Who'll love Aladdin Sane?

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I'm a bit late arriving for the show, but the usher happily takes my ticket and opens the door to the theatre for me. I find my seat, careful not to scuff the fancy shoes of the other guests I tiptoe past. Finding my seat, I look at my watch -- it says 9:25... the show should be on by now. Suddenly, as if on cue to my thoughts, the theatre darkens. Conversation turns to whispering chatter. Then silence. A cough. Cue the floodlight. I glance quickly at the programme.

Ziggy Goes to America: A Surrealist Play in Two Acts

Cast of Characters:

·         Ziggy Stardust/Aladdin Sane

·         The Spiders from Mars - Ziggy's band

·         Shakey - party host, in the style of Jay Gatsby

·         The Jean Genie

·         The Only Survivor of the National People's Gang

·         Buddy - a cracked actor

·         Twig the Wonderkid

·         Film Director

·         Lady Grinning Soul

Act One

The curtain rises on "another" fab party at Shakey's New York City mansion. The spectacular guests are all sipping from glasses filled with something nice. Ziggy Stardust stands in a corner, surrounded by an old fashioned band of married men, looking up to him for encouragement. He tries to slide away, only to find himself handed a phone. He answers, glancing around the party for his friend the Jean Genie, who sits across the crowded room, smiling like a reptile.

Shakey waves his security man over. Someone who has taken something that isn't agreeing with anyone is escorted out of the party.  The room is manic and filled with mayhem, but Shakey handles it gracefully, like a man whose sole purpose in life is to throw parties. He walks like a jerk, but he's only taking care of the room.

(The concert and other footage in this video is all taken out of context, and as such appears rather comical in some places... so you might want to not watch it and just listen to the song. But once you've done that, watch the video, because it is kind of awesome.)

The party lasts all night. As morning inches ever closer, a sea of bodies lay passed out in various uncomfortable asanas. Rumours of sunrise spread through the mansion by those still awake, waking the others. The partygoers look around the room but Ziggy is nowhere to be seen. Some say he left and went far away. But Shakey tells them he's gone out to the hill behind the mansion to watch the sunrise.

Brandishing bottles of champagne, a mob of disheveled party guests marches out to find him. Ziggy sits on the grass, holding his knees, gazing at the horizon. As the first shard of light appears over the city, the champagne corks start popping, and sighs of ecstasy wave through the crowd. Ziggy stares wistfully off into the distance, ignoring the scene around him. He gets up and exits stage right. The curtain falls for the set change.

The curtain rises on Detroit City, Michigan. Go to Detroit, they said. It'll be epic, they said. Ziggy enters stage left, seemingly having arrived squarely in the middle of a local citywide gang war.  The black pavement shines wetly in the night, reflecting the street lights. The streets are empty, but not quiet. A crash here, a scream there, a siren in the distance. The only person he meets looks a lot like Che Guevara. He asks for an autograph. Before Ziggy can find a pen, the man jumps into his diesel van and makes his getaway from the nearing sirens. Seconds later, Ziggy's tour bus pulls up and the Spiders topple out of the door, grab him, and pull him inside. The bus squeals off down the road, speeding through a red traffic light. The curtain falls on Act One.

Intermission. I get up to stretch my legs and sip on a glass of wine. Wandering around the lobby of the theatre, I'm impressed by the architecture - high decorative ceilings, carved, gilded arches, everything shining in the appropriate places. Everyone is garbed in their finest attire. It's a perfect picture of what theatrical glamour is supposed to look like.

Then I trip on a small tear in the carpet, spilling some of my wine. Fittingly, the colour of the carpet  is cabernet. I stumble to the wall to stop myself from falling. The tiniest of hairline cracks is visible in the wall. I follow the crack to an elegantly framed playbill poster. I find myself wondering what lies behind it. But Act Two is about to begin, so I toss the rest of the wine down my throat and hurry back to my seat.

Act Two

The curtain opens on a drive-in theatre. A film is playing to a lot filled with cars, the actors' broad visages reflecting on the shiny car rooftops. One more car takes its place among the others. Ziggy has arrived to take in a flick before meeting the band at the venue in LA. Munching away on popcorn, he watches as the movie scene unfolds predictably.  A doe-eyed ingénue nicknamed Twig opens the door to Buddy, a hairy, burly hunk of a man. He shrugs and asks to stay. She sighs and turns her head away, but then steps aside and lets him into her room. As Buddy and Twig get it on, the cars around Ziggy begin to rock and sway, almost in unison to one another and the action on the screen.

Downstage right, the director yells CUT! and the actors on the screen gaze blankly in his direction, in an amusing twist on fourth-wall breakage. He's speaking to them in some other language, something they can't understand. The man who plays Buddy storms off the screen. The rest of the cast and crew stand around stunned, and the director exits stage right. Off stage, a phone rings. Buddy's agent answers, and Buddy tears him a new one. He's had enough. He's too old for this. He started out as a bonafide actor, and now look at him. He was supposed to be better than this - fuck it, he IS better than this. Oblivious to the call, and to the kids shagging in cars, Twig picks her nose. The curtain falls for the set change.

The curtain opens on Ziggy and the Spiders, pre-gig, in their dressing room. The clock on the wall says it's 9:25. We should be on by now. The band looks exhausted, drunk, a little out of it. The spoils of Mardi Gras -- all kinds of beads and boas, as well as bottles of Quaaludes and red wine -- are strewn about the room. Ziggy leans back in his chair and smokes his cigarette, staring at the clock. The sound of his fans screaming for him is audible in the background. No one moves or makes a sound, with the exception of  Ziggy's nervous breathing. Suddenly one of the Spiders screams with boredom. 

There is a knock on the dressing room door. One of the Spiders leans over from his place on the lounge and turns the knob, pulling the door open a crack. In walks a lady - the prettiest star you've ever seen. Everyone sits up and takes notice. Her presence stops time. She's hot, she's cool, and she doesn't need anyone, but she sashays into the room wearing her desires like gold lamé. Lady Grinning Soul splits herself into multiples - there is plenty of her to go around - and each man in the band promptly disappears into the recesses of his own mind to engage in a fantasy romp. 

Now the dressing room is empty, except for the beads, boas and bottles laying everywhere. It looks like the band made it to the stage after all. The clock falls from the wall and smashes, stuck at 9:25. The curtain falls on Act Two. Applause.

*****

As you can see, Aladdin Sane unfolded to me like a theatrical production. I read that apparently Bowie described the album as "Ziggy goes to America", and indeed I felt like I was looking at a version of America through his eyes -- watching as a nation destroys itself through its hedonistic obsession with  movie stars and glamourous parties fuelled by excessive drinking, drugs, and sex -- a mass consumption of all things lacking in nutritional value.

With each listen, I am carried away on a mental journey, zipping from city to city, watching Ziggy take notice of the cracks in the paint on the walls, and then peeling that paint away, revealing that they're wallpapered with pages from dirty magazines. And I feel like I'm watching it all from the seats of an ornately decorated theatre, decked out in red velvet and gold tassels.

I love Aladdin Sane. I find myself listening to it over and over, never skipping a song (though I omitted Let's Spend the Night Together and The Prettiest Star from this story, it's nothing personal against those particular songs). This album has everything. A motley cast of colourful characters set against a backdrop of pornography, booze, drugs, crooked chandeliers, and doo-wop backing vocals. 

Of all the songs, Time is my favourite.  The whole thing is sonic perfection, but these lyrics make me feel faint and lightheaded:

I had so many dreams
I had so many breakthroughs
But you, my love, were kind

but love has left you dreamless
The door to dreams was closed
Your park was real and greenless
Perhaps you're smiling now
Smiling through this darkness
But all I have to give is guilt for dreaming

I'd say "get out of my head", David Bowie... but, it's fine. You can stay. Please stay.