1 Year Ago, David Bowie Died

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There's a montage in the movie while Starman is playing.

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When the internet became a thing in the mid 90s, my first reaction was to share my passion for all things Bowie with other Bowie freaks. For roughly five years, my main pastime was my contribution to the online Bowie fan world, which revolved around a Usenet group, a few fan websites, and a couple of mailing lists.

The emails started around the same time that Bowie set up BowieNet, an ISP that offered “uncensored” archive material to fans, for a subscription fee. I was critical of the venture on other fan sites; it felt like a money grab, milking us fans for access. "db" landed in my inbox, asking me to elaborate on my objections. We talked it over at length, and eventually agreed to disagree.

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My correspondence with "db" grew over time, from a few short, snappy emails a week to sometimes three or four quite long and in-depth discussions a day. This left me less inclined to believe I really was corresponding with Bowie himself: after all, he really should have better things to be doing with his time than swapping emails with a fan. That said, I decided that even if "db" wasn't Bowie, the person was funny and interesting enough in themselves to warrant replies. We spoke about the internet, technology, literature (we both shared a passion for Beckett and Joyce), music, politics, sport – but rarely about Bowie's music or career. In truth, I enjoyed the correspondence. I kept trying to catch "db" out: either on facts, or with tricks like emailing him just as I knew Bowie was going on stage in New York or wherever. If the impersonator answered instantly, I could prove that "db" and David Bowie were separate entities. It never worked. I ran searches on the email address to see what popped up (trolls who like to impersonate celebrities are generally not smart enough to use different email addresses). Nothing. I decided to ask a friend who worked with Bowie a favour: could he confirm or deny that the email address was the same one Bowie used to correspond with him? My friend was understandably wary, given how guarded Bowie was about his privacy, so we agreed that I would tell him the first four letters of my db's address – "bxqr" – and he would tell me if his was different. It was not.

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In late 2003, Bowie came to Dublin to perform two concerts. They were filmed for a concert video, which would turn out to be his last. Tickets were tough to come by but by now I was an old hand with a good network so I secured two tickets for both nights. "db" sent me a message saying: "I hear both concerts sold out instantly so I've put you plus one on the guest list".

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About an hour before the concert, I presented myself to the security representative, mumbling that I thought I might – might – be on some sort of list. The security man in question, a real salt of the earth, built like a brickhouse type, looked at me suspiciously. "You might – might – be on the guestlist bud? What makes you think that?" I mumbled that I had been told I was. "I didn't even know there was a guestlist". He turned to the side and bellowed: "Bill! Bill! Is there a guestlist for tonight?" I now found myself looking at an even bigger security man. "Who wants to know, Ben?" "This gentleman thinks there might be ... and he might – might – be on it". Bill looked at me suspiciously. "What's your name, pal?" Showing admirable powers of recollection in the face of such pressure, I somehow managed to remember my own name. Ben pulled out a one-page list that looked like it had at most two lines printed on it. He looked at one of the lines, then looked at me. "Yeah pal, your name is here."

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seu jorge sings the songs in portugese

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Win Butler organized the cringe-fest that was the David Bowie second line, ruining a New Orleans tradition.

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You wouldn't even know the guy on the right, were it not for the guy on the left.

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