"Put your raygun to my head..."

I have vivid memories of viewing a beat up VHS of the entire concert movie from which this is pulled with a college friend back when I was still way into punk, music in general and the entire art of performing rock, especially the mysterious concept known in the music business as "creating a presence". The way I see it, this performance of David Bowie/Ziggy Stardust at the Hammersmith in 1973 will hold up forever, or at least as long as people give a guitar lick about what Rev. Timothy Lovejoy referred to as "rock and/or roll". It features incredible musicianship and flawless stagecraft in delivering the demands message. The words of the "message" epitomize just about every excess of which the rock genre can be rightfully accused, viz., sexual messianism, absurd science fiction references, cultural jargon ("lay the real thing on me") and frequent descents into whimsical gibberish ("squawking like a pink monkey bird"). The performance features include ecstatic chicks fawning in the audience, intense gender confusion and a long, self-indulgent, effect-laden guitar solo replete with shots of guitarist Mick Ronson's made-up face contorted with pantomimed ecstasies. Plus there are dozens of little nuggets and gems: narcissistic gesticulations, smirks, pouts, poses, pelvic grinds, blowing of kisses, falsetto chirps and departures from the melody into melodramatic sprechstimme. In other words, it's orgiastic psychedelia served up with customary British pomp, circumstance, costumes and a mostly straight face. The British might not be able to say they invented rock, but idols like Bowie and Bolan contributed tremendously toward the development of the "glamour of rock", aptly named as such.

I love how Bowie promptly struts off the stage around 3:40 after raising his hands in a final blessing. Personally I think that the erstwhile Mr. Jones is playing Mercury to Mick Ronson's Zeus here, but that's just me. Actually, the rhythm guitarist here is John "Hutch" Hutchinson who deserves as much credit for the sound of the performance as does Mick, but maybe not as much for the pomposity or decadence of the video. It's to bad that Groupie Number Four gets more face time than Hutch whose signature crunch guitar initiates the song and propels the rhythm throughout, allowing Ronson to freak out on the lead as the lyrics continually demand.

Check out the happy hand jive from 0:52-1:09―I want what she's having.

Twenty or so years after the roadies packed this show onto the lorries, Jennifer Lopez had Versace alter Mick Ronson's silk PJ's from this tour and famously wore it to the Oscars.

Don't get me wrong; as much as I love to make fun of this thing it still blows me away every time I check it out. Besides, without stuff like this we'd never have This is Spinal Tap.

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(1) There's a word for this practice but I can't think of what it is. My oldest son does this completely naturally in his version of Frosty the Snowman -- scary. [UPDATE: Sprechstimme! Thanks, Kathleen. I put it in there.]