Bowie, not Jones

Lexi Jones, daughter of David Bowie, released a social media post nearly two weeks ago in which she pulled back the curtain on some difficult family dynamics around the time of her father’s death. What Lexi had to say has subsequently received enormous press attention, and if you don’t know what I’m referring to, it’s easy enough to find online. I have thoughts but have had mixed feelings about commenting, despite this being a daily blog about Bowie. I realized however, that that’s just it— the story involves David Jones and his family, but it has almost nothing to do with David Bowie.

David Jones never changed his legal name, which is why Lexi and her half brother Duncan share that last name. David Jones is the same name that appears on the documents effectuating his divorce from Angie. David Jones was a drug addict, had a heart attack, died of cancer, was cremated and no longer exists on earth. By some accounts, David Jones could be a jerk as a boss or collaborator, especially when he was on drugs, engaged in some dubious behaviors and had some questionable ideas, at least at times in his life. David Jones was a husband and a father, made parenting decisions, was not a genius in all aspects of life and made both good and bad choices.

I’m interested in David Jones to a limited extent. My true interest is with David Bowie. David Jones created David Bowie, but David Jones was not David Bowie. I’ve been playing with the idea for a while of whether David Bowie was so distinct a fictional character that he can be played by someone other than David Jones. I’ve interviewed lead singers in Bowie tribute shows like Damon Taylor Frick of Modern Love and Charlie Fowler of David Live. Is part of the appeal of shows such as theirs— and there is enormous appeal— that are playing the role of David Bowie just as David Jones did? I think I’m ready to make the case that to some extent it is because they are.

Unlike David Jones, David Bowie is immortal. We will continue to receive David Bowie the same way we did when David Jones was alive, with three exceptions. The first exception is that for those of us who spent a few hours of our lives at Bowie concerts, we will never again do so while seeing Jones in the part of Bowie. The second difference is that, though previously unreleased material will probably be rolled out on Record Store Day for the rest of eternity, and for sure there’s stuff out there that most of us haven’t heard yet, there will never again be a genuinely new Bowie song.

The third difference is that for better or worse, technology is giving us new ways to experience Bowie that had not previously been available. Bowie will almost certainly become the subject of an Abba-like hologram show, and— and I hate to say this—- AI is already at the point that it can produce a pretty decent simulacrum. We are pretty close to being able to call up on demand an album of Bowie singing the Greatest Hits of Britney Spears. We might already be there.

I don’t know that that’s a good thing, but I also don’t know that the Jones version of Bowie wouldn’t have been at the vanguard of finding new and creative ways of using new technology. “New” is also a relative term. In the sweep of history, the technology that allows us to see and hear David Bowie for all time is new. We cannot see or hear the stars of the 19th Century. I have interviewed people who knew and worked with Bowie, and, I’ve spent a total of nearly an entire day of my life in Bowie concerts. But putting those exceptions aside, the Bowie I’m listening to on Ziggy Stardust is exactly the same as the Bowie I was listening to on Ziggy Stardust 40 years ago. Bowie has not aged a day in his movies or videos (except, that is, in The Hunger, but you know what I mean). The Bowie of interviews is as with us today as he ever was.

Part of the point of my “cover of the week” feature is that Bowie’s music is not only still alive, but growing and evolving. Bowie’s musical DNA, too, continues to propagate in those he inspired, those he played with and those who are simply reacting to him, or what they thought of him. David Bowie is very much still alive. He will outlive me.

David Bowie also gave us something to do. Bowie said it in many ways— bring our own meaning to his art. He didn’t tell us what to take from what he gave us (indeed, one of his last messages to us was that he can’t give everything away). I can never be sure what David Jones thought or meant, but I am licensed by Bowie himself to be as an authoritative voice as anyone else on what David Bowie meant. His cryptic lyrics, hidden messages, visual interfaces, conceptual framings were designed for us to play with. They contain more hidden treasures than any of us will ever finish exploring (that line was adapted from what book?). David Bowie is whatever we want David Bowie to be.

Contemplating Bowie is, then, like contemplating Shakespeare or perhaps something more spiritual than that. David Bowie exists in the act of contemplating David Bowie. At the very least, the songs of Bowie are tarot cards. There are so many books about Bowie because there’s so much to make of Bowie. David Bowie is infinite.

David Jones was not. David Jones was Ian Fleming to David Bowie’s James Bond. It isn’t that Ian Fleming was uninteresting in himself, but we wouldn’t be especially interested in him but for Bond. Jones is Fleming and not Sean Connery or Daniel Craig because Jones had more to do with the conceptualization of Bowie than the actors who played Bond had to do with the conceptualization of Bond. But as soon as Connery put on the tux, Fleming lost a lot of say as to what did and what did not define Bond. Bond yet lives today, more than 60 years after Fleming’s death. Fleming has no more say in the matter.

David Jones was at once far more finite than David Bowie and also more complex because human beings are more complex than anything we create. I’m not saying that the parenting choices are devoid of any interest to anyone other than his family, but, at the risk of seeming insensitive, I’d say they are about as interesting as it would be to hear my parents attempt to sing “Station to Station.” My parents can’t sing, but they are great parents.

And, while David Bowie gave us decades of material to do with as we want, David Jones gave us very little. Lexi released a video in which she articulated a few thoughts about a situation that involved many people over an extended period of time. She opened a little, tiny window into a complex situation. Complex, but fairly mundane. There is nothing mundane about David Bowie. David Jones had as much mundanity in his life as anyone else (well, maybe a little less, but you see where I’m going).

So, at least for now, I’m still going to hold back on what I think about what Lexi said. It’s not that I don’t have opinions, but if I don’t really care to learn too much about the Jones household’s family dynamics— that’s not why I’m interested in Bowie— why in the world would anyone care about what I thought about them? There’s nothing stopping me from expressing those thoughts by putting them out on the internet. But just because I can, doesn’t mean that the world would be better off if I did. That’s their business, not mine.

But David Bowie belongs to us. David Bowie is a bridge across time and space. David Bowie is a communal enterprise. I wish Lexi Jones well. But for now, I’m going to put on some Bowie. And listen at maximum volume.

—-
Note: The art illustrating this post is by Lexi Jones, depicting her and her parents.