David Bowie S Best Work Of Art Was Himself

I was never a huge David Bowie fan. He was part of the musical background of my life, particularly the year I worked at a Barnes & Noble and the staff unanimously decided that Best of Bowie was the only one of the CDs chosen by corporate that we would work to; “The Jean Genie” had a particularly good rhythm for shelving. But I never really paid close attention to him until last fall when “David Bowie Is” opened at the MCA. Brianna Wellen and I went to cover it for the Reader—the idea was that we would jointly review the exhibit from the perspective of a Bowie fanatic and a Bowie novice.

  After I went through the exhibit, I decided I loved that nobody knew David Jones. He could be anybody. I could have passed him on the street in New York and never known it. My favorite artifact was the “Blue Jean” video, which features someone I imagine might be a bit like David Jones, a blond yuppie in a suit who tries awkwardly to hit on a woman in a club; he fails miserably because she’s too distracted by David Bowie, performing in full Lord Byronesque rock-star glory.