1 David Bowie is
Kathryn Johnson
Bowieâs release of The Next Day in 2013, his first album in ten years, generated a media frenzy. In what was described as the perfect comeback, the album charted in the top 10 in over 20 countries in March. In the same month, the Victoria and Albert Museum (hereafter V&A) opened David Bowie is. This was the first major museum exhibition on Bowieâs long career in music, and the first to draw fully on the collections of The David Bowie Archive. This chapter draws on my experience, as assistant curator, of working intensively with the Archive and in collaboration with a large project team to develop the exhibition between 2011 and 2013. The curators Geoffrey Marsh, Victoria Broackes and I devised the exhibitionâs narrative without any knowledge of the impending album release, but with a firm belief in Bowieâs far-reaching influence and cultural importance in the twenty-first century. The exhibition was not conceived as a retrospective and its unorthodox title was written in the present tense to emphasise this. In the event, the emphasis was barely needed. David Bowie is became the fastest selling exhibition in the history of the V&A. Over 230,000 visitors came to see it in London and an international tour brought it to many more.1
At the entrance to the exhibition, visitors were faced by this quotation from Bowieâs notes on the album 1.Outside (1995): âAll art is unstable. Its meaning is not necessarily that implied by the author. There is no authoritative voice, there are only multiple readingsâ. In Bowieâs notes, the scrawled originals of which could be seen on display nearby, this line is prefaced by a fuller explanation:
Taking the present philosophical line we donât expect our audience to necessarily seek an explanation from ourselves. We assign that role to the listener and to culture. As both of these are in a state of permanent change there will be a constant âdriftâ in interpretation. All art is unstable. Its meaning is not necessarily that implied by the author. There is no authoritative voice. There are only multiple readings.
(Bowie, 1995)
These words deliberately open up the album to interpretation by Bowieâs listeners. They echo views previously expressed by him in 1980 âa piece of music once itâs left the writer ⊠becomes public propertyâ (Bowie, Interview with Andy Peebles, 1981), and in 1972, âwhen an artist does his work itâs no longer his ⊠I just see what people make of itâ (cited in Copetas, 1974).
Bowieâs expansion of the term âartâ to include rock and pop music finds wide acceptance today. The notion that art, in this broad sense, has a meaning that is open to personal interpretation is likewise familiar to contemporary readers and listeners. This principle has gained increasing recognition since the 1970s, the âMeâ decade as Tom Wolfe (1976) named it, in which Bowie and other artists of his generation contributed to the widespread championing of individualist philosophies. Moreover, music in the public domain is now easily recognisable as âpublic propertyâ, not only in a metaphorical and intellectual sense but, increasingly, in a practical one as well. As Bowie predicted in 2002, the digital streaming of music on the internet has made much of it as readily available as, ârunning water or electricityâ (Pareles, 2002).
Yet, acute as Bowieâs statements are, they are not the common starting point for appreciation of his work. We know Bowie as a music superstar and global icon; the subject of both critical and popular acclaim. As a performer, Bowie projects awe-inspiring charisma and authority. For these reasons, his personal story remains the hook on which much interest in, and analysis of, his career hangs. Creem magazine ran a straight-talking, comic âletterâ to Bowie by Laura Fissinger (1983), which stated, âIf they [Bowie fans] didnât smell a person inside the fashion spectacle and musical melodrama, you would have been declared a dead lizard years agoâ. Even a music critic such as Robert Matthew-Walker (1985), who notes it is important âto rely mainly on our own observations and analysesâ in interpreting Bowieâs work, begins his study with an in-depth account of âThe Manâ. The majority of critical works on Bowie are biographies or variants on them; often full of subtlety and insight, yet invariably reinstating the kind of intentionality that Bowie himself disclaims in the quotation above. His work and music are interpreted chiefly in the light of his personal experience and choices.
This means that a certain tension is generated when Bowie speaks from his position of cultural authority, in order to wilfully abandon it. If âmeaningâ is not created by such a charismatic âauthorâ, does that leave his audience empowered or unsatisfied? By creating work of extraordinary sophistication and originality, Bowie leaves us in no doubt of his own creative powers. By ensuring that the same work demands and sustains âmultiple readingsâ, Bowie confers creative agency on us, his audience. In what follows, I suggest that this creative tension, between power and empowerment, is central to Bowieâs lasting cultural impact and enduring popularity.
DAVID BOWIE IS WHO I AM
Having made his extraordinary archive available to the Museum, Bowie chose to give the V&A curatorial freedom and did not comment directly on the exhibitionâs development. The approach he described in 1972, âI just see what people make of itâ, applied as much to the exhibition as to his work as a whole. The curatorial and design team faced a dual challenge: to define, convey and celebrate Bowieâs star appeal, while allowing for âmultiple readingsâ of his work. The interplay between power and empowerment described was not only key to understanding Bowieâs creative impact, but key to the success of the exhibition.
The thousands of visitors to the exhibition were drawn by the chance to see objects from Bowieâs personal archive, many on display for the first time. As Tilda Swinton put it, on opening the exhibition, âWeâre in the Victoria and Albert Museum preparing to rifle through your drawers. Itâs truly an amazing thingâ (Swinton, 2013). The David Bowie Archive is an exceptional collection of over 75,000 objects, and the V&A was privileged to be the first museum given full access to it. The collection dates from the 1940s to the present and illuminates the entire span of Bowieâs career. It includes not only finished products such as albums and stage costumes but also the working notes, models, sketches and drafts showing their development. By drawing together almost 300 objects from this collection for the first time, the V&A offered both fans and newcomers to Bowie a uniquely rich and intimate view of his creative practice.
Given the V&Aâs exclusive archival access, the curators were aware that many visitors would expect the exhibition to âreveal allâ and offer an authoritative summing-up of Bowieâs character and career. Even the most committed fans and Bowie experts would visit the exhibition to feel closer to his work and gain new insights. To a significant extent, the opportunity to display previously unseen working notes, sketches and lyrics satisfied this last expectation. They revealed the astonishing extent of Bowieâs creative control over each detail of his work, from album design to stage performances. Tracing the process of experimentation and thought which led to an iconic album cover or film footage refreshed readings of well-known objects. Some of the most fascinating âfindsâ in the archive were unrealised projects, such as sketches for a musical film elaborating on and illuminating references in the Diamond Dogs album to the character of street gang leader Halloweâen Jack and the urban dystopia of âHunger Cityâ. The exhibition demonstrated that Bowieâs commercially available work represented only a fraction of his creative output. It shed light on the multiple creative artists and works that inspired him, from George Grosz and Erich Heckel to the Beano and Viz. As Jarvis Cocker commented, âThe main thing that will impress people as they go round the V&A is the sheer volume of stuff that Bowie has done, it made me feel very lazyâ (Cocker, 2013). By giving primacy to creative process over finished product, the exhibition offered a new perspective on Bowieâs work.
But in terms of the meaning of that work, there could be no revelations. Spending more than two years immersed in Bowieâs music, story and archived possessions convinced us as curators that Bowieâs cultural influence and importance could not be captured in a single reading. Diversity, polysemy and ambiguity colour Bowieâs creative language. His lyrics invite âmultiple readingsâ, as do his album artworks, his astutely crafted public image and complex, theatrical stage performances. The many books and articles written about him form a palimpsest of interpretation, analysis and myth. To each of his fans he represents something intensely personal. One of Bowieâs more famous admirers, Gary Kemp, described his feelings en route to see the exhibition as follows:
Bowie is who I am: I was fired up by Ziggy, my soul was stirred by his Young Americans, and my sense of cool was dictated by his Thin White Duke. He held my hand creatively throughout the Seventies and guided me to my choices in the following decade [in Spandau Ballet]. Iâm not responsible for this show, but it is responsible to me, to my youth, to all the things that I became because of this man, and Iâm desperate not to have that destroyed.
(Kemp, 2013)
The sense of responsibility was palpable. We were acutely aware that to present Bowieâs multifaceted career from a single angle would distort its real complexity. We wanted visitors to be able to revel in the sense of identification and ownership that Gary Kemp describes, âBowie is who I amâ. Rather than attempting to devise another definitive story, therefore, we aimed to capture the existing multiplicity of readings and allow for others to emerge.
In an exhibition context this meant avoiding the didactic âauthoritative voiceâ often associated with museum displays. That tone would run contrary to Bowieâs own creative language. It would also assert authority over an area of popular culture in which many visitors could claim equal expertise. For this reason, curatorial texts in the exhibition were juxtaposed with excerpts from existing critical texts by David Buckley, Kevin Cann and Nicholas Pegg.2 By positioning the quotation, âAll art is unstable ⊠there is no authoritative voice. There are only multiple readingsâ at the entrance to the exhibition, we offered a curatorial disclaimer couched in Bowieâs own words. Conveying the dynamic power of Bowieâs work and, at the same time, its ability to spark a multiplicity of ideas and readings, became a core principle of the curatorial approach.
This principle informed the choice of exhibition title David Bowie is, devised by music journalist Paul Morley.3 Both a statement and a deliberately unfinished sentence, the title functioned as a teaser and a catalyst. It was a statement of Bowieâs contemporaneity and cultural presence. At the same time, it provoked visitors to engage in defining and re-defining what Bowie âisâ. It invited personal responses and did not rule out different and potentially conflicting readings. Paul Morleyâs own variations on the theme, playful or thought-provoking, were embedded in the exhibition text and design: âDavid Bowie is moving like a tiger on Vaselineâ borrowed Bowieâs lyric from, âHang on to Yourselfâ. âDavid Bowie is making himself upâ or âDavid Bowie is a face in the crowdâ were deliberately ambiguous.
For Gary Kemp, among others, this approach was successful. Kempâs review read:
Itâs an exhibition that is thrilling and sensorial, with sound and vision working together to immerse orâdare I sayâbaptise you, in Bowieworld. But itâs not, I realised, about one man, itâs about all of us; all of us who invested so much and learned so much at his tutelage. As I left I thought about what the showâs open-ended title implied: David Bowie is ⊠you.
(Kemp, 2013)
In terms of curatorial practice and exhibition design, David Bowie is aimed to take an existing trend to a new level. When Bowie questions the authority of his own âauthorial voiceâ in his notes on 1.Outside he describes his position as part of âthe present philosophical lineâ. This philosophical tendency was registered across several cultural fields by the 1990s, including museum practice. The ânew museologyâ of the 1970s and 1980s focused critical attention on the social and ideological purpose of the museum, pushing curators to ask âwhyâ, as well as âhowâ, objects should be preserved. Exhibitions were newly defined at this time as narratives driven by ideology. These ideas continued to gain urgency in the 1990s, at which time Mieke Bal accurately pinpointed the differentiating factor between the ânew museologyâ and previous curatorial approaches:
it is the serious follow up on the idea that a museum installation is a discourse and an exhibition is an utterance within that discourse ⊠Bringing this discursive perspective to the museum ⊠deprives the museum practice of its innocence, and provides it with the accountability it, as well as its users, are entitled to.
(Bal, 1996: 128)
A questioning approach to curatorial authority entered along with this increased recognition of the curatorâs accountability. It was widely felt that exhibition narratives delivering a single curatorial viewpoint risked becoming overly didactic. The interpretative agency of the visitor was given a new level of recognition and respect. The terms of this debate remain pressing today. Andrea Witcomb has argued that in order for museums to be more than âmausoleumsâ it is vital to acknowledge the limits of curatorial understanding and authority:
exhibition spaces need to be reconceptualised as ⊠interactive in themselves. This requires museums to move away from a didactic, hierarchical model of communication towards an understanding of exhibition narratives as polysemic and open ended.
(Witcomb, 2003: 130)
Pop music exhibitions invite and require a curatorial approach and language that is in sympathy with this tre...