Despite getting up earlier than my body clock is used to for the second day running, I was up bright and early and determined to get to the V&A early without being the first people there. There was a massive queue, but I was pleased to see so many people with cameras, as I had been told that it was a strictly no photography affair, but I had taken mine anyway. If they took issue with my camera, I would point out that a lot of cameras had gone in before me, if there's to be a rule then it should go across the board. Besides, who decides the scale of importance at such an event? I'm sure that as the writer and presenter of 'the ultimate David Bowie podcast', I carry as much weight as someone from a radio station too short sighted to give me a job? Talking of which, yesterday in the West End, I tweeted BBC 6Music to tell them that I was about to walk past the radio building, so they had a chance to come down and finally get round to offering me a job instead of stealing my ideas, but nobody came down and 6Music once again looses out. If you have heard The Sunday Alternative, (once called "the best BBC 6Music show that isn't on BBC 6Music, yet"), then you should refuse to pay your TV licence until common sense prevails.
Anyway, I didn't need to worry because cameras where definitely allowed in, it would be a weird press launch that didn't allow photos. While we were in the queue, I suddenly worried about whether they had my name down, or mine plus Mandi? I had prepared myself to do the noble thing and let Mandi go in without me, even though that would have been heartbreaking for me.
I had on me the printed email telling me that I was invited, but it was only addressed to me. However, I had printed all of the email correspondence between myself and the press officer which originally mentioned bringing Mandi with me. Suddenly, I was a bit worried that this wasn't going to work, and as we got closer to the front where we had to sign in, I could see nightmarish images of having to walk through the queue with everyone pointing and laughing. Well, our names couldn't be found on the list, but that didn't deter the nice people on the desk, as we were just asked to sign the book and handed an audio guide. There was a space next to your name to write down your organisation, so I wrote Moonage Daydream. Perhaps someone will have read it and recognised the name, or maybe they thought it was some clumsy fanzine made on a school photocopier.
I don't care what they thought, we were in. The first thing you see when you enter is the Kabuki suit...
The remarkable thing about this exhibition is that all this came from David Bowie's own personal archive, and that the V&A were given cart blanche to use anything they wanted. My first thought was who made the first move? Did the V&A approach Bowie to ask if he had any old bits laying around the house? Or did Bowie put the feelers out to some of the world's best museums with the intention of putting on his own display? According to their spokespeople, they learnt about The Next Day at exactly the same time as everyone else did, five o'clock in the morning on the morning of Bowie's birthday. This will explain why there is little mention of it.
David Bowie is an artist who has constantly looked to the future, which makes it even more surprising to learn that he has been such a hoarder during his career. Aside from the costumes, there are handwritten lyrics, diary entries, letters, Polaroids, sketches, contact sheets, and all manner of treasure. There is even his cocaine spoon! In a viewing room showing clips of Bowie's films, there was a letter from Jim Henson asking if he'd be in Labyrinth.
Before all that, you enter a mesmerising collection of pre-Ziggy 1960s memorabilia from the time of Bowie's struggle to achieve success as a recording artist. The audio guide changed to accommodate where you were standing, so you were treated to quotes, interviews, and a Bowie soundtrack. I don't want to give too much away, but it is worth it for the penultimate room, in which an enormous bank of video screens beam live footage of some of Bowie's biggest triumphs. I sat on a bench spellbound and could have sat there for hours. The final room explains Bowie's influence on popular culture.
On the way out I wondered to myself about Bowie's attention to detail when it came to archiving his past. Did he just keep it for sentimental reasons, or was it with one eye on the future? Maybe he wasn't thinking of an exhibition, but as an investment for the future in case he went bankrupt at some point.
It made me think about my own collections, as I didn't start keeping work related items until very recently. I now keep a detailed work archive, but it is all digital. My radio shows and podcasts live on memory sticks, apart from the Sherwood Radio shows, which I kept on DVD, as was their system. My newspaper reviews are on computer, but my notes exist in paper form, not that they make a lot of sense. I even threw away the handwritten scripts for the second series of Steve's LP Box as soon as I'd recorded them. I am certainly going to keep everything notable from now on, aside from personal stuff there is also my record/tape/CD collection, music magazines, books, and the boxes of demo CDs that were sent to me. I also have drawings, artwork for posters, collages that I've made, letters, photographs, and from now on a filing box that contains everything relating to Moonage Daydream; notes, doodles, scripts.
Not that I imagine that my life will ever be as interesting as David Bowie's, but you never know what you are going to leave behind do you?
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