hoje, à meia noite, o programa produzido por luiz antonio mello irá retransmitir a íntegra do “roNca roNca / especial david bowie”, o popular #162. atividade…
vamos olhar a situation, “simplesmente”, como um fato jornalístico? não aconteceu nada na última semana que pudesse desbancar a subida de bowie, procede? não houve um mega atentado terrorista internacional, nenhum político de peso foi enjaulado, o neymar não comprou o novo modelo da ferrari e, sequer, o wesley “safadão” começou romance com a ana maria braga (é?). portanto, sem nenhuma dúvida, a veja galgou parâmetros jornalísticos e meteu na praça DOZE capas diferentes mostrando bowie em doze momentos diferentes de sua passagem pelo planetinha em matéria assinada por sérgio martins e marcelo marthe.
a banca aqui da esquina recebeu metade da carga e deixou neguinho da pastelaria doidaralhaço. uns compraram/roubaram/trocaram as favoritas… outros levaram a meia dúzia dizendo que iriam catar as outras pra fechar a tiragem… PQParille.
o fato é que a veja teve o peito que, por exemplo, faltou ao globo para “transgredir” e assumir decentemente, junto aos leitores, a gigantesca perda.
cada capa vem acompanhada por uma frase importante na carreira de bowie. sem piscar, catei…
David Bowie has been cremated in New York without any of his family or friends present, according to reports in the US. Bowie, who died on Sunday aged 69, had kept his 18-month cancer battle a secret. And a friend of the singer in New York – where Bowie had lived for the past 22 years – told The Mirror on Wednesday that his cremation had already been carried out.
Bowie reportedly told his loved ones he wanted to “go without any fuss” and not have a funeral service or public memorial.
“There is no public or private service or a public memorial. There is nothing,” a source told the paper.
Another source said: “In many respects you don’t need a memorial or service to remember David by – you have his music instead.
“He would have wanted to just disappear with no fuss, no big show, no fanfare. This would totally be his style.”
The singer may have had what is known as a “direct cremation”, described on the New York State’s health department website as “the disposition of human remains by cremation without a formal viewing, visitation, or ceremony”.
The deceased is generally collected from the place of death and transferred to the crematory. Once the required paperwork is done, they are then cremated.
My David Bowie is not dead. Nor ever can be. What he gave to me is for ever mine because he formed me. I have absolute clarity about that, I need no lamentations from politicians or TV presenters with their dim memories of his “hits”. I need no ranking of whether he was up there with Dylan or Lennon because I just know that is a dumb question. I simply know. He was my lodestar: in the years when I was trying to become myself, he showed me the endless possibilities. He extended out into the new spaces, metaphorically and physically. That man could move.
Those possibilities never end though of course he knew they would. He has gone “just like that bluebird” as he soars and sings on his latest single Lazarus. Well he knew things we didn’t, as he had all his life. He departs with Blackstar which I found terrifying without knowing why. What can I do now but listen and weep?
Or find your own Bowie. You will have it somewhere. That first play of Ziggy. That time you put food colouring in your hair. The night when lust became utterly confused with a different kind of longing. A longing to be in one of the worlds he told us about.
It is still with me. Taking Station to Station around to a mate’s flat. He had to hear it. We treated these albums as religious artefacts. We worked hard studying the sleeve notes. We wanted to know some of what Bowie knew. He was our university. He was the one who could open up the world.
From a small town and what my teachers called “a broken home” Bowie would guide us. We could give up trying to be normal now that we entrusted ourselves to him. He sang of space and drugs and floating above the world. He could be so tender (Letter to Hermione) and then swagger like a brute. He was tapped right into something mystical that we recognised but could not grasp as we were too busy preening and dancing and wanting.
But all the time he was passing on secret knowledge. I would learn about Burroughs, Kemp, Crowley, Berlin, Sakamoto, Roeg and so many others through him. I would have my first proper boyfriend because of him – working-class lads started wearing eyeliner and nail varnish because he did, which made them vaguely interesting.
This was a time when tabloid headlines screamed “gender bender” though I had never even heard the word gender before. My mum and grandad ruined Top of the Pops by staging shouting matches when he appeared “Is it a man or a woman?” How could they be so stupid? How did they not get it? I have not changed my mind since then about that actually.
Because we knew what he was. There was never a doubt. He deconstructed fame before anyone had ever really come to grips with the concept. He was thinking, not only dancing. Pulling us through the genres on a diet of cocaine and milk. He looked like an alien. But the funk man, the funk, it was so real.
When I sat next to him in some dark basement of a club in the early 80s in New York he did seem human. I pretended not to know who he was because I was just overwhelmed that he was an actual person. I did the same thing years later at a party. There he was, immaculate in the flesh, all I ever dreamed but still he belonged to my imagination. I did not want an actual conversation with him because I have always been having one. In human blokeish form he was charming but my love was pure.
Only last week I was obsessively playing Hunky Dory because someone on the internet annoyed me by ranking the tracks in order of greatness. And they got it wrong. This incensed me because I care.
I never grew out of Bowie. He was never past. Always present. And Blackstar? This most sublime of English artists hankering for the “evergreens” even at the end. Still dislocated. Still embodied in the music.
“Lay me place and bake me pie I’m starving for me gravy
Leave my shoes, and door unlocked I might just slip away.”
He has slipped away.
That door. He unlocked it. For me, for you. For us. He gave us everything. He gave us ideas, ideas above our station. All THE ideas and a specific one. Of life. The stellar idea that we can create ourselves whoever we are. He let us be more than we ever knew possible. There is nothing greater. Nothing.
mas, na hora H, faltou peito…
para manter a estrogonófica homenagem do jornal o dia, em março2012…
a edição do globo fica ainda mais fraquinha quando conferimos que nenhuma das principais manchetes de capa são capazes de fazer frente, jornalisticamente, à subida de bowie…
cagaço puro… simples assim!
Assunto: Sabe aqueles dias …
Assunto: Golden Years“Eu já conhecia alguma coisa dele, mas foi no “programa da gente” que eu pude ouvir muito mais David Bowie. Muito obrigado.”
“Mauricio…. Primeira pessoa em que pensei após a subida do David Bowie foi você!!
Um abraço amigo pra vc!
David – Ribeirão Preto
+Assunto: O Heroi subiu
Foi difícil não conter o blublu.
Mas juro, pelo meu filho, que assim que soube da notícia, a primeira coisa que eu lembrei foi das aberturas do jumboteko em ocasiões mais que especiais, quando você tocava Ele.
Ele poderia ser o Herói por apenas um dia, mas foi absoluto… por 69 anos.”
+Assunto: Meu aniversário…e David Bowie…“Fala Maurição !Sexta-feira, dia 08 de Janeiro, fiz 52 anos…Comemorei a data com alguns amigos, escutando muito rock e, claro, fazendo a minha devoção a dois camaradas que também aniversariam na mesma data que eu: Elvis Presley e….David Bowie!!!
Hoje, segunda-feira pela manhã, sou surpreendido pela meteórica notícia que ele simplesmente se foi…para cantar com Cartola e Hendrix. Porra…essa notícia foi foda! Estou completamente desorientado…David faz parte da minha minúscula existência…você sabe bem o que escrevo…enfim…estou na merda.
Resolvi desabafar com você…escrevendo este email…Se der tempo, ainda….Toque, Space Oddity!!!!Abração”
Assunto: !!!“Ansioso pra ouvir próxima edição do Ronca…ontem o dia foi só de fossa e Bowie (não necessariamente nessa ordem), hoje vai ser a mesma coisa e assim será por tempo indeterminado. PQP, que rombo se criou…até +”Z´
O glorioso, o inoxidável, a nossa blackstar!
Ele, que me acompanha aqui todas as manhãs, naquele cafezinho matinal…
hoje foi bad!
2016 chegou chegando…
ou será 2015 reverberando freneticamente?
Que dia, Mauricio… Que dia!
na fotoca: Bowie, o maNto e eu.