rusty_halo

Last night I finished reading Bowie: The Pitt Report by Kenneth Pitt. I think this was the most interesting of the Bowie books I’ve read so far. Not the most informative–it only covers a couple of years in the late 60s before Bowie became famous–but fascinating because of the personalities involved and because the author knew Bowie so intimately.

In later years Pitt was criticized for being an ineffectual manager and for trying to turn Bowie into an “all-around light entertainer,” so much of the book is taken up with his attempts to refute that. He chronicles the work he did to promote Bowie in meticulous detail–industry people he contacted, letters and promos he sent, performances he organized. After reading this it’s impossible to deny that Pitt worked his ass off for Bowie–perhaps Pitt was looking in the wrong places, or perhaps Bowie’s work just wasn’t quite star-quality material yet. But what makes the story interesting is not so much the long lists of performance dates and industry contacts as the fact that Kenneth Pitt was clearly head over heels in love with David Bowie.

He never says it--he never even says he's gay--but the feeling of it permeates every word he writes about Bowie. Certainly he went above and beyond in his role as manager: he brought Bowie to live with him and provided free housing and meals; he wrote letters reassuring Bowie's parents that their son's career had promise; he traveled with and shared hotel rooms with Bowie; he rejected more financially promising artists so that he could devote all his time to Bowie; he was there to help Bowie sort through his father's possessions after his death, and to help Bowie's mother handle the estate. The mementos he kept are impressive; while it's understandable that he'd save letters discussing Bowie's tax returns, it's harder to come up with another reason he'd save a note from Bowie saying he'd be home late and don't wake him, except that it's signed "Davie" with a kiss. Well, and in the midst of a book that's mostly a dry documentation of the state of the late 60s British music industry, Pitt can't help going into a reverie at the memory of Bowie's gorgeous cock when he'd walk around the apartment naked.

Which in the end actually makes you feel rather sad for Kenneth Pitt. Pitt more or less seems to have accepted that Bowie didn't share his feelings--the fact that Bowie would sneak off with girls kind of gives it away! But at the same time it's fairly clear that Bowie was "a big flirt" who intentionally took advantage of Pitt's feelings. The least charitable interpretation is that Bowie used Pitt and then tossed him aside when he no longer needed him. Presumably Pitt would deny this--throughout the book he excuses every rude thing that Bowie does and seems to feel no bitterness, blaming it on "predators" that took advantage of poor confused David.

And, to be fair to Bowie, he was probably right that it was time for Pitt to go. For several reasons:

1. Pitt was not as old-fashioned as he's been accused of, but he was very set in his ways. He was an expert at dealing with the music industry as it had been throughout the 60s, but that meant he was not able to "think outside the box." He tries throughout the book to defend himself from this accusation, but his blind spots are apparent in his actions--when Bowie needed money Pitt was setting him up with TV commercials and cabaret performances. He comes across as a refined older gentleman who just didn't "get" youth culture. It's hard to imagine the prototypical Ziggy Stardust meeting with Pitt's approval.

2. Pitt regarded Bowie as a protege. It wasn't a relationship of equals, which makes sense as Bowie was something like 19-22 during this time. Pitt took him to the theater and taught him an immense amount about the workings of the entertainment industry, but it was clear that Bowie had absorbed all he needed and was ready to move on. It was time for other influences to take center stage, and for Bowie to go places that artistically that Pitt wouldn't have followed. (Again, hard to imagine Pitt's initial reaction to Ziggy.)

3. Bowie's dismissal of Pitt follows a pattern that Bowie was to repeat successfully throughout his career. He would become deeply engaged with people, go as far as he could with them, and then move on. On an artistic level it worked incredibly well for him; one of his great strengths is learning from others and synthesizing his influences into something new and brilliant. On a personal level it's a bit more questionable--how much did he owe these people? He's left behind a long trail of discarded relationships, from those who regard him fondly as an inspiring collaborator to those who are still giving bitter tell-all interviews.

It does make you wonder what would've happened in an alternate universe in which Bowie had stuck with Pitt instead of dumping him for Tony Defries. Would Bowie have managed something as innovative and over-the-top-ridiculous as Ziggy without the influence of the enthusiasm and inexperience (and greed) of the "predators"? On the other hand, Bowie's initial period of fame certainly would've been more stable with Pitt. Pitt comes across as the anti-Defries, more concerned with doing right by David than with profiting himself. (In Pitt's eyes Defries simply swooped in to reap the profits of Pitt's labor. I'm not sure how true this is, but of all the "characters" I've read about in these Bowie bios, Tony Defries is the only one who comes across as a truly unambiguous creep. I couldn't help sharing Pitt's sense of satisfaction upon learning that Bowie had finally broken with him in the mid-70s.)

I liked that this book wasn't exploitative. Though there are a few personal anecdotes, Pitt's focus is on defending his own professional reputation and providing documentation of Bowie's early career. Much of the intrigue comes from reading between the lines; there's clearly far more he could say and chooses not to. His own personality is appealing; he's quite conservative (occasionally offensively so) but his dry wit and affection for Bowie make for a pleasant read.

Here is a quick round-up of the other Bowie books I've read so far:

Alias David Bowie by Peter and Leni Gillman (from the mid-80s). Exploitative is the key word here. It's written by a couple who don't particularly like Bowie as an artist or person, but know there's a lot of cash in a juicy biography. It's hard to believe these people think it's okay to spread ugly rumors about Bowie's grandparents just because they happen to share DNA with a superstar. The failures at lyrical interpretation are egregious; the Gillmans assume that any song written in the first person is literally autobiographical! Their thoroughly silly thesis is that Bowie's entire career is an attempt to exorcise the "family curse" of mental illness, and they somehow manage to insinuate that Bowie bears responsibility for the suicide of his schizophrenic half-brother. (I know how hard it is to deal with mental illness in someone you love--that the book tries to play a sensationalistic blame game is reprehensible.) Oh, and they manage to interview underage groupies for details on Bowie's sex life! It's pretty much all the worst cliches of an exploitative biography wrapped up into one neat little package.

Strangely enough, though, it is meticulously researched; if only it were in the hands of someone who knew how to interpret the information! The most interesting part actually has nothing to do with Bowie: it's the chronicle of the rise and fall of Tony Defries and his company, Mainman. The authors are sympathetic to Defries, but what comes across is that the man was a batshit insane sociopath who managed to bullshit and abuse his way into obtaining obscene amounts of cash for himself while leaving a trail of victims behind, of which Bowie was the most obvious. The amounts spent on limousines, high-end hotels, and room service for every random person on the tour are astonishing even in today's money, and some of the contracts Defries negotiated will leave your jaw on the floor. The incredible thing is that his delusions of grandeur were contagious and that he got away with it for so long!

Strange Fascination by David Buckley. This is probably the best biography out there now. It covers Bowie's life and career from the beginning until the early 2000s. Its focus is a mix of biographical details with an academic and historical analysis of Bowie's work; though it claims to exclude prurient details about his personal life, a few slip in when the author considers them relevant to his work.

The book is far better at examining Bowie's early years; as it progresses into the modern era its author's conflicts of interest become apparent. As Buckley has written sleeve introductions for re-released Bowie CDs, he's become a tangential part of the Bowie camp himself and so the later part of the book lacks the candid opinions that he didn't hesitate to apply to Bowie's early career. He also seems to hold his tongue about Tin Machine because he managed to get a detailed email exchange from Reeves Gabrels and, rather than offend with his own analysis, he just prints the extended quotes from Gabrels. He also comes across as a bit of an entitled fanboy--he chastises Bowie for not attending Mick Ronson's memorial concert, for not inviting old collaborators to his 50th birthday bash, and for licensing his songs for use in television advertisements. I sympathize, but these are gripes for a fan message board, not a biography that's aiming for respectability.

The Complete David Bowie by Nicholas Pegg. This is the Bowie encyclopedia that I've spent so much time raving about. It's similar to Strange Fascination in that its focus is on Bowie's work, not his life, but it manages to avoid intrusive biographical details entirely simply by not being a biography. Its academic analysis is also superior to Buckley's, mainly because Pegg just seems to be a bit smarter than Buckley. If anything, this book makes Bowie's work seem more nuanced and thoughtful than it actually is. The astute nature of Pegg's lyrical analysis is a refreshing antidode to the Gillmans' "family curse!!1!" inanity, though the long lists of personnel and release dates can get a bit dull (but are undoubtedly a great resource for the researcher).

Moonage Daydream: The Life & Times of Ziggy Stardust. This is a gorgeous collection of photos of Bowie's Ziggy era taken by Mick Rock, with text by Bowie himself. It's an absolute treasure--the images are just stunning. Bowie's text is also interesting, though he doesn't reveal much that's new about his life or work. It's mostly reminiscences about people he knew and things that influenced him, though certainly some personal bits slip through in, say, his cool dismissal of his ex-wife Angela and his praise for Cyrinda Foxe. I thought one of the more interesting bits was his memory of filming the 1973 video for "Space Oddity," which is that he was bored with the song, tired, in a hurry, and didn't want to be there. He dismisses the video, but actually I think this sheds light on why the video works--the combination of the grandoise lyric with Bowie's ironic, detached demeanor gives it a particularly otherworldly quality.

Originally published at rusty-halo.com. You can comment here or there.