When you live and work in the L.A. area and your office window overlooks several key Southern California venues, you get a little complacent. Radio station concert hype becomes "white noise," best used to block out the sound of co-workers in the cubicle farm. For months, I had been subconsciously hearing that David Bowie was coming to town, but it didn't fully sink into my thick skull until about noon on show day - just a tad late to start thinking about properly requesting media credentials. I don't blame Bowie's publicist for ignoring my lame-rod e-mail; by that time, they were probably already at the Pond and I could have walked over and been rejected in person. It was for the better though, because to me, "creative alternatives" are far more exciting. MacGyver-ing my way into shows gives me flashbacks and adrenaline highs.

How does a girl dress to see Bowie? Not how you'd think, when there's sneaking around to be done. Based on past experience, I knew there might be some combat crawling through bushes and mud, fence climbing, jay walking and definitely a mile or two of hiking. Prepping for all of the above, I changed out of the mini skirt and heels I'd worn for a Casual Friday full of impressing absolutely nobody while sitting on my ass writing technical documentation and into a black Score! Music t-shirt and sneakers - perfect gear for hiding in the shadows. After all, "Fashion" is a Bowie song having nothing to do with the effort involved in gate crashing one of his shows.

Since it was dark outside at 9:00 p.m. and I was alone carrying my gig bag containing the camera I did not want stolen, I changed my mind about walking from the office and cutting through the abandoned Angels Stadium parking lot to The Pond, deciding in favor of taking my car and manipulating a pseudo- parking space (for free) next to the coffee house directly across the street. It had lighting, and there were people milling around the adjacent JT Schmid's brew pub. It felt safer, but I was still on alert and prepared for anything.

As I clutched my bag tightly and jetted toward the crosswalk to the venue, a mysterious-looking dude leapt out of the shrubbery in front of the restaurant and propelled himself in my direction. He looked like a software programmer/serial killer, so I assumed he was a valet parking guy out to bust my plan. He stuttered, "Um, uh, hmm . . . uhhh, okay, hi, umm . . . [ note: now I was really scared and started to back away slowly, scanning the area for witnesses to the attack/rape/murder that I figured was about to occur] . . . so, umm, do you want to go to the David Bowie concert?" Thinking this was either a trick question or an inexperienced scalper, I hesitantly replied, "Why - are you selling?" The guy explained himself. His name was Mason. He had legitimately purchased two tickets back in early March for $76.50 each, and he didn't have a date (no comment). He didn't want the second ticket to go to waste, and he didn't want money; he just wanted someone to enjoy the show. Skeptical yet not stupid, I said, "Okay," and we jay walked over to The Pond together. In return, I gave him a run-down of my mission and his choice of a Score! Music t-shirt. He seemed satisfied with the trade-off.

We entered the concert in the middle of the second song, and on our way to Mason's fairly-decent seats just above the soundboard, we passed the access route to the backstage area. Mason appeared to be a novice concert-goer, so I pointed out "backstage" to him, just in case he wanted to go there later. "Why would I want to go backstage?" he asked. Good question, I thought, since "backstage" isn't what it used to be. Grasping for an answer, I came up with, "To meet people." His humble response: "I don't think anyone would want to meet me." Uh oh (see also: Rain Man) - now I had to be his date. I was on a date with a guy who popped out of shrubbery two minutes earlier. I rationalized this by reminding myself that a "normal" date would likely involve pain, hassles, and general suffering at some level, and this was going smoothly so far, so what the hell. Forward, march.

Mason's seats provided a good view and a peaceful place to take notes without being knocked around by flailing freaks. Bowie looked more perfect than ever, an ideally filled-out form of a human male in jeans, black t-shirt, and yellow silk scarf loosely knotted like a casual necktie. His hair was surfer-blond with dark roots, in the sort of early '90s long-in-front, short-in-back skater haircut that gives guys that irresistible "little boy" look. Goodbye, Thin White Duke. Hello, Built Suntanned Stud.

We bopped, spellbound, to "Fashion", then rocked along with "All The Young Dudes". "Try Some, Buy Some" featured an enchanting mandolin part that set the mood for the overall feel of the show. The stage set was spartan, with a rugged hardwood floor and elevated catwalk ramps flanked by inverted, dried sagebrush bundles dangling from above. The big screens displayed spacey fireworks graphics, spooky forests of trees and powerful Anime-ish images.

Bowie himself is a physically dramatic presence, with animated facial expressions and large, over-the-top stage movements. More performance artist than rock star stance, he acted out the songs instead of dancing. He pantomimed the lyrics, tossing imaginary autographs to the crowd on "Fame", and exhibited his keen sense of humor the whole way through. He cracked jokes, told funny stories, and improvised lyrics, kneeling down, childlike, to utter, "Oh baby, just shutthefuckup," on "China Girl". His amusing rants included the story of the little Hobbit he picked up in New Zealand named Tristan, who lives in the orchestra pit and is employed by Bowie to look after his onstage wine; the kinds of nursery rhymes he was told as a child ("Here comes the chopper to chop off your head . . ."), and a scientific lecture on how fallout from the 1883 Krakatau volcanic eruption causes the sky to appear red in the area of Java.

A Reality Tour kicked off last October, presenting a blend of old and new material from the Reality album. Bowie and band have diligently worked over 50 songs spanning his entire catalog, changing up the set list every night; on this tour, no two shows are ever the same. The onstage band is the same talented group of artists who appear on Reality: Earl Slick (trippy-effect lead guitar), Gerry Leonard (lead guitar and backing vocals), Gail Ann Dorsey (bass and vocals, with extreme funk on "Fame"), Mike Garson (piano and jazzy/classical/mystical keyboards), Catherine Russel (backing vocals, percussion, keyboards, and guitars), and long-time Bowie musician Sterling Campbell on drums. Garson showed unparalleled creativity, cranking out an abstract jazz keyboard section with Russel on "Ashes to Ashes", and setting Bowie up for another witticism by ending the song on a major note with a little Motzart-esque fanfare. "Did you end that on the major? Ha ha! Musical pun! Major Tom - get it?"

Mason nudged me and said, "Hey Marlene, what's your favorite Bowie song?" Leaning to his ear, I said, "'John, I'm Only Dancing'." Mason looked puzzled, so I asked him his favorite. He said, "I like the more popular songs - like 'Young Americans'." Immediately, Bowie announced, "This is a song I wrote several years ago about how much I hate Americans" (collective gasp from near sell-out audience) and launched into, "I'm Afraid of Americans". He saved himself by proclaiming, "This is a song I wrote about how much I love Americans" as his intro to "Heroes", gaining total audience participation.

Mason had made it clear that, knowing I was there to review the show, I wasn't actually obligated to stick with him until the end. He was having plenty of fun by that time. This being the case, at encore, I thanked him and shook his hand, explaining that I was moving down to try and get a better shot (impossible without photo privileges under The Pond's strict no-cameras rule, but oh well). I positioned myself on the floor directly next to the sound and video techs and full-on enjoyed "Suffragette City" and "Ziggy Stardust". I hadn't planned on being here and might not have been if it weren't for Mason, The Man Who Shared The World. Thanks, doll. Like Bowie himself, you were a perfect gentleman. E-mail me next time; I'll be your "date" again.

Set list from Friday, April 23:

01 Rebel Rebel
02 Battle For Britain (The Letter)
03 New Killer Star
04 Cactus
05 Fashion
06 All The Young Dudes
07 Try Some, Buy Some
08 China Girl
09 Fame
10 The Loneliest Guy
11 The Man Who Sold The World
12 Hallo Spaceboy
13 Sunday
14 Heathen (The Rays)
15 Under Pressure
16 Days
17 The Supermen
18 The Motel
19 Looking For Water
20 Ashes To Ashes
21 Quicksand
22 IÕm Afraid Of Americans
23 Heroes

Encore:
24 Hang On To Yourself
25 Five Years
26 Suffragette City
27 Ziggy Stardust

http://www.davidbowie.com/

Photos by Marlene Montez