Bowie biography wendy leigh
- Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, the Thin White Duke.
- Through in-depth interviews with those who knew him best, New York Times bestselling author Wendy Leigh reveals the man behind Bowie's myriad images—up to and.
- Omg no.
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Bowie: The Biography
There have literally been dozens of biographies written about Bowie, and I’m sure that since his death, more books about him will be popping up on bookshelves in the near future. Leigh’s biography doesn’t add anything new to the story, but it is an entertaining read nonetheless.
One of my complaints about the book may be nothing more than a prudish annoyance I had with Leigh’s apparent obsession with Bowie’s sex life. As rich a topic as that may be to mine, I felt that Leigh bordered on the sensationalistic, lascivious, and prurient. In some parts, she went straight over the border and set up camp.
Upon finishing the book, however, my thoughts on the top
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Bowie : The Biography
Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, the Thin White Duke. Gender Bender. Rebel. Songwriter. Fashion Icon. Rock God. One of the most influential creative artists of his generation, David Bowie morphed from one glittering incarnation to the next over the course of five decades—an enduring superstar who remained endlessly enigmatic and always ahead of his time. Discover the man behind the myth in this intimate and in-depth biography—featuring a full-color sixteen-page photo insert.
David Bowie passed away after an eighteen-month battle with cancer on January 10, 2016. Few knew of his illness, and Bowie flawlessly orchestrated his last goodbye with the release of his final (and some say best) album, Blackstar, featuring the haunting song “Lazarus,” and its accompanying video, a farewell message to his millions of fans. Throughout his iconic career that included such hits as “Let’s Dance,” “Space Oddity,” “Heroes,” “Modern Love,” and “Life on Mars,” Bowie managed to retain his Hollywood star mystique.
Through in-depth interviews with those who knew him best, New York
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Bowie
TWO
STARBOY
When David was about three years old, his mother caught him putting on makeup for the first time. Not hers, but makeup belonging to the tenants in the apartment upstairs; lipstick, eyeliner, and face powder, which he daubed all over his little face.
“When I finally found him, he looked for all the world like a clown,” Peggy Jones remembered in 1986.
Shocked and amused, she rounded on David and told him in no uncertain terms that he shouldn’t use makeup. If that edict had been handed down to him by his father, whom he idolized, and whose calm temperament he appeared to have inherited, he might have accepted it. Instead, David said, somewhat reproachfully, “But you do, Mommy. . . .”
In the spirit of fairness, Peggy agreed, but then hammered home her point that makeup was definitely not for little boys. It doesn’t
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