WED 03 DEC 2025. An existential look at my day off.

by Dick Mac

I awoke at 4:30 A.M. with that old guy need to pee. So, on goes the side lamp, a short trudge to the toilet and back to bed. I figure I might sleep for a bit more, so I set a podcast to stop after 30 minutes, listen to the most handsome people start their conversation and fall back to sleep.

I awake before the six o'clock alarm and decide to have a lie-in.

You see, I am terrible about using my vacation days during the year and my boss is reminding me every November to use up my days so I don’t lose them. We are allowed to carry-over ten days, which I always do; but December always includes scattered days off so I don’t lose any. Today, well, this week includes those days. I was on a train Monday, and had stuff booked for Tuesday, so today is an actual “day off”!

I turn-on the Bluetooth speaker again, grab my phone, open the Handsome podcast, start it from the beginning, and roll out of bed. At 67, I do literally roll out of bed. I had heard that expression all my life, but it wasn’t until my body overheard the definition of elderly and decided it was time to move from “spry middle-age” to “overweight old white guy,” that I truly understood what it meant to “roll” out of bed. And, this morning, rolling out of bed is what I was doing while Fortune Feimster, Mae Martin, and Tig Notaro introduced themselves to their pretty little listener: me!

First thing: take my old guy medication. Does every old guy take a pill every morning? Mine is a pink pill as a replacement for my thyroid.

Then back to the bathroom, bluetooth speaker in hand for the standard sit, followed by a brush, a glance, smile, a happy sigh in the mirror, and the shower ritual.

There are two rugs on the bathroom floor: one that lays in front of the toilet, sink, and bathtub, and another that lays in front of the shower door. I know this is going to sound weird, but I hate for those rugs to be wet, even though that’s, ostensibly, their sole purpose. So, after I turn on the shower to let the water run until the temperature is correct, I take a large old bath towel from the linens we received as wedding gifts 26 years ago, and stretch it out from one of the rugs to the other. They were very nice, plush towels that are no longer plush but still remarkably absorbent a quarter century later, and a tad frayed. This towel makes a perfect “rug on top of the rugs” rug. And by the time I get it placed, the water is the perfect temperature.

I take Fortune, Mae and Tig into the shower with me and close the door. The invention of waterproof Bluetooth speakers is a godsend for music and information freaks like me. This means, however, that I don’t see these Handsome devils on video; but, I know what they look like. I listen to them discuss the rooms from which the three of them are podcasting. The conversation evolves to home improvements and devolves to lots of pubic innuendo about yard work and topiary. Yes, I am laughing aloud while shampooing, etc.

For the record, I never did any yard work while growing-up in the projects in Roxbury, and my child never did any yard work while growing-up in Brooklyn. She also did little housework. That stuff really should be left to the professionals.

I step out of the shower, onto the antique towel cum rug, and dry off to Mae Martin explaining that non-custodial kidnappings have decreased by 27% since 2015. That’s a relief. The Handsome podcast is the soundtrack to my Wednesday mornings. Life just isn’t the same without these three remarkable comedians starting my day.

Underwear on, deodorant, powders and lotions applied.

I continue as if it’s a regular day, a work day.

Jeans on, shirt on. Super casual since it’s not a work day. Make the bed while the Handsome crew talk about a tits-out hot tub, leaving me giggling so hard that I sneeze. Remember, if you are installing a hot tub, don’t call the Tits-Out Hot Tub Company. Sigh! 

Lights off and meander to the kitchen for the breakfast ritual. Still feels like a work day even though I’m wearing a casual plaid shirt. I pour four “cups” of water into the coffee maker, two heaping scoops of Bustelo into the basket, click the “Strong” button and the “On” button while listening to three Handsome adults discuss topiary and tits. Does life get any better?  I don't think so.

I look at a box of cereal and sigh,  I don't want cereal, even though there are delicious blueberries and macerated strawberries in the fridge.  I open the refrigerator as the coffeemaker gurgles, and see the usual breakfast suspects: breads, oat milk, eggs, cooked bacon, jams, cheeses, and their lunch and dinner time companions and beverages. I often make myself a BEC on an English muffin (a crumpet for my English readers). For the other non-New Yorkers, BEC is the classic NYC bacon, egg and cheese on a roll. You can get this delicacy at every deli, as well as many bodegas and coffee carts. I don’t want a BEC, so I decide to make an omelet with Brie cheese and bacon alongside a toasted English muffin with black cherry jam.

The Handsome crew announces that Rob Thomas is their guest today and he asks a question about what they spend money on now that they wouldn’t have spent money on when they were younger. As usual, my Handsome morning crew meanders in, around, and through the question, making me laugh and sigh. They sort of switch it to a discussion of their first extravagant purchase after they could afford such a thing.

I think my first personal extravagance after settling into a career, was a full-length black leather duster. When it comes to the original question, something I buy now that my younger self would not have bought, the answer is certainly: Art.

The Handsome crew winds-up as I sit for my morning feast. Damn, this black cherry jam is fucking excellent!

Next is a podcast about the musician and activist Fela Cuti, whom I have always enjoyed and admired. It’s the first in a series and I will eventually listen to all episodes. I clear the breakfast dishes, clean the  omelet pan and look around the kitchen.

Time for the morning puzzles, which I share with my sister and a friend in Boston.

• Wordle: 5/6, which is terrible.
• I think my average is about 3.8.  I win 98% of the time, and my longest winning streak is 179 days.
  
  
• NY Times Mini: 1:44, which is absolutely horrible! 
• I almost always, except for Saturdays, get the Mini in well under a minute. My best time is 21 seconds, twice. 
  
  
• Connections: 2 wrong guesses, which is not bad.
• I'm not very good at this one.  My win percentage is 87% and my longest streak is 18, having played exactly 500 times.

A grocery delivery I ordered last night will be coming eventually, but first I have to setup my new humidifier. I always read the instruction booklet, so this takes longer than it needed to. Of course there was nothing in the booklet that made it any different than any other humidifier, so I got it running and filed the booklet with all the other appliance booklets. Yes, I keep the instruction booklets for all the appliances. I even occasionally recycle the instruction booklets for appliances I no longer own!

The housekeeper is coming today.  This is her third visit.  

My housekeeper of ten years retired and I feel rudderless, alone, and terrified of the future.  I have lived with the luxury of  a housekeeper for more than 30 years, than half of my adult life. Myrian, my last housekeeper had become like a member of the family!  I watched her kids grow-up, she watched my kid grow-up.  She knew how to do my laundry and fold my clothes.  We knew each other's rhythms, so that when I became a work-from-home professional, we were never in each others' way.  Basically, I did whatever she said!  When the pandemic lockdown happened in 2020, she said she would not come.  I agreed.  I cleaned the bathrooms, washed and vacuumed the floors, did the laundry . . . you know, like a normal person.  I didn't die.  

During those days, my employer told me to stay home, and we would figure it out.  I got paid every week.  We all had projects to continue with, but there was no new business and no real new projects, all our customers were in the same mode, so there were few, if any, meetings or calls with them.  Things were slow, and scary.  How long could this last? 

I started writing online about working from home, and that became part of my job.  We managed to get things done, but it was different, and employers like mine continued paying our salaries.

What about the service workers? How were they getting paid? What about Myrian?  

Each week I put her pay into an envelope as I begrudgingly did the housework. We texted once a week about the situation, Ten weeks later, she returned to start weekly cleaning again.  I was so happy to see her, not just because I hated doing the house cleaning, but because she was like a member of the family: she knew me, I knew her, we liked each other, we cared about each other.  She wasn't just "the housekeeper," she was Myrian.  She was someone's daughter, someone's mother, someone's partner, she was a hard-working person, and I liked her, I cared about her.  I handed her the envelope and said:  "My employer paid me while I wasn't really working, so this is your pay while you couldn't work."  She cried, I cried, we hugged. Neither of us ever mentioned it again, but I told all my friends with housekeepers to get a sense of how they had handled the lockdown. I was disappointed; but it doesn't matter what they did, it only matters what I did.

Most of my experience with housekeepers has been positive.  I only had one bad experience, and it only cost me a little and they were gone after just a few weeks.  It's not easy to find a housekeeper.  I'm inviting a total stranger into my home to touch my things and watch my lifestyle.  If they are untrustworthy, it could be a disaster. It's three weeks into the new housekeeper.  Things seem to be OK, but I miss Myrian and I fear I will never get the quality of care I received from her.  

Since the new housekeeper had just started with us, I did not give her a Thanksgiving bonus last week.  I had given Myrian a departure gift, since she really deserved the Thanksgiving bonus.

It's also Christmas season.  As I stood there staring at the now misting humidifier, I decided that giving the new person a holiday bonus was the right thing to do. I opened the card drawer, found a lovely little card of an angel designed by Mary Hopkin, wrote "Merry Christmas" inside and inserted the same amount I would have given Myrian.  I placed it with the money she collects for her services and moved on to the next task:  recycling.

Podcast ends so I switch to my music playlist and click "random" to hear all my favorite singers and bands.  First up is the Isley Brothers, and that's a good start! 

I'm a pretty diligent recycler.  I breakdown my boxes, shred my personal papers and junk mail, and sort my plastic and glass. Twenty-odd years ago, which was about ten years into urban recycling policies, a brother-in-law told me that recycling is a lifestyle choice, and shouldn't be policy.  I knew he was wrong then, and I have always embraced the process.

It doesn't matter that the City of New York sends its recycling to a landfill, it only matters that I follow the policies and recycle in the conscripted manner.  I pray that some day soon, the United States figures out how to actually recycle the recyclables, but as long as conservatives and neoliberals make public policy, such policies will fail.

Now that is done and I hear Joe Bataan, followed by David Bowie.

Now to open the BlueSky app, the last of the social media platforms I use.  I make "on this day" posts and do the MusicSky challenges.  On this day in 1948, Ozzy Osborne was born, so I make a post about that, grabbing a public-domain photo from Wikipedia.  I always give photo credits, and Wikipedia almost always provides a credit.  My current MusicSky challenge is "Twenty Songs by Year," and I am doing 1975. So each weekday I post a song from 1975, and by the end of December, I will have posted twenty songs.  Today's song is "Gloria" by Patti Smith.  Yesterday was "Young Americans" by David Bowie.  Tomorrow will be "Shame Shame Shame" by Shirley & Company.  I like these challenges.

Good artists popping-up in the playlist:  Stiff Little Fingers, Wu-Tang Clan, and Style Council.

The groceries arrive forty-five minutes late.  I want to ding the pre-paid tip, but decide that taking back some of the seven dollars is not going to make me feel any better, and service workers are grossly underpaid, under-appreciated, and under-tipped, so I can just let it go.  

Somehow I ordered four boxes of cereal instead of two, and I don't really have space for the extras.  I look at my order and see that I added two boxes of cereal two times.  Yup, that's four boxes!  Maybe the cleaning lady will take a couple of boxes home.  She has kids, they will probably eat the cereal, even if it's gluten-free and has no sugar on it.  They can add the sugar, but I don't think they can add the gluten.  

Myrian would always take the extra food I had in the kitchen before it went bad.  This is particularly helpful with my farm-to-table delivery when I will sometimes get more celery or more tomatoes or more potatoes or something I could never consume before they turn.  I hate throwing-away food, and I have not yet established a rapport with the new person that includes them taking my unwanted food.  Maybe today will be that day.

Do you get a farm delivery.  Since I have reduced my spending with Amazon, I have been seeking different alternatives; and Farm to People has been great!

I send a Snapchat message in an attempt to set-up a booty call.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.  We'll see.

The housekeeper arrives and we negotiate a slight change that gets my office cleaned first so I can go in there and stay out of her way.  Generally, she starts at the front of the house and cleans until lunchtime and I give-up my office for a lunch break and she cleans there before I go back in for the rest of her time here.  

She doesn't like our mop for cleaning the tile floors and wooden floors.  I think: "This is the type of mop Myrian always used."  She opens her phone and shows me the type of mop she likes for cleaning.  I agree to get one.  We discuss laundry detergent, soaps, and cleaning supplies.  I suggest she put any empty bottles on the kitchen table and I will get them replaced before her next visit. She smiles. I interpret this as agreement.

I resist looking at work emails.  I was texting with a colleague on Monday.  It seemed to me that he was responding in a perfunctory manner, but I may have just been being too sensitive; and then I realized:  paid time-off gives me a break from work, and it also gives them a break from me!  They leave me alone, and I should leave them alone. I can be a lot! 

I failed on Tuesday, but I am not going to look today!

I get a text from the potential booty call.  It might happen.

Hmmmm . . . another David Bowie song!  My favorite:  "Panic In Detroit"!

I see there are notifications from BlueSky, so I open it and look at the Likes and Comments on my posts.  I was really into this when I used Facebook, Instagram, and Threads; but I don't use them anymore.  On Martin Luther King Day, back in January, the current American president was inaugurated and began his second term as ruler of the free world.  I did not watch any of those proceedings, but I saw on Facebook that Mark Zuckerberg was sitting behind the president and decided at that moment to stop using all the Meta apps.  That man and those apps are absolute garbage, and I am done.  I canceled Twitter the day Elon Musk purchased it.  So, you can really only find me on BlueSky.  I use Substack, too; but that's not social media.

"I Can't Help Myself," by Orange Juice is playing.  It is not a cover of the Four Tops song, but it references the Four Tops and I love when pop culture is self-referential.

I wander around the apartment while the laundry is being done, taking pictures of art I want to hang or move.  It's a bit overwhelming, but has to be done.  I have acquired some photographs, which I generally don't collect, and I am considering a wall of photographs.  I have some nice piece by photographers who are in famous museum collections, and it feels like I should really hang them as a group.

Oh!  A bowl of candy on the dining room table.  Sure, I'll have a miniature Snickers!

I return to a Kristeen Young song playing.

There are two new paintings I recently acquired at The Bishop, in Brooklyn.  I really want to hang them and have to find space for them.  

They fit into my recent interest in contemporary cubist work, which also led to acquiring these pieces by Mike Capp:

I love collecting art.  I started around 1995 and wish I had unlimited space and money, but I do not!  Who does?  Well, I guess some people do!

Last night I went to MoMA for a guided tour of their Fifth Floor, which is the most famous floor of their collection:  Van Gogh's "Starry Night" and a ton of Picassos, the Dada and Surrealism galleries, Matisse, and so much more. The woman leading the tour was a very knowledgeable art historian.  She selected pretty safe paintings to discuss; but at the end she had a couple of minutes left and I asked her to discuss "The She-Wolf," an early Jackson Pollock that is installed on that floor, instead of the Fourth Floor, where his more famous works are installed.  She did a great job changing gears like that.  It was a fun night. I was impressed.

T.Rex is singing "Teenage Dream"!

A surprise Facetime call from my daughter!  Hooray. Pause the music!  We discuss stuff and chat a bit.

"Echo Beach" is playing.

I have not yet secured my season tickets for the Brooklyn FC soccer team's 2026 season.  It should be easier, but the link I got weeks ago has expired, so I sent an email admitting my failure to take action and asking for a new link.  

I have been a season ticket holder at Red Bull New York since 2003, but I have become disenchanted with that organization and that league .  I already purchased RBNY seats for 2026, but that will be my last year as a season ticket holder.  I really can't support that league or organization anymore, they are really terrible.  I'm certain I will find problems with Brooklyn FC and USL; but they are new and I'd rather give them a chance than continue supporting a team and league I have grown to despise.

Ooooo!  "As Time Goes By"!  I always think this song should be followed by Dylan's "Just Like A Woman," but it never is!

A long list of emails included the expected increase in Christmas Sale ads that one might expect.  I deleted more than I read, but I read some. 

No invitations to fabulous parties, openings, or events.  The art scene is at Art Miami this week, and I did not go. I await reports back from gallerists, artists and collectors I know who are in attendance. I hope everyone has a fruitful trip.

So, that's about it.  I did not intend to make this so long, but I did.  If you made it through the entire thing, I am duly impressed.

Until the next time . . . 

Sent from a mobile device.

Dear David Bowie

by Dick Mac

It's been seven years since you took the big trip, since you went away.  You never write anymore . . . that's how it goes now, I guess.

The world has been filthy with tributes to you.  Everywhere! And everyone is doing something.  Me?  I'm typing.

People are travelling again, and lots of them are getting sick because of it.  Yeah, that coronavirus persists.  The world is actually a mess, but everyone is just pretending it's over, and since most folks are vaccinated and no longer dying from it, we are willing to be really sick for a few days so that we can attend a concert or sporting event or visit a tropical paradise. We got it at my house after a soccer match.  

We were so careful, masked, doing our best to keep distance, washing our hands, using cootie juice, and all of it.  But, we took our masks off for fifteen minutes to eat and  . . . BANG . . .  we got COVID! I was sick as a dog for a week. 

I suggest continuing to wear your mask. Do you have nice masks?  I love my Joanna Ha masks.  You really should have one.

I attended a Donny McCaslin show at Village Vanguard with Princess Ramsey and Cavebat and Helen and Leeza and Shakeh and Tony a few months ago.  That was great fun; but, honestly, I'm still stressed out being around cootie-infested strangers.  I prefer to do less-crowded events, like museums and outdoor stuff.

They didn't release any records or box sets for your birthday this year, not even an empty-box set (which was a genius way to get money, by the way!).  Only you could sell an empty box for sixteen bucks!  I was joking with georg that you could release a career-spanning empty box set and people would line-up to buy it!  Maybe they would make it a best-seller.  But, can an empty box set be on the charts?  I can see the headline:  Bowie Tops Charts In Death With Career-Spanning Empty Box Set.  It's fucking genius:  you should do it!

Iman posted a lovely picture of you two on your birthday with the hashtag #bowieforever.  Quite nice.  My goodness, she truly adored you.  As a couple, you two were probably the example all should enjoy.

The Queen is dead.  God save the King!  

Best quote about her death and his ascension to the throne was someone saying: "This 'woke' thing has gone too far! I can't believe the next Queen of England is going to be a man!"

At the first footie matches after her death, it was strange to hear the crowd sing "king" instead of  "queen." She was monarch my entire life.  There had never been a King of England!  There just aren't enough queens in the world anymore.

Speaking of the footie, Pele died.  He was old and sick.  It's sad.

The adorable Terry Hall died.  You remember him: from The Specials.  He was quite wonderful, and he was a big fan of yours. Angelo Badalamenti also passed. I'm certain you knew his work. And Keith Levine from PIL.  You never talked much about that whole post-punk scene.  Did you like PIL?  I know you're a master of public image, but what about Public Image, Ltd.? And Jerry Lee Lewis. I don't really have much of anything to say about Jerry Lee Lewis.  He was a pioneer, obviously, but I think I like a bit more or less of something or another when I think of his legacy. Loretta Lynn is gone, as is Coolio. Judith Durham, who sang "Georgy Girl" also passed.  And Lamont Dozier of Holland-Dozier-Holland fame.  He was one of the great American soul songwriters. Olivia Newton-John, too.  I think I saw a picture of you with her in California in the 80s.  Maybe not.  She was a big start in the 1980s (but not as big as you). Jim Rado, who co-wrote the musical "Hair" is gone. Ian McDonald of King Crimson, And, very sadly, your friend Ronnie Spector.  Now, maybe you two are neighbors, if any of that supernatural mumbo-jumbo stuff is true and you are actually someplace else enjoying the company of others who've left this mortal coil.  You and Ronnie could cover some George Harrison songs, maybe ALL of them!  You and Ronnie could do a ten hour concert of just George Harrison songs.  Do you see George?  He became a bit of a cranky old man, so I wonder if he's happier where you are than he was while he was here.  I hope so.  I quite liked his records.

There is supposed to be a fiftieth anniversary release of Aladdin Sane.  I haven't done a thorough investigation, but from what I saw it appears to be just a re-release, not any fancy box set with lots of extra stuff you never wanted to release in the first place.  We'll see how that goes.

They re-hung the AbEx galleries at MoMA this month.  It's sort of shocking, but still amazing.  They've done an entire gallery of Rothko.  Quite magnificent.  Did you own a Rothko?  I forget.  I think you did.  I don't. 

I still miss you.  The world really is not the same without you.

Do you remember the time you chatted to me "Daddy understands." and I told you I thought that was really gross, and you LOL'd and said you agreed; but, that so many of your fans on the internet called you 'daddy' you assumed I did, too.  You were always so nice, so open and considerate.  Yeah, the world just isn't the same without you.

Drop me a line.  Just a quick hello will do, I don't need a whole long missive, but could enjoy a critique of the current state of the art world, if you are up to it.

Anyway . . . just wanted you to know I was thinking of you today.

Dear David Bowie

by Dick Mac

Good morning, sailor!

Each time I type that I think of the childhood tune that seemed so risqué: “What do you do with a drunken sailor early in the morning?” What do you do with a drunken sailor? Remember drinking!  My goodness, what decades the 70s and 80s were.  Remember?  No . . . me neither, really.  But there are some memories, of course.

One night in the mid-1970s, I was home with my mother, which didn’t happen much at that time. I was going to watch the Grammys instead of sneaking into 1270 or The Other Side, places where a queer minor could drink and dance. I was never an awards show person, but you were going to be on, so I stayed home.  My mother said: “Oh, he sings that ch-ch-ch-ch song that I like,” and she decided to join me in front of the television.  Finally, you appeared on screen and she gasped.  “Oh my God!” She exclaimed. “What’s wrong with him? Is he sick? He looks dead!”

Well . . . you weren’t dead yet, but you looked pretty fucked-up! You were dressed impeccably, of course, but you weighed nothing and looked like you could just fold-up and expire at any moment. I think I remember you saying that you have little or no memory of that appearance. I believe it! You were a mess!

Anyway . . . that’s my seventies memory for today.

It’s your birthday again, and you still haven’t responded to my last five letters. Not an email, not a chat, nothing. I miss you.

There is no good news to share about the state of your city. This damned pandemic is still spreading, as we return to millions dead in the streets this Winter.  I’m certain you’d be up in the mountains if you were still in New York.  I assume you know that Iman sold the apartment and spends her time in Ulster County. You may not have sold the apartment, but I suspect you wouldn’t have been in the city the last two years.

Last night The Cutting Room hosted a David Bowie Tribute with a bunch of our favorite musicians and performers. We were supposed to go, but because of this damned virus we cancelled. We were supposed to be driving to Philadelphia at this moment for a tribute show there tonight; but pricessramsey is in Cleveland, and cavebat is in Riverdale, and shakeh is in Philadelphia, and helen2 is in Inwood, and I am in Brooklyn. We are not getting together to celebrate in person.

Yeah, we wanted to celebrate your diamond anniversary!  It’s today!  Your Diamond Anniversary! It sounds so elegant! Not elegant in an actual elegant way, sort of in that tacky elegance that diamonds represent. Still, it is a big deal. Seventy-five!

I didn’t see many people last year. I saw Tony a couple of times, and he seems well. Then the usual suspects, but no visitors from Europe, and no sleep-overs, and little travel.

A lot happened with you in this past year: the next career-spanning boxed set was released. “Brilliant Adventure” includes Black Tie, White Noise, Buddha of Suburbia, 1.Outside, Earthling, and hours… along with some outtakes, B-sides, and live recordings. I got the vinyl box from one of our mutual friends and it’s remarkable to get that many David Bowie records in one package.

They released “Toy”! Yup! It was finally released. Twenty years ago, the cool kids made sure I got a copy, so I’ve had those songs in rotation for a long time; but, most Bowie fans haven’t had those cuts.  I never understood why it wasn’t released.  Maybe you refused to give yourself permission to release your songs.  I guess that could happen in some weird legal situations with publishing rights and all that stuff I only pretend to understand.  Be that as it may, it’s been released.  I got the vinyl box set, which is six 10” records. Very fun!  Lovely package.  I think you’d have approved.  Maybe not!

It was announced that they are making a new version of Labyrinth.  I assume they will use new music, so it will have no relation to your version of the movie. I don’t even really think of this new project as having any relation to you beyond the obvious fact that you appeared in a version of it 35 years ago.  It’s like pretending Judy Garland and Janet Gaynor are somehow connected because they both made “A Star Is Born”! There is no connection; but people need to connect things.

Speaking of “The Star Is Born” movie, I had a fun thing come across my screen this year. About ten or 12 years ago, I was at a gathering at an apartment in  the Village. The host had a new boyfriend and he was the most tedious quean you could imagine, a total dullard. Not untalented or stupid, but boorish (and boring).  Anyway, he adored Lady Gaga, and we were talking about her songs and stardom. There was a unanimous feeling that she was a big star and had some good pop songs. Mostly we talked about her influence on young queer/gay/trans people and how important her message of acceptance was to the marginalized. You remember! She really was on the vanguard of the next phase of human acceptance. Then we talked about her influences and this tedious queen mentioned Freddie Mercury, and we all agreed about his influence on her act. Then I mentioned you, and her statements that you were a huge influence on her, and this quean says: “Oh, please! David Bowie is awful. He had no influence on her at all.” There was a bit of stunned silence in the room, some nervous giggles as he ranted and raved about her. That was the end of the conversation and I didn’t think about it again. I’m not a follower of hers, and it doesn’t really matter to me what that dullard thinks of you. Then a few months ago, a picture appeared on my screen of Lady Gaga wearing a backless gown, showing lots of tattoos, and right there on her side is a tattoo of the Aladdin Sane album cover. So . . . smart people know you’ve influenced everybody, and dullards are . . . well . . . dull.

I got a new job. It’s weird to start a job during a pandemic when you don’t actually see anyone in person. It is what it is!

Leah released Stylophonika, a very cool LP with the Kingston University Stylophone Orchestra, recorded at the Visconti Studio. Speaking of Leah, she has also written the book Blackstar Theory, The Last Works of David Bowie that will be published this year. She is brilliant! Did you ever meet her?

What else happened since we last talked? We made Juneteenth a national holiday!  Yeah!  Can you believe it?!?!? The Duke and Duchess of Sussex left royal life and moved to Southern California. He is Diana’s son, and she is an American he married a few years ago. A fantastic multi-part documentary about The Beatles was released.  I loved it. There’s a great scene of Paul jamming with John and Yoko, that totally demystifies and dismisses tall tales about their relationships. The weather has gotten crazy, but I know you didn’t really let the daily weather affect you (smart people don’t complain about weather); the issue has really been about climate change.  It’s gotten a bit out-of-hand. So far, there is no life on Mars, but we’ve got vehicles up there still driving around and sending back pictures and collecting samples. It looks like we might actually send people there some day.

A bunch of people died. Some of them you knew, and some of them might already be on your list for heavenly tea: Mick Rock, Wanda Young, Joan Didion, Kangol Kid, Bell Hooks, Michael Nesmith, Lina Wertmüller, Stephen Sondheim, Jean-Paul Belmondo, Charlie Watts, Chuck Close, Hiro, Biz Markie, Bunny Wailer, Chick Corea, Larry Flynt, Christopher Plummer, Phil Spector, and another doll, Sylvain Sylvain. Keep an eye open for them. I’m sure there are some fun conversations to be had among that crowd.

Do they play music where you are?  Do you ever get-together with other rock gods and jam? Do they all make you sing “Heroes”?  I wish I could see you sing “Heroes” again.  Hell, I’d settle for seeing you sing “Hickory Dickory Dock”!

We are supposed to go to England in March for a Holy Holy tour, but last night we concluded that we are not going to be traveling in March.  There’s a big Bowie Convention in Liverpool in June.  We have fancy tickets for that, but we don’t have travel plans yet. Nobody knows if it will be safe to travel then.  I am leery, but not closed-minded.

Tonight, Mike Garson is hosting an online David Bowie tribute concert.  We will be watching.  Last year it was fun so we hope for the same this year. Sure wish you could join us.

I guess that’s it . . .

When you have a moment, open the window and holler down the road to me, like you used to do. I miss that.

Remember . . . you can always come home and we can do all the old things!

Happy birthday, old man.

Everyone says Hi!

An American In London On That Day

by Dick Mac

It was about 1:30 PM, twenty years ago, my lunchtime, and I sat at my desk in an office looking toward The Tower and the Thames, at 1 Undershaft, near St. Mary Axe, in London.

This was when I usually chatted with friends back home in New York City, five hours behind me, who were now starting their day. I was on AIM with my friend Leeza, a florist in Manhattan who hadn’t yet left for work.

“Hold on a minute,” she said. “Something’s happening on the television.”

I don’t remember if she was watching CNN or NY1, but she typed back: “Something’s going on downtown. It looks like there’s an accident at the World Trade Center.”

We typed back and forth a few more times until she had to go, and she said I should look at a television.

I walked down the hall to the managing partner’s office, another American ex-pat, and told him something was happening.

We set-up a television in a small conference room and watched the first tower ablaze. We decided to start contacting New Yorkers.  It was about 8:45 AM and only a few people were in the NY office, which officially opened at 9:30, and most people were still commuting. I was sitting at my desk on the phone and various chat applications when I heard yells that a plane had hit the other tower.

We knew this wasn’t an accident.

We started monitoring local news, and the City of London Police announcements, awaiting guidance. There were concerns that London and other European cities might be next.

My wife was working a few blocks away at the old London Stock Exchange, and we decided to sit tight until we heard something from our employers or the authorities. London is a city that has experienced a lot of terrorism, and I knew that there would be guidance about what to do, how to proceed, etc. My English colleagues were upset and concerned but had a certain calm, a stoicism that was reassuring to me. My thought was that we would get the next plane home.

We had televisions in the conference rooms and most staff were gathered on the 18th floor. I joined them. I think I was the only American in that room, the only New Yorker, when the first tower came down. I just looked at everyone in the room with my mouth agape and said: “No! No!” I bolted from the room, ran back to my office and tried to call friends back home. It wasn’t long before the second tower came down.

We had friends and acquaintances who worked downtown, in and around the towers. There was no way to know if they were OK. Nobody in NYC answered their phone, NYC friends were no longer on chat services or listservs. We could see video from the news services but couldn’t talk to anyone.

I let my siblings in Boston know I was OK in London. That was the first time I felt angry that I was in London. I wanted to be in NYC, I wanted to be in my city with my friends and my colleagues, I wanted to help. I felt helpless, useless.

I started calling the parents of some NYC friends, but they had no contact with them either. They couldn’t reach anybody in NYC. We didn’t know yet that most of the phone companies, landline and mobile alike, ran their primary transmissions from the Towers. With the towers compromised, there was no phone service.  

The skies above London became eerily silent as all air travel was cancelled. The tube was stopped, the trains and buses were stopped. 

Eventually it was announced that the City was closing and everyone should make their way home. My wife’s company told her to call a car service and go home. I left my office, met her and we made our way back to our flat.

We lived in a busy neighborhood near Westbourne Grove and Notting Hill Gate, and like the City, it was noticeably quite.

The ensuing hours were painfully void of information. The television kept showing the same horrific videos over and over again.

I stopped calling NYC and sat helplessly in front of the television. There was nothing to do except sit and wait.

It was a very long day in a far away place.

What is this "Rock 'n' Roll" of which You Speak

by Dick Mac

It's the decades-old debate:  is that rock and roll?  This debate was exacerbated by the opening of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Those who are most vociferous in the "that's not rock and roll" camp are often the same people in the camp of "a hall of fame is anathema to the mere existence of rock and roll."

The loudest voices are the white, mostly heterosexual, cis-men who have claimed rock music as theirs, having stolen it, as they have stolen everything, from African-American culture.  On the one hand they dismiss the RRHOF and on the other hand they demand that rock and roll is a very narrowly-defined musical style that they get to define.

There is unanimity, even among the dull, that Little Richard and Chuck Berry, Fats Domino and Bo Diddley, were the pioneers of rock music.  The country artists began to participate: Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Carl Perkins. Then the pop singers squeezed in: Buddy Holly, Bill Haley, and Gene Vincent.

As we moved into the sixties there were two revolutionary musical movements that are the base of today's pedestrian argument that "it isn't rock and roll"! First, the creation of Motown Records, the sound of Young America, the sound of Detroit. Second, the British Invasion.

All of the English bands who invaded rock music declared that their primary influences were American rhythm and blues. Note that this British music was a completely white genre that proudly uses the term "invasion" to described what they did to American rock music. Perhaps the greatest rock band of all time, The Rolling Stones, declare proudly and often that the music of black America is the music most important to them and their success.  Without the backing of the American soul and R&B industries, the Stones would have been ignored. Forever. The first Beatles record is rife with homage to American R&B and American songwriters, including covers of R&B classics. American music, in particular the roots of American modern music, is the only reason any of those bands were popular.  Rock and roll is the marriage of R&B, country, and pop music.  It does not exist in a vacuum, independently of those foundational genres.

The two musical acts that owned the charts in the 1960s were The Supremes and The Beatles.  Until the insertion of NYC folk music and California hippie music, there was English music and Soul music,  For many of us, those genres lived together in our little cardboard carrying cases of 7" 45-RPM vinyl records.  Every guy I knew who had no soul music in his collection had the worst taste in music and helped create the biggest, most boring corporate rock bands of the next decade.

I know you have raised your hand to insert the conversation of surf music.  If you're calling surf music rock and roll, but not calling soul music rock and roll, you can just stop reading now and leave the conversation.  Personally, I do not exclude surf music from the overall definition of rock music; but I don't think it is an important influence: give me the Fifth Dimension and The Mamas & The Papas for harmonies.

So . . . if the English music that was derived completely from American R&B was rock and roll, then the Motown music (and other soul music) which is also American R&B, is rock and roll music.

Also, the 1960s saw the insertion of folk music and California music into rock music:  Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Beach Boys, Doors, Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead; and experimental music: Velvet Underground, John Cage, Yoko Ono. These were all part of rock and roll, yet deviated dramatically from the roots of rock music.  

One of the most popular and powerful woman' voices in rock and roll was Janis Joplin. The reality is that she sang blues, jazz standards, and country music. She is held-up as a saint in the church of rock and roll; but, did she even sing rock music? No. My mother played records like "Summertime" and "Little Girl Blue" and then Janis Joplin recorded those. Her first hit was "Piece of My Heart," which is more blues than rock; and her final hit was "Me and Bobby McGee," a country song!  But, Janis is rock and roll.  If she was a woman of color, would she be afforded the same entrance into the hallowed halls of rock heaven?

One need look no further than the soundtrack from the movie "Woodstock" to see that moving into the 1970s, rock and roll was a massive umbrella under which a multitude of sub-genres would flourish.  Richie Havens, Sly & The Family Stone, and Jimi Hendrix delivered rock performances in that move that have gone down in rock and roll history. Havens delivered a folk performance, Sly a funk/dance performance, and Hendrix' best work that day was the "Star Spangled Banner," where he paid homage to the military he served, admired, and respected.  All of that is considered rock and roll.

I make special note here of Billy Preston, the African-American singer, writer, and keyboard player, who had major hit records and is the only musician to be a member of both The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. He has been completely ignored by those who claim ownership of rock music.  He was recently elected to the RRHOF, and the white, mostly heterosexual, cis-men who claim rock music as their own, are probably going to lose their shit when they find out he was also gay, so please don't tell them.

In the 1970s, the rock music umbrella was treated to one of America's greatest musicians, Miles Davis, whose record "Bitches Brew" was embraced by the rock world as he was joined by young, electronic musicians like John McLaughlin, to whom he was introduced by his wife Betty Davis (who was much more rock and roll than Janis ever dreamed of being). Many others continued to infuse jazz influences into rock music: Traffic, Chick Corea, Carlos Santana.  It's all rock and roll.

In passing, let's just say that had Betty Davis (nee Mabry) been white, she would have been catapulted to heights unknown by women in rock music. If you are a rock music fan and are not familiar with her three excellent early-1970s records, do yourself a favor and listen.

The era of protest was upon us. Rock music was filled with anti-war songs from every corner: Motown, California hippie bands, NYC folk, British rock, country rock, Philadelphia soul all had major hit records in this genre: "Ball of Confusion," "Ohio," "Masters of War," "I Feel Like I'm Fixin' To Die Rag," "Bring The Boys Home," "Give Peace A Chance," "Fortunate Son," "Universal Soldier," "War," and many others were all rock songs.

Philadelphia soul hit the scene big-time in the 1970s, with The O'Jays, The Three Degrees, Harold Melvin, and TSOP simultaneous to the next British invasion of glam rock with T.Rex, David Bowie, Elton John, and Roxy Music. Again, English acts whose music was deeply rooted in American R&B and soul are hailed as rock music giants as their Philadelphian peers with the same lineage are dismissed from the rock music tent.

As the 1970s progressed, soul and R&B spawned "disco" music, while record company executives promoted "rock" mediocrity celebrated by white, mostly heterosexual, cis-men at record labels. I might argue that both genres were beyond boring, but at least you could dance to disco music!  People dancing to mid-70s rock music is embarrassing to witness.  Eventually, the revered Englishmen brought dance beats to their rock records,  and enjoyed both condemnation and accolades; but the overall result of David Bowie's "Young Americans" rock album and The Rolling Stones "Some Girls" rock album was that the all-powerful white, mostly heterosexual, cis-men who claim rock music as their own, dismissed these works as 'experiments' or 'sell-outs.' 

Both of those genres (disco and corporate rock) spawned a backlash that were much more closely related than most rock music fans want to admit: punk rock and rap/hip-hop.  At the time, the two movements bubbling-up in NYC were very closely aligned and shared quite a bit of cross-over audience. Afrika Bambaataa and Grandmaster Flash were as punk as The Dictators and The Ramones.  They were both reactions to the dullness that rock music had spawned after the era of protest.  DeeDee Ramone made a rap record, and Blondie dove deep into the dance/hip-hop arena.  Future "punk" bands would embrace not just scratch and rap, but also reggae and ska. Those bands are considered solidly under the rock umbrella. 

Let's add to this discussion the notion of technology. Both keyboards and record players are technological pieces of rock and roll. One is the basis for the synthesizer and the other for the turntable. In the 1970s, both devices became part of rock music.  However, when The Clash added scratching to their records it was "innovative," and when non-white artists used scratch it was "not rock music."

The synthesizer brought us progressive rock (or prog rock) which is pop music infused with symphonic arrangements and instruments. Played by white men, primarily Englishmen, it was unequivocally considered rock music. Why?  Then we got ambient music, a true innovation that was introduced by Brian Eno, who had once been in a rock band; and although ambient music has no aural relation to rock music, it was immediately folded into the rock music family, just as soul music and disco music were summarily dismissed. Why? There is nothing particularly rock and roll about prog rock, and nothing even remotely rock and roll about ambient music. Yet, here we are with both genres considered fundamental parts of the rock music scene while music of the same era by non-white musicians is "not rock music." Perhaps there is a common theme developing here.

When David Bowie embarked on what became known as his "Berlin Trilogy," produced by the inimitable Tony Visconti and heavily-influenced by Eno's ambient ideals, it was declared a seminal change in the entire rock genre.  It is.  Make no mistake, those records influenced most rock music that followed. But, listening to the "Low" record is hardly a rock experience. I would argue that Run-DMC made harder rock records during that era than Bowie's masterpiece. Yet, Bowie's work is considered rock music and Run-DMC is "not rock music."

Enter the next British influence: new wave. Unlike American new wave, the English version included a lot of racial and cultural cross-over.  Tu-Tone records with its re-introduction of ska music, (Boy) George O'Dowd declaring that he didn't need to think-up anything new because there was all that great Motown music, Elvis Costello and Nick Lowe using all that 60s-style organ to make the soul record "Get Happy," Paul Weller leaving The Jam to attempt a new wave of blue-eyed soul, Rock Against Racism, and more.  It seemed that the English didn't have the same hard and fast lines between "rock music" and music made by non-white musicians.

Let's not get too pro-English here.  There is plenty of white English mediocrity in the post-punk era; bands who got big not because of the size of their talent but the color of their skin. Bands like The Police and U2 were catapulted into international superstardom by their record labels with material and performances that are most generously referred to as the creations of a "one-trick pony."

As New Wave fizzled into total mediocrity and the record labels were purchased by huge conglomerates that know nothing about music, the white, mostly heterosexual, cis-men who claim "rock music" as their own, doubled-down on their right to define rock music as narrowly as they want. It was at this time that the music industry created the RRHOF, and the battlefield was defined.

Over the past three-plus decades, the bitterly embattled white, mostly heterosexual, cis-men who claim ownership of rock music take each RRHOF election as their opportunity to narrow the definition of rock music, which basically comes down to a group of white guys, maybe with one white woman, who play guitars and drums (maybe a keyboard), and sing bluesy songs about their difficult lives, trials and tribulations.  There is no room in this narrow definition for people of color to sing about their difficult lives, trial and tribulations using any other configuration, because that's "not rock music."

The people who have claimed rock music as their own are making it as irrelevant as they themselves have become. They will continue to remind us how they've been wronged and that their rock music is only what they say it is. They will continue to dismiss rap and hip-hop and explain very patiently to you that "don't think it's singing" and "it's not very creative" and "they are not bands" and "they just don't like it" and all other kinds of absurd bullshit that highlights not only their ignorance of non-white culture, but their complete ignorance of how the music is created and performed. This does not mean that those artists are "not rock music." Basically, they have a position based completely in racism.

In an approximately 50-year span that I will define from seeing The Grateful Dead perform at Boston Garden to seeing Wu-Tang Clan perform at Coney Island Amphitheater, I can confirm that Wu-Tang Clan rocked a helluva lot harder than the Dead (and many many other "rock" bands I've seen in that half-century).  So, if rocking the house is part of rock music, we need to stop saying that some groups are not rock music if they are out-rocking everybody else.  Saying a band like Wu-Tang Clan is "not rock music" betrays a level of racism that is almost as insidious as the blatant efforts of American conservatives to destroy people of color.

To know that rock music has morphed and changed over the decades and then decide that one branch is "rock music" and another branch is "not rock music" exposes a small-mindedness I imagine most of us do not embrace.

Post-script: There are many angles not covered here:  singing groups versus bands, songwriters versus performers, Latinx influence, producers, market manipulation by labels, heavy metal, Michael Jackson, radio versus live performance, the internet, MTV, and more. I believe that any path you walk down while exploring the history of rock music will show you that racism has consistently pushed people of color aside with arguments that have no basis in actual fact or historical reference. Let's stop pretending that we get to define rock music in the narrowest of terms. I don't have to like U2 and you don't have to like Kendrick Lamar, but let's stop pretending they are not current incarnations of the very VERY broad category of rock music.