Library of Inspiration: Hunky Dory

Track Listing: 1. Changes, 2. Oh! You Pretty Things, 3. Eight Line Poem, 4. Life on Mars?, 5. Kooks, 6. Quicksand, 7. Fill Your Heart, 8. Andy Warhol, 9. Song for Bob Dylan, 10. Queen Bitch, 11. The Bewlay Brothers

Hunky Dory is the closest I’ve been to Cape Canaveral, and a hell of a long way from the concrete oasis of strip malls that you can spend a day visiting after you set the Crock Pot for an 8 hour roast. Call it Operation Flavorless Trap. It is a war against imagination. When all was said and done, it didn’t matter what you put in or how long it simmered. The end result always came out the same. A predictably, bland, tasteless stew of same. How could you be Queen Bitch there?

It was the ultimate sedative. Helps with writer’s block. Dreamer’s block too. It was a trip to the principal’s office after being kicked out of the high school library by wet librarians crusty with power. Or better yet, it was the French Teacher, Madame (Madman) Gill, the wise old witch, spewing her latest venomous lesson plan that in fact had nothing to do with French at all: “If you don’t believe in religion, you will have nothing but strained relations in life. Nobody will want to have anything to do with you.” It was the tears welling up in poor Mary Anne’s eyes, outed in front of the entire class for being—holy shit—different!

Deep inside the void on Vanilla Street was a tickle that needed scratching. It was an awareness that something (perhaps, me and you) didn’t belong on the conveyer belt. As far back as memory served, destiny hinted at something a bit more glamorous than this ditch dug well outside the city could ever offer.

It is the dreamer’s dream, a one-way ticket, destination unknown.

It's Warhol actually.

-David Bowie

Did it matter? Anywhere but here. An invitation to the party to join the celebration of diversity, baby! Hoboes and homos to the front of the line.

David Bowie was a ticket and glam rock wasn’t a gimmick, it was a vehicle. Like punk, it provided an alternative when alternatives seemed invisible (if not impossible). Bowie welcomed you aboard the spaceship with open arms. Hell, Bowie was driving the ship, abducting kids from every last corner of main street. His own escape from suburban drudgery made him de facto leader by example. Not that he did it alone. Eno, Ferry, and their band of Roxy Music. Alice Cooper, Marc Bolan, Lou Reed, and Iggy Pop. The New York Dolls. There were others. One such artist was hidden in the catacombs of New York’s underground scene. His name was Klaus Nomi. It was Bowie himself who would shine a spotlight on Nomi, asking him to appear as a backup singer (and resident alien) during Bowie’s appearance on SNL, December 14, 1979.

But at the forefront of this band of rock and roll misfits, Bowie was the king and queen. It was more than an image. Even in a scene that thrived on diversity, Bowie managed to separate himself from the pack. He was head alien. Ziggy. And I highlight Hunky Dory as my favorite Bowie release, my words a faint cry at home on this strange planet Earth.

-G