![]() (Bowie was more blunt about how much he really was earning: “ I can’t even buy a packet of cigarettes on the proceeds from this fucking thing…There is no money in what we do. After four months of operation, BowieNet was being valued at $500 million. Unlike the New York Times or Sports Illustrated or countless newspapers now shuttered or decimated, Bowie charged his readers from the start: $20 a month ($6 for a no-frills subscription). ![]() ”Īnd he actually seemed to make a little money, rather a novelty for websites. “The idea of a singular, serious, legit indie music site with great influence, where you can get music news, videos, downloads of genuinely cool music?…Bowie was coming up with ideas to save the music industry. “I do think it’s fair to say that music sites like Pitchfork exist-or at least the cool music blog model exists-because of BowieNet,” Wired editor Nancy Miller told Marc Spitz. In 1999, he held a fan songwriting contest (see the upcoming “What’s Really Happening?”) he had fans pick their favorite mixes for Bowie At the Beeb and choose the cover of his All Saints compilation. He seemed intent on hosting an actual community. It was updated once an equinox.īowie’s site was fresh, fluid, offered legitimate exclusives: downloadable material, in particular Earthling tour recordings his journals his recommendations for books and films. The text seemed plagiarized from fan sites. Maybe there was a link to a page of pixelated concert photos. Maybe a tinny-sounding track would blare via RealPlayer when you loaded the page, which might crash your computer. Recall what the typical rock star’s webpage looked like in 1998, if it wasn’t just an empty cupboard of a site thrown up to claim “” during the internet boom. He also saw opportunity: on 1 September 1998, he launched BowieNet. The self as a business card, to be distributed to anyone who asked for it. ![]() It was as if, while Mark Zuckerberg was still in high school, Bowie was bracing for the 21st Century, the demand for everyone to “share” accessible versions of themselves. Rice in Vancouver, did you ever stop by Subeez Cafe? Here are some questions from one from September 1998: Do you shop at Wal-Mart? Is it possible for you to market some of your better paintings in poster versions for like much cheeper (sic)? SqueakieTampaxTwin: Bowie when you were filming Exhuming Mr. He took part in chat rooms, allegedly under the handle “sailor.” He submitted to Internet Q&A sessions with fans. On his website he posted journal entries (once musing how, in another life, he could be walking his grandchildren around Bromley by now), and offered low-resolution files of his paintings. And at the turn of the century, Bowie made himself more ordinary than ever before, as if he was following a weight-loss regimen for the mystique. Make a big deal of walking to a corner store and buying bread. He’d chafe under his reputation sometimes, rubbish it, say that he was just an ordinary guy. He moved on, through various avatars of fame, each unknowable in its own way. ![]() So Bowie, once a shy hippie hanging around Beckenham folk clubs, became Ziggy Stardust. The man who sits in a cafe all day, mumbling as he reads the papers: he’s accessible. There should be a pane of thick, darkened glass between idol and audience. The point of the game, regardless the board on which it was played, was for the idol to escape from life, with its shrieky children, gas bills and installment plans. As did Greta Garbo, who played it for high stakes. He practiced statuesque positions and gave the impression of being a superhuman character by speaking very little and never eating in public.īack in the Crusades, Sinan knew the game.
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