Ten years gone, and you can't say he missed much, especially the stretch where we were all stuck inside our tin cans, able only to forlornly communicate over the ether, but it bred the psychosis of Bowie's LA exile rather than the creativity he normally found in alienation. Hell, there was even a Captain Tom to firmly signal, Augustulus-style, the step down from Major Tom's time; to confirm the diminution and the end of the era, the 2020s one will forever be associated with a spa oddity.
Paul Morley already published one book to mark the passing (and is now hinting at a possible trilogy). That was The Age Of Bowie, produced in the white heat of loss, and derived in part from the work he'd already done for the V&A's David Bowie Is exhibition. I've not looked at it since it came out, but I didn't feel like Morley was repeating himself here, though he is perhaps repeating a story more broadly familiar. This is mildly disappointing, especially after, at the launch event I attended in particular, the book was presented as a new approach, a delving into YouTube to find Bowie moments which were once localised in time and space but are now available to all, whenever – other angles, glimpses of abandoned personae who never became as fully realised as Halloween Jack, never mind Ziggy. There is a little of that, and it did inspire me to track down duets I'd never seen (oddly tentative with Marianne Faithfull as saucy nun on a Cher song; more assured than the performance merits with Cher, on many songs but sadly not a Marianne Faithfull one). More often, though, it's the familiar story, with something close to the familiar weighting – so everything from Buddha Of Suburbia to Heathen is covered in one sentence, for instance. There's more on the music from Bowie's wedding to Iman, say – though you can certainly argue that relationship usually gets too easily edged out in favour of the appalling Angie, and make some fairly grim guesses as to possible factors in that (plus, it feeds into a valuable consideration of Bowie and Florence). And Baal, which I'm not sure was even mentioned in the first bio I read, gets the best part of a chapter – though it's worth mentioning that the chapters here are often only a couple of pages, shorter than the paragraphs or possibly even the sentences in some Paul Morley books.
Which is the kicker here, isn't it, because it's Paul Morley, so even if you've heard the story, it never sounded quite like this before. Obviously your mileage will vary on whether that's a good thing; even as a fan, I don't think it comes off every time, and he's definitely gone a bit far here by letting his yoking together of often paradoxical pairs spread to the naming of every single chapter. But in the process, even if Ziggy and Berlin continue to take up most of the pagecount, Morley's keen to expand the featured roles in the supporting cast, so that DAM, Duffy and Boshier get as much attention as Eno and the Spiders. He even pushes the window a little past (his best since) Scary Monsters, arguing that, while what immediately followed was unexciting, Let's Dance itself was still Bowie setting the trends, albeit without such exciting followers as previously. Is the focus on less celebrated collaborators partly a way to reflect some light on himself as one of their number, what with that V&A connection? Absolutely. But fuck it, if I had a solid David Bowie connection, I'd be puffing myself up a bit about it too.
And besides, even when the familiar litany has the least that is new added to it – well, every society has its rituals and shared stories, and I'd certainly rather have more riffs on the Bowie legend than those interminable centuries of Bible fanfic.