In March of 1999 the band Placebo was going to play at Irving Plaza. David Bowie, who had had them as the opening act on his previous tour, wanted to help promote their recently released second album. He offered to interview them on camera and I was hired to produce and direct it.
I brought in Julian Rad as director of photography and Lucas Bennett as production manager and we went to Irving Plaza to scout it. I had seen dozens of shows there and really liked the place but, looking at it as a video director, all of a sudden the place looked really dowdy and grim. We managed to find a (marginally) workable part of the balcony and a few props and we were ready for the shoot the next day.
We got there nice and early for the shoot and Julian did a great job making the joint look like a hip talk show set. The vibe was calm and ready when “the talent” walked in, just the way a good producer likes it.
Introductions were made and the first thing Bowie says is, “I am going to have to be on the left side. I can’t see out of this eye” (the fan-chatter notion that Bowie had “one blue eye and one brown eye” was a complete misapprehension. He had two blue eyes; it was just that one pupil was permanently dilated so he could barely see out of it).
Okay, Mister Rok Star. After two hours of primping and tweaking, we had to completely rip apart our little set and re-stage and re-light it. Our day went from being a producer’s dream to a producer’s nightmare in as long as it took David Bowie to breathe.
Now, I should say that I was not an adherent to the cult of Bowie. I had seen him perform a number of times and I respected him as an artist. He had written some fantastic songs (and, yes, for that alone he deserves to be a superstar) and I got his whole “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” identity trip. But I also always felt that he got a lot more credit than he deserved for certain things he had done. Putting re-treads on American music (badly, in some cases) does not make you a great artist; neither does honking into a saxophone (especially once the listener has been enthralled by Coltrane or Rollins). Some brilliant moments? Sure, but whenever his acolytes got all misty-eyed, I couldn’t help remembering the clams (“Dancing In The Streets,” anybody?).
Fifteen minutes later, cameras were rolling and the show began. Sorry to have to say this to my media friends reading this but Bowie was better at our jobs than we are: bright, engaging, a fantastic listener. He drew these guys out and got right into the meat of what was distinctive about them, what THEY were interested in. He spoke to them as equals, as fellow travelers, if not just a tiny bit beneath them since they were the headline act that day.
He happened to refer to an article sent to him by “my friend Dean Kuipers.” As it happens, I had been friends with Dean before he had moved to California and we had fallen out of touch (this was before the days of social media, when people could still just disappear). So after the interview, I asked Bowie about what Dean was up to and he gave me a little download about him: living in LA, what he was writing, etc. I asked him about something discussed in the interview then he asked me a couple of questions and… we talked, as two good New Yorkers will.
More than anything, Bowie struck me as an antenna. The man seemed to be aware of everything in the ether: music, books, edgy magazines, emerging scientific ideas… anything I might have discussed with my friends that week and more. And it didn’t come off as studied or as a posture; it seemed to be the residue of a very bright guy with fantastic access to the world who was making the absolute most of it. He was also obviously a voracious reader. I was impressed. I was jealous! I really liked the guy.
So now Bowie decides he is going to perform with the band that night. Would I direct the multi-camera video? Sher, anything to help a friend (and, yes, my video production friends, I negotiated some combat pay for my extended work hours).
Want to see that performance? Here it is:
I walked away from Irving Plaza that night certain that I would see Bowie again and that we would pick up right where we had left off. I guess that goes to show you that you can be certain and still be wrong.
So long, pal. Call me?