstar in yet another review analyzing his “final message” to us, or tell the standard story of him giving me the courage to be different, as for me, there wasn’t a choice. I was born with chameleon eyes, hair the color of flames and a snow white tan. He did make me feel better about it, though. In all honesty, I was mostly too overwhelmed by everything that had happened and was happening to write about it till now. Being independent means I can put my magazine out when I feel like it, when I’m inspired to do so, rather than the pressured rush of being on time with everyone else’s sympathies. So I waited until I found the inner strength to share my words, which I feel have no value in comparison with the rest of the information circulating unless they come from a deeply personal perspective. I had my doubts about Bowie’s demise on the day listed, that of Jan 10th, 2016 but I mourned, nonetheless. I spent the first two days crying non-stop before convincing myself that there was no way Bowie was really gone. If you understand that notion, you do; if you don’t, no pressure. But for myself, there was no way I could express a series of moments I experienced around one of my all-time favorite artists with words alone. Therefore, my tribute to him goes out with a collection of stories, photos and subtle explanations told through various mediums, some artistic and some journalistic. The best way I could think of to honor the man of many mysteries was to throw a few of my own pieces into the collective jigsaw puzzle. As for my comment on the world’s sudden Bowie-mania, all I can say is: What a trip, Jack. They’re all suddenly playing the game we began long before I knew there was perhaps a deeper reason you called on me.
Is it concrete all around or is it in my
head?
How can I explain the way our energies intermingled and paralleled automatically and without intent? How you had a heart attack in Germany right around the time my band Ophelia Rising broke up and how we both disappeared from performing for the most part since until 2013 when you released The Next Day, which I received from your PR in advance to review for Crypt Magazine? And how I also received a copy of Iggy Pop’s Ready to Die that month which was amongst the first album reviews for Plastics Life Magazine, and how after reviewing both albums, I wrote my first new song in ten years? And how strange it all was because Iggy Pop was the first rock star I ever kissed after he pulled me onstage as a teenager… and the last performance my own band ever played involved a teenage “Rebel Rebel” boy kissing me when I got off stage at the Whisky a Go-Go as bullets literally flew overhead a few doors down at The Rainbow Bar & Grill during an unexplained drive-by shooting? A rare occurrence to happen at all on the Sunset Strip, but nonetheless a bullet grazing the ear of a member of KISS to make it all the more surreal and cosmic. A kiss amidst the politics of strange wars and the bullies, liars and mudruckers who would tear us apart shortly after, but for that day, we could be heroes! Or at least, we could be the psychical incarnate of the lyrics of the song? I guess manifesting a Bowie song in real time was the equivalent of feeling butterflies or seeing fireworks for aliens and strange rock n’ rollers. For whatever reason, that moment marked the beginning of a metaphorical wall soon built up between my music and myself. Like you, I stayed hidden as if I was someone else and my life as a singer/songwriter never happened. And for whatever reason, when you returned, so did I. Slowly and reluctantly, the pieces of my forgotten past came to form, haunting me like ghosts chipping away at the bricks until I was exposed as the person I truly am, regardless of whether or not I wanted to be. That to me, in itself, is what you represent; the dichotomous joy and torment of becoming, not who you necessarily want to be, but who you ARE. Should it be no surprise then, that towards the end… I discovered you watching me?
I suppose not. Is there really anyone else who understands why the album cover of The Next Day was a play off the album cover of the Heroes album and why the credits in the liner notes contain a yellow square about the size of a CD over your face amidst a color scheme of yellow, orange and turquoise? Doubtful. Maybe my guitarist and a few of your favorite friends and fans do, but those are stories left to be told through future songs.
You’re a little later than planned cause your lipstick had to be just the right shade. There’s a line well around the block of Johnny come lately-s hoping for a spot to witness or celebrate the latest news we’re all carrying. With your bastewardess Bowie-kin girlfriend in tow, you skip the line and walk straight to the door where you are given a VIP wristband as someone from Gary Numan’s entourage scrambles at the guest list to ensure their whole party entrance. There are no words spoken other than a brief “yes, she is with me,” over your shoulder as the doorman questions whether to give your friend a wristband like yours. David Bowie has passed away according to the Internet and of all the tributes and gatherings happening all over the globe, the little punk bar in dismal downtown L.A. you named as your favorite spot in the last two issues of your self-made music and fashion zine seems to be THE Bowie memorial place to be. With members of The Cure, Blondie, Skinny Puppy, NIN, Bauhaus, A Perfect Circle, Cold Cave and Pop Will Eat Itself all scheduled to spin sets of their favorite Bowie songs and tell personal stories about their experiences with him, you begin to wonder if people actually read your magazine or if it’s just one of those Ziggy Stardust things.
Lol Tolhurst from The Cure
Cevin Key of Skinny Puppy
The bar is filled to capacity as you make your way to the secret backroom the regular patrons don’t know about and drop your coat with the bartender so you can take photos, mingle with press and dance with your guest. The energy is bursting with the glittery revolution you intentionally set into motion only months prior as each rock star DJ takes his turn, you gravitate towards the platform providing the source. A cute girl tells you that you look like someone important and that her friend suggested they stay near you to absorb some of it. You smile and tell her that the fact they recognize such things makes them important, too. Snapping photos at the side of the DJ platform, you notice that the couple occupying the guest stools directly behind the turntable get up to leave. That’s your cue. They want you. You don’t know why or how they know, but this is it, you are part of the show.
Danny Lohner of NIN You take to the platform in your outfit consisting of homemade pieces and accessories borrowed from boys and suddenly you’re him. In a spectacle you’d expect the people you once knew as your scene to scoff at, you’re a hit with the rock n’ roll elders, Goth-industrial producers and neo glitter kids. Miming every word and pose from the David Bowie archives, the crowd stirs and cheers in the divine moment of it all, some reaching out to touch you, some climbing on one another’s shoulders to see, seemingly convinced within that moment, they are in the presence of the real thing. Am I the new Ziggy Stardust? Wes of Cold Cave
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Originally published in Plastics Life Magazine Sept 2014 By Lexa Vonn Imagine you could enroll in a class at your local university that explores the artistic pallet of David Bowie. If you go to NYU, you already can do exactly just that with Professor, musician and documentarian, Vivien Goldman. But for those of us a bit short on tuition, films like the Hamish Hamilton directed documentary, “David Bowie is” is a stunningly inspiring experience in rock star education. “David Bowie is” documents the groundbreaking exhibit of the iconic singer’s archive of stage costumes, hand written lyrics, diary entries, rare photos, stage sets and various artistic mementos made or collected by him throughout his career. The exhibit was created by the Victoria and Albert Museum in London last year and will be brought to the US on September 23rd at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, while select theaters across the country screen the film in tandem. When the invite to preview the film before the American public got a chance to landed in my inbox, I felt as though I had received a secret message from Ziggy Stardust. Honored to be summoned by the spirit every eccentric and esoteric artist since him rightfully declares the King of Enigmatic Icons, I accepted our meeting through the digital portal of my computer screen and had a lovely date with David Bowie’s brain.
A kaleidoscope panorama of the manifested reality of one of rock's most influential icons, I can easily see this film becoming one of my all-time favorites. Identifying with everything “David Bowie is,” I had a Cheshire grin on my face the entire time I watched it. Featured within is a guided tour by the exhibition’s curators, Victoria Broakes and Geoffrey Marsh and special guests including Jarvis Cocker and the God who designed some of Bowie’s most monumental fashions, including the costumes for Ziggy Stardust, Kansai Yamamoto. They all lend their stories behind some of the key objects that created the Bowie dynasty and pose the question, “What is David Bowie?” There are many different answers to this question presented in the film, but only one word rang in my mind at the end… Daddy?
Ground control to Major Tom, I’m coming home. And in this I know I’m not alone.
“I’ve always depended on the kindness of Strangers!”
Originally published in Plastics Life Magazine Sept, 2014 By Lexa Vonn
There are sometimes things in life that are simply meant to be. I truly believe this. A little over a year ago, a stranger approached me at Loaded Bar in Hollywood and began chatting me up about my journalism and photography. Though, it wasn’t my articles that attracted him to me, as he didn’t know of my occupation till I told him. It was my clothes. The stranger had approached me to ask about the symbolism of the “Gothic Lolita French maid” headpiece I was wearing. After discussing the various options of head “Have you ever photographed David Bowie?” he asked. “No, I reviewed his last album, but I never got to photograph him. I would love to someday!” I replied. “You will,” he said. “You have to photograph David Bowie,” he insisted. “He photographs like no one else.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “I can’t explain it. You have to see it yourself. But don’t worry, you’ll get your chance.”
It’s not uncommon for me to receive cryptic messages from strangers at bars, or anywhere else for that matter, so I passed him my business card on my way out and said, “Tell Ziggy Stardust to call me.”
I never heard from the stranger after that night… or David Bowie, but I believe I did hear from Ziggy Stardust. After mysteriously being one of the only US journalists to receive an invite to view the “David Bowie is” documentary, I asked if it was possible to attend the opening of the actual exhibit, which was being brought to The Chicago Museum of Contemporary Arts from Sept. 23rd to Jan. 4th. To my surprise, I was patched through to the museum’s PR right away and given free reign to cover the private press only preview viewing of the exhibit on Sept. 19th.
Article approved, photos approved, video interviews approved. Hmm… can I get a plane ticket and hotel with that? Unfortunately, not through the museum, but when you know something is meant to be and you’re willing to leave no stone unturned, it usually happens.
I had six days to figure out a way to get to Chicago, a place to stay while I was there, and a videographer to film my interviews with absolutely no budget! That’s right, I had not a dollar to spare on a non-necessity like a venture to be in the same room with Ziggy Stardust’s custom designed costumes. Keep in mind, I recently began designing original clothes and was literally sewing a dress for Pamela Des Barres when I first watched the “David Bowie is” documentary. When I realized that a large portion of the exhibit was about his clothes, I KNEW I had to go no matter what! So, I began racking my brain for ideas on how to make it happen. I called it the ‘Diamond Dogs’ challenge.
I spread the word of my dilemma to trusted friends, I contacted media outlets with pitches to freelance the project through them, and I styled and photographed a bunch of people with Bowie songs playing in the background. The latter seemed to do the trick. One of my photography clients offered to partially sponsor my David Bowie education with a plane ticket. Really?! I was really going to get to go? From that moment, I refused to take no for an answer on the rest of the details. Did I mention that I originally met this particular client in a bar?
I had several close friends with ties in Chicago, but none of them came through with any assistance. No, it was yet another stranger I met in a bar who came to my aid with a network of connections in the windy city. We had met recently at a local Goth/fetish club and exchanged numbers. He told me to call stranger A, who told me to call stranger B, who told me to call stranger C, who said I could stay with her but she couldn’t go to the exhibit with me.
By the time these details were sorted, it was the day before I had to leave in order to get there on time. Of course, all the flights were sold out now. Oh, well… I gave it my best shot, right? NO! Ziggy Stardust’s clothes are summoning me… I AM GOING! I went to Priceline.com, bid on a ticket and got one! I was on my way to Chicago!
When I got there, I met up with stranger C who introduced me to stranger D, a videographer. Together, we arrived at the Museum of Contemporary Arts and proceeded to sit in on presentations, interview curators, and be escorted by staff through the back entrance of the exhibit so we could get whatever footage we needed before anyone else.
The exhibit felt more like a rock concert with massive screens projecting various Bowie performances, dozens of mannequins that were actually molded from Bowie’s exact proportions, and various odds and ends from the history of his artistic genius/madness. Among the treasures one can view are:
• • • •
Hand written lyrics Props from Jim Henson’s Labyrinth Rare audio interviews, Random objects only a groupie or rock n’ roll historian (same thing) can appreciate, such as David Bowie’s coke spoon, mug shots, and a tissue he used to blot his lipstick.
Also on display, were random things he held onto throughout his life that shaped his career like books, newspaper articles and movie posters. To be honest, it reminded me a bit of my house. I can only imagine that David Bowie holds a similar belief as I, that objects possess certain personalities of their own and each one is capable of manifesting its own reality. Ok, you David Bowie mannequins‌. Which one of you called me here?
Believe it or not, there were actual rumors that I was both a mannequin and dating a mannequin earlier this year. I am completely serious. While the dating of a mannequin seemed to be more of a comment in jest (multiple comments, actually), I was mistaken for being one in a store one day. Yes, this is my real life. If you explore my webzine and social media, you will find many photos and stories about mannequins. So, did I photograph Bowie? I’m not sure. But I definitely photographed Ziggy Stardust. And I’m pretty sure one of those mannequins is into me. See how rumors are? One so-called relationship and now every celebrity mannequin thinks it has a chance. If they keep wearing those amazing costumes, they just might!
Plastics Girl Tater Skye
Plastics Girl
Penny Lane
While I make no secret of my admiration for David Bowie’s style, I often found myself channeling him unintentionally in my fashion design, makeup and poses. When I create, I do so in a somewhat chaotic free-form way that has no real method to the madness. I’ve always felt that art comes from a higher source and that we are merely the pencils and canvases it uses to deliver messages to us. I never thought of myself as Bowie or tried to be him and that’s what I like best about this collection of photographs from my personal archives. I’ve seen a lot of people attempt to do recreations of various eras of Bowie, but to me, the significance of his style was more about embodying the spirit or character as it communicated to you personally, rather than being a carbon copy relatable only by exact ratios and shades. The following spread contains an array of my Bowie-esque fashionable channelings. Not a single one was planned or intended to bear similarity. However, I can’t say I’m disappointed that they do! Thanks for playing with me, David Bowie!
Blue Jean
The Man Who Fell to Earth
Ziggy Stardust
Life On Mars?
The Thin White Duke
One of the things that made David Bowie legendary was his use of theatrical makeup, marked most famously by his temporary alter ego Ziggy Stardust, an androgynous alien who fell to earth and rose to fame as a rock n’ roll star. The creation of this character is what earned Bowie his iconic status in the world of pop-culture and remains the most referenced image of his career. But you don’t have to be from outer space to add a little Stardust to your look every now and then. Here are some Ziggy reflective styles from around the web:
Letters to the Editor I write this while I am waiting for "The Man Who Fell to Earth" to be aired on TV. I feel it all so surreal; one of my favorite artists is everywhere and it's because he has died. No, I still can't believe it. We were so happy to celebrate his birthday and the release of his new album, Blackstar. All this until yesterday, when the news that he was no longer with us arrived. It was so devastating! Oh, it's impossible. Oh, I should have understood it, Lazarus was so clear and so was Blackstar. Oh, why didn't he let us know he was ill? We would have been (a bit) less unprepared. About two weeks ago, I had a dream, a strange dream that involved Bowie and a group of fans, me included: we were all together, he was driving the car in which we all were in and suddenly, he fainted. We were terrified. I remember screaming to him something like: "Please, recover! Recover!" I was so worried for his health. The end was a happy one, though. He woke up and said us something like, "It's just a joke/don't worry.” He spoke words whose intention was to soothe and reassure us. Maybe my subconscious sensed it, the true meaning behind Blackstar. Anyway, the day when that news has arrived I was not able to listen to any of his songs...until suddenly, I felt an urge to listen to Lazarus, just Lazarus, as the first song after the terrible news, not any other. And I finally did understand that Bowie has given to me, to us, a great gift with Blackstar.
"Look up here, I'm in heaven, I’ve got scars that can’t be seen, I’ve got drama, can’t be stolen. Everybody knows me now. You know, I’ll be free, just like that bluebird, now ain’t that just like me? Oh, I’ll be free, just like that bluebird. Ain’t that just like me?”
A message for all of us fans as Bowie made me experience something I had never lived before, once again. He was my dream, my first love, the first one that showed me all the boundless territories of Music and Art. The one that showed me, in the best way, I was on the right path being different, thinking outside of the box, and that I was not alone in doing it. He was the first one who turned me into a fangirl. He carried me in space, he carried me on the stages where he was playing as Ziggy Stardust, he made me travel station to station with the Thin White Duke. He was Beauty, Art, Life, Fantasy and Imagination, to me. Bowie is Bowie. There are no other words, no other adjectives to say it. The man who fell to Earth started and I'm ready to dream on and on with Bowie. Because the dreams he gave us never die, because Bowie never dies.
Chiara Catanese, Agrigento (Sicily-Italy)
My Godfather, David Bowie While the title of this piece isn’t meant to be taken literally, it is in fact, most true in the spiritual sense. Bowie’s music, words and images have been a constant companion, literally since the day I was born, so much that it was almost taken for granted that he’d always be here, an omnipresent and benevolent artist who would continue to bestow his gifts upon us. Imagine my shock when I woke up on the morning of January 11, 2016 to the news of Bowie’s passing. I heard the words, saw images of him flash across my TV screen, but it still didn’t seem possible. The announcement woke my husband out of his half-sleep, and he immediately reached over to over me the comfort he already knew I would need. His comforting, gentle affection, while needed and welcome, unfortunately did little to ease the aching that had begun to fill my heart. Idols are supposed to live forever. An unrealistic, almost childish thought, yet these were the only words that sprang to mind, repeating in my head over and over. Idols are supposed to live forever. I was born in 1973 to a teenaged mother who was a major rock fan. She was also something of a glam chick, as evidenced by the silver nail polish and platform heels she sported in many of her photos from back then. Bowie was a god to her, his music constantly blaring out of the stereo speakers in our house and the 8-track player in our car. An only child, and a precocious one at that, I happily sang and danced along to songs like “Rebel Rebel” and “Suffragette City” as a music-crazed 5-year-old, much to the delight and amusement of my mom and her friends.
I’d stare at Bowie’s album covers for hours. In many ways, he almost didn’t seem real to me. He looked like no one else I knew and nothing I’d ever seen before. I convinced myself that he was surely some sort of magician or wizard, because everything about him was so beyond anything else that seemed possible. Years later when I saw Labyrinth, I couldn’t have been more pleased to realize that clearly, others had obviously also recognized Bowie’s magical qualities as well, which was why he was cast in the film. As a child, everything about Bowie was just that-pure magic.
I was 4 when the album Heroes was released. My mother bought it the day it went on sale and immediately rushed home and put it on. I don’t remember exactly what I was doing while I was listening with her; most likely I was playing with my Barbies, coloring or reading, and all was fine. That is, until the title song came on. Within moments, I found myself spilling silent tears. Immediately, I began to fill with anxiety, hoping my mom wouldn’t ask what was wrong because if she did, I wouldn’t be able to tell her, which I knew would fill her with anxiety, too. Something about that song, even at such a young age, had touched me in a way that I couldn’t put into words. I was sure that I wasn’t sad, but I knew I wasn’t exactly happy either.
I’d felt strong emotions listening to other music my mom played (The Who’s “Quadrophenia” immediately comes to mind as a record that affected me deeply), but I’m positive that “Heroes” was the first song that ever made me cry. The strange feelings the song had evoked in me were just that… strange. Especially, to a child so young, yet at the same time, the feelings were not exactly unpleasant. These feelings brought with them an unusual sense of comfort, which was something I desperately sought all the time, as my home was chaotic and difficult. I remember wondering if I would start crying every time I heard that song, and how I would explain it to my mom when she inevitably spied my tears. As it turns out, I didn’t have to. When she asked what was wrong, I simply said, “Mommy, this song makes me cry….”, to which she replied, “It’s beautiful. I know.” From then on, David Bowie took on a special significance in my life. As I grew into an awkward girl who never seemed to fit in with her peers, Bowie became an icon of celebrating being different, of being unafraid to explore and own whom you are, even if it means being out of step with the rest of the world. His music and all he represented gave me the confidence to do just that. The first time I colored my hair was at age 15, and it was a milestone moment. I was not only coloring my hair, but coloring my soul; it was the first step in declaring myself to the world and becoming the person I was meant to be. As I grew older, Bowie’s music and image continued to inform my choices, inspire my soul, and provide much needed strength. Most of all, he gave me permission to dream, and to never stop doing so, even when reality was doing its best to beat me down and infect me with the poison of defeat. I’ve welcomed every incarnation of David Bowie with open arms, applauding his desire to create art in his image without concern for whether or not some would disapprove or not understand. The sound of his voice continues to provide me with healing comfort, and yes, I still get teary and sometimes cry outright whenever I hear the song “Heroes.” In fact, it was the first song I listened to yesterday upon hearing the news of Bowie’s death and it was the first time it made me cry out of pure grief and sorrow. Losing David Bowie is as significant to me as losing a family member. The amount of happiness, love, confidence and inspiration he gave to me throughout my life cannot be measured. Therefore, he is more than just an idol or an icon to me. He is my spiritual godfather, a man, an artist who fell to Earth and showed a precocious and weird young girl that she was not alone, and who gave a young woman the confidence she needed to pursue her own art, to be herself, and to never let the bastards get her down. While I never had the opportunity to meet David personally, and to thank him for the positive impact he’s had on my life, I hope that somehow, he will know. David Bowie is gone, but will be with us always. In fact, he’s with me right now. Rest easy, Starman. Forever and ever.
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