Live|work San Francisco: a lot to crab about.
July 2017 ⊕
BLACK COUNTRY ROCK
“As revealed in the song Ziggy Stardust, Ziggy was not a spider - he was the fly.”
-- Steele Savage
Outside the musical world he inhabits, David Bowie can usually be found in the company of artists. These adventures through the art world found an expression in the early 1990s while playing around on his computer; he came up w/ the tale of a diary concerning blood and art. This having only recently chatted w/ Brian Eno on the possibility of launching several investigations into the malaise that is fin-de-siecle culture - the last five years of the 20th century - and what that might be like.
The Bewlay Brothers Eno and Bowie in a publicity still for their 4th collaboration.
In 1995, Bowie took this short story into the studio and, w/ Eno's involvement, produced a concept album concerning "this rather dark, satirical idea of where art could go." While Eno fiddles w/ the elusives and imbues the proceedings w/ propositions and strategies, Bowie massages words into music, seeking for fits or juxtaposition til a composition can cohere. At the same time, musicians are taking cues from Eno into which meadow the sound ought to and can roam. Lyrics eventually separate and to become voices, and the voices become, among others, certain characters: a detective following a lead, a victim who is murdered and turned into art, an assortment of suspects, and a minotaur.
Having ironed out the inequities as well as iniquities, what emerges is the album 1.Outside, a disjointed, disjunctive dystopia involving sex and violence, rock 'n roll and death.
-|- Five Years
The cosmic chameleon and the chance Corinthian lash their selves together in the lab - on the slab - and bring forth “... a gothic drama hyper-cycle”
[Brian and I] had already started a whole set of improvisations in the studio around March, 1994. Out of that came dialogue and landscape that was tied together, not even tenuously. All the elements were fairly disparate.
This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, by a narrative device, to chronicle the final five years of the millennium. The over-ambitious intention is to carry this through to the year 2000.
Scary Monsters (Super Creeps) ... the most portentous chaos-abyss ...
What Brian and I are trying to do is develop a series of albums. [Outside] is the first in this cycle of albums. [The diary is] only the subject matter, it’s not the content of the album. The content is very much the atmosphere and texture of the music, that strange place that music indeed puts you which cannot be articulated. The story itself is semi-linear, so if you want to, follow it in a linear fashion, but it's not absolutely necessary. The pieces themselves can be autonomous, they are pieces of music on their own.
Bleed Like a Craze, Dad "[Brian and I] were both interested in nibbling at the periphery of the mainstream rather than jumping in. We sent each other long manifestoes about what was missing in music and what we should be doing. We decided to really experiment and go into the studio with not even a gnat of an idea."
Well, Brian, very cleverly, because of being what he is, which is basically a conceptualist, turned everything into a series of games once we got into the studio: To allow the musicians to not be who they are for short periods of time. He would create little flash cards for them in the mornings. He would create situations they would have to put themselves in mentally, intellectually, and then start playing from that point of view.
On each one, a character was written, like (You are the disgruntled member of a South African rock band. Play the notes that were suppressed). ... Because that set the tone for the day, the music would take on all those obscure areas. And it would very rarely lapse into the cliché.
So we changed the status of the beginning of these pieces and they came into them like aliens from another place. It opened up a whole area of improvisation. ... It’s very hard to explain [laughs], you should have been there. A piece that shows the extreme it could get to is A Small Plot of Land. That piece in particular was a first class indication of what happens when you put people in a strange place like that.
All the Madmen "The lesson to learn from outsider art was that the artist should be primal. Technique or virtuosity didn’t matter; that which was unformed and screaming inside of you, waiting to be released, was the real essence of the creativity."
As for musicians, it was important to choose those who were not weighed down with musical cliché, who had terrific control over their abilities. Yet were a bit loony.
The lyric writing itself was fairly hazardous. What I did, I took a lot of areas of subject matter I’m interested in and wrote short paragraphs or pieces of poetry around those subjects and fed them into this Macintosh computer I have. I have a random key on it and it will randomize what I have written. So it was basically the Macintosh’s choice that it was New Jersey. But it was also a bit of England, too, with New Oxford Town. [Then decide] whether I was going to sing, do a dialogue, or become a character. I would improvise with the band, really fast on my feet, getting from one line to another and seeing what worked.
Over the Wall We Go A diary Bowie kept during a two-week span had proven boring enough that he chucked the whole thing and wrote another kind of diary, using it as the basis of an album w/ Eno.
There’s no intent in it, there’s no meaning. I’m not a meaner. I don’t have this great thing that I have to say. It’s a collection of fragments of information, of ideas, that are assembled and produce a certain atmosphere.
Next year, we’ll develop a whole new slew of other characters or maybe re-introduce some of these or even negate some of them. Maybe we’ll never find Baby Grace. Maybe [Detective Nathan] Adler will become the next victim. I don't know. And that’s what’s kind of interesting. Maybe we’ll just get bored with murder as art and move into another area of our society. It’s all up for grabs. So I‘m quite interested in the future of this thing.
Holy Holy "The other month I went down to South Africa for the first time. Some of the vibrancy in the art there is not dissimilar. It's the idea of non-judgement, the idea of using loud, simple coloration. There's no idea of it being vulgar. There's no thought of taste. Taste is the killer of all art [laughs]."
I think [the album is] a confluence of events. First, we definitely perceive murder now as entertainment. It’s used to a massive extent in cinema. And pretty much it’s a space filler in TV. There’s the whole gladiatorial arena spectacle of somehow appeasing gods or looking at the fears and anxieties of the public.
The momentum gathers as we approach the end of this cycle of 100 years, a huge anguish that everything will change. I wanted to make a record that reflected those anxieties, a state of moral, spiritual and emotional panic. With people breaking off into small groups to feel some sense of community.
I think the idea of becoming comfortable with the idea of chaos is how we are progressing – that life and the universe are extremely untidy. Anything that pulls back the veil on that chaos is a step nearer a more realistic understanding of what our state is – so I embrace chaos. I’m a child of the ’70s, remember. I’m pluralistic by nature. I always had the unfortunate facility of being able to see both sides of every picture. It wasn’t a question of not being able to determine which side I was on, but seeing that things didn’t have sides. It wasn’t as simple as that.
The Mysteries "I think that our religious philosophies trail so far behind the way that we actually live today that we find ourselves in a spiritual void, and I think it affects the young very much indeed.
We continually try and find ritual, but we have no religious order to connect that ritual to.
So we have to reinvent God, I think, in our own new way of life to give ourselves another form of spiritual sustenance."
Oh, I’ve got the fondest hopes for the fin de siecle. I see it as a symbolic sacrificial rite. I see it as a deviance, a pagan wish to appease gods, so we can move on. There’s a real spiritual starvation out there being filled by these mutations of what are barely remembered rites and rituals. To take the place of the void left by a non-authoritative church. We have this panic button telling us it’s gonna be a colossal madness at the end of this century.
"Dalí ... knew exactly what he was doing. He knew what all the objects meant.... The attitude that says the artist should paint only things the proletarian can understand, I think, is the most destructive thing possible." (1976)
Plus this growing momentum in body art, which has been precipitated over the last 15 years or so with people like
Kiki Smith and
Damian Hirst and
Ron Athey and
Chris Burden. The idea of using the body as yet another medium, like wood or metal or glass or stone -- almost the politicizing of the body itself. Almost extrapolating on that in an allegorical fashion to have this rather dark, satirical idea of where art could go.
About 20 percent of what I put in [the album] are fictional and the rest are real, but it’s very hard to tell the difference. But the most surprising one, like the Korean cutting off pieces of himself in the late ’70s in New York, was not apocryphal. I checked back with Art Forum.
Changes Prototypes of some characters to be found in a diary kept by Detective Nathan Adler.
The morality of any society is quite strange. In the finality, it’s decided by law what happens. People change their network of comfort by changing laws to make things acceptable or unacceptable.
| OUTSIDE FOOTNOTES
 THE ART-RITUAL MURDER OF BABY GRACE BLUE aka THE DIARY OF NATHAN ADLER ¶
It was at precisely 5:47am on the morning of Friday 31 of December 1999 that a dark spirited pluralist began the dissection of 14-year-old "Baby Grace." The arms of the victim were pin-cushioned w/ 16 hypodermic needles, pumping in four major preservatives, colouring agents, memory information transport fluids and some kind of green stuff. From the last and 17th, all blood and liquid was extracted. The stomach area was carefully flapped open and the intestines removed, disentangled and re-knitted as it were, into a small net or web and hung btw. the pillars of the murder-location, the grand damp doorway of Oxford Town Museum of Modern Parts, New Jersey.
The limbs of Baby were then severed from the torso. Each limb was implanted w/ a small, highly sophisticated, binary-code translator which in turn was connected to small speakers attached to far ends of each limb. The self-contained mini amplifiers were then activated, amplifying the decoded memory info-transport substances, revealing themselves as little clue haikus, small verses detailing memories of other brutal acts, well documented by the ROMbloids.
The limbs and their components were then hung upon the splayed web, slug-like prey of some unimaginable creature. The torso, by means of its bottom-most orifice, had been placed on a small support fastened to a marble base. It was shown to varying degrees of success depending upon where one stood from behind the web but in front of the museum door itself, acting as both signifier and guardian to the act. It was definitely murder - but was it art?
All this was to be the lead-up to the most provocative event in the whole sequence of serial-events that had started around November of tha same year, plunging me into the most portentous chaos-abyss that a quiet lone-hacker like myself could comprehend.
My name is Nathan Adler, or Detective Professor Adler in my circuit. I'm attached to the division of Art-Crime Inc., the recently instigated corporation funded by an endowment from the Arts Protectorate of London, it being felt that the investigation of art-crimes was in itself inseparable from other forms of expression and therefore worthy of support from this significant body.
Subterraneans -|- Detective Nathan Adler -|- Lonely Algeria Touchshriek -|- Victim Baby Grace Blue -|-
Art-terrorist Ramona A. Stone -|- Director of Arts Protectorate of London Nicolas Serota.
Nicolas Serota himself had deemed us, the small-fry of the division, worthy of an exhibit at last year's Biennale in Vencie, three rooms of evidence and comparative study work which conclusively proved that the cow in Mark Tansey's "The Innocent Eye Test" could not differentiate btw. Paulus Potter's "The Young Bull" of 1647 (exactly 300 years before I was born, incidentally) and one of Monet's grain stack paintings of the 1890s. The traditional art press deemed this extrapolation "bullshit" and removed itself to study the more formal ideas contained in Damien Hirst's "Sheep In a Box." Art's a farmyard. It's my job to pick thru the manure heap looking for peppercorns.
Friday - 12.31.99 - 10:15a¶
As in any crime, my first position is to peruse the motive-gag. The recent spate, thru '98-'99, of concept-muggings pretty much had me pulling breath for an art-murder. It was a crime whose time was now. The precedents were all there. It had probably its beginnings in the '70s w/ the Viennese castrationists and the blood-rituals of Nitsch. Public revultion put the lid on that episode, but you can't keep a good ghoul down.
Spurred on by Chris Burden's having himself shot by his collaborator in a gallery, tied up in a bag, thrown on a highway and then crucified upon the top of a Volkswage, stories circulated thru the nasty-neon of NY night that a young Korean artist was the self-declared patient of wee-hours surgery in cut and run operations at not-so-secret locations in the city. If you found out about it, you could go and watch this guy having bits and pieces removed under anaesthetic.
A finger-joint one night, a limb another. By the dawning of the '80s, rumour had it that he was down to a torso and one arm. He'd asked to be left in a cave in the Catskills, fed every so often by his acolytes. He didn't do much after that, I guess he read a lot. Maybe wrote a whole bunch. I suppose you can never tell what an artist will do once he's peaked.
Quicksand "I’m sure you know a writer,
Thomas de Quincy. For those of us who grew up in the ’60s, his
Confessions of an Opium Eater was a kind of bible. At that time, in 1820, he wrote a small piece for Blackwoods, a London magazine, called Murder Considered as a Fine Art which laid down exactly that theory. Sort of that classic idea of taking a life as something sort of ritualized. Lots of things came into it. It wasn’t a simple, direct journey. Even the surrealists, like
Andre Breton, who said in the ’20s, probably one of the greatest acts of art would be to go out into a crowd and shoot a revolver into it."
Round this same time, Bowie the singer remarked on a coupla goons who frequented the Berlin bars wearing full surgery regalia: caps, aprons, rubber gloves and masks. The cutting edge.
Then came Damien Hirst w/ the Shark-Cow-Sheep thing. No humans, palatable ritual for the worldwide public. The acceptable face of gore. Meanwhile in the US, 1994, I was in town on the night of the Athey scarifications.
Thursday - 10.27.94 - 122 E. Village, Manhattan¶
Ron Athey, performance artist not for the squeamish - former heroin addict-HIV positibve, pushes what looks like a knitting needle repeatedly into his forehead, a crown of blood, must hurt like hell. Stream red dribble-dribble. No screams. Face moves in pain. Carried upstage and scrubbed down in his own blood. Then water. Now dresses in nice suit and tie.
Blackout -|- Mark Rothko -|- Damien Hirst's Sheep in the Box 1994 -|- Mark Tansay's The Innocent Eye Test -|- Ron Athey -|- Chris Burden shooting at an airplane -|- Hermann Nitsch
Now in the black T-shirt and jeans, carving, w/ a disposable salpel, patterns, into the back of Daryl Carlton, a black man. Bloody blotted paper towels then hung on a washing line suspended over the heads of the audience. Blood-prints from life. An extremely limited edition. When it was first performed back in March, "Four Scenes in a Harsh Life" exploded controversy shrapnel through-out the National Endowment for the Arts. "We have taken every precaution w/ our disposal systems," An Athey spokes-person said.
"The towels containing the blood are immediately deposited in hazardous-waste bags. Each evening, the material will be driven to a hospital for final disposal." Athey says he is dealing w/ issues of self-loathing, suffering, healing and redemption.
Friday - 12.31.99 - 10:30a - Museum of Modern Parts Please Mr Gravedigger "I'll tell you something which happened subsequently to recording the album which was disturbing in itself. There's a Dutch artist, Rob Scholte, who's pretty well-known in Europe. One day, in December 1994, he came down from his apartment and got in his car w/ his wife and he heard a ticking sound. Needless to say, his car seat blew up and he was left without legs. Within a week following that, one of his contemporaries had been down to the attempted assassination spot and filmed the wreckage, the crash area, and was using it as a performance piece in a gallery in Amsterdam. That's not a hair's breadth away from what was satirical. And of course now Rob Scholte is doing performance shows where he makes great play over the fact that he no longer has a pair of legs. They still haven't found out who blew him up, but there are all kind of theories ranging from a drug connection to a jealous artist."¶
I'm drinking up the Oxford Town. New Jersey fume. Salty and acid. Maybe I can get a handle on this thing back in Soho at the bureau. It used to be Rothko's studio, now the playground for all us Art-Crime folk, AC's or "the daubers" as we're dubbed. Rothko himself, in a deep-dark-drunk one night, carefully removed his clothes, folded them up neatly, placing them upon a chair, lay upon the floor in a crucified position and after several attempts, found the soft blue pump of his wrists and checked out He'd held the razor blades btw. wads of tissue paper so that he wouldn't cut his fingers. Deep thinker. Always was.
11:00am - "Dauber' HQ, Soho¶
The only names the Data bank can associate w/ Baby Grace are
Leon Blank, Ramona A. Stone and Algeria Touchshriek. The rundowns are brief but not to the point:
[- RAMONA A. STONE: Female. Caucasian. Mid-40s. Assertive maintenance interest-drug dealer and Tyrannical Futurist. No convictions. Contacts: Leon Blank, Baby Grace Blue, Algeria Touchshriek. -]
[- LEON BLANK: Male. Mixed race. 22 years. Outsider. Three convictions for petty theft, appropriation w/ plagiarism w/out license. Contacts: Baby Grace Blue, Algeria Touchshriek. -]
[- ALGERIA TOUCHSHRIEK : Male. Caucasian. 78 years. Owner of small establishment on Rail Yard. Oxford Town, NJ. Deals in art-drugs and DNA prints. Fence for all apparitions of any medium. Harmless, lonely. -]
Small cog, no wheels. Not much to go on but R.A. Stone weighs heavy on my memory. No problem, it'll come back. Best thing to do now is feed all relevant pieces into the Mack-Verbasiser, the Metarandom programme that re-strings real life facts as im-probable virtual-fact. I may get a lead or two from that.
Jesus Who. I hate typing. Anyhow, we've got some real interesting solvents from Mack-random. How about this! Verbasiser down-load, first block:
No convictions of assertive saints believed Caucasian way-out tyrannical evoked no images described
Christian saints questions no female cristian machine believed no work is caucasian assertive saints believed female described christian tyrannical questions
R.A.Stone convictions martyrs and tyrannicals are evoked Female described sado-masochist questions
I am suicide described the fabric machine
Slashing way out saints and martyrs and thrown downstairs.
Now the swirl begins. Now the image stack backs up and takes center stage. Ramona A. Stone, I remember this thickness, this treacly liquid thought. But wait, I'm ahead of myself.
6.15.77 - Kreutzburg, Berlin¶
It's two in the morning. I can't sleep for the screaming of some poor ostracised Turkish immigrant screaming his guts out from over the street. His hawking shriek sounds semi-stifled like he's got a pillow over his mouth. But the desperation comes through the spongy rubber like a knife. It cuts the breeze and bangs my eardrums. I take a walk past the fabric machine, turn left onto a street w/ no name. The caucasian suicide center, naked and grimy, silhouetted by fungus yellow street lamps female slashing way-out saints for a dollar a time thrown downstairs if you can't take any more. Pure joy of retreat into death, led by the shepherdess. Anti mixed-race posters pasted upon their altar of pop-death icons party people.
Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed "The other things that went into [Outside], Brian and I are both fans of a form of art known as outsider art. I, for the last 15 years, have lived next to the holy shrine of outsider art, an art museum in Switzerland called Le Brut, set up by Dubuffet [Collection de l'Art Brut in Lausanne]. He set it up because he felt he was terribly influenced by the kinds of art that were made by people who lived an unstructured life – in institutions, or hermits, or were ostracized by society for one reason or another. He collected the art that they made and toward the late years of his life opened this museum and put their work in it. That actually was a source of inspiration when we went in for our last three albums in the late 70s. ... The idea of working without knowledge or judgement, either self-judgement or of how the outside world perceives what you're doing."¶
A zero w/ no name looks dull-eyed to Ms. Stone, the drone that says "in the future, everything was up to itself." Yea.
I remember Ramona. She set herself up as the no-future priestess of the Caucasian Suicide Temple, vomiting out her doctrine of death-as-eternal-party into the empty vessels of Berlin youth. The top floor rooms were the gateways to giving up to the holy ghost. She must have overseen more than 30 or 40 check-outs before the local squad twigged what was going down.
New Yorker magazine, advance copy celebrating fashion. It's a first of its kind since Tina Brown took over as editor. One look is all it took. It took the look and wrote a new book on what sophi-staplites would take and bake. Guy Bourdin featured heavily in this new eDISHion.
Since the advent of AIDS and the new morality, and, of course his death, his dark sexy fatal style had fallen out of Vogue.
An uncompromising photographer, he had found a twisty avenue through desire and death. A white female leg sticking gloomily out of a bath of black liquid enamel. Two glued up babes covered in tiny pearls. The glue prevented their skins from breathing and they pass out. "Oh it would be beautiful," he is to have said, "to photograph them dead in bed."
Cygnet Committee "The one continuum that is throughout my writing is a real simple, spiritual search."¶
He was a French Guy. He had known Man Ray. Loved Lewis Carroll. His first gig was doing hats for Vogue. He'd place dead flies or bees on the faces of the models, or, female head wears hat crushed between three skinned calves heads, tongues lolling.
What was this? Fine Arts? The surrealists might even think his work passé.
Well, it was the '50s, that's what it was. The tight-collar '50s seen through unspeakable hostility. He wanted but he couldn't paint. So he threw globs of revengeful hatred at his nubile subjects. He would systematically pull the phone cord out of the wall. He was never to be distrubed. Distrubed. Never. Everything and everyone died round him.
One shoot focusing upon a woman lying in bed was said to be a reconstruction of his estranged wife's death. Another picture has woman in a phone booth making some frantic call. Her hand is pressed whitely against the glass. Behind her and outside are two female bodies partially covered by the autumn leaves. His dream, so he told friends, was to do shoots in the morgue, w/ the stiffs as mannequins. I don't know. I just read this stuff. Now his spirit was being resurrected. We're mystified by blood. It's our enemy now. We don't understand it. Can't live w/ it. Can't, well ... y'know?
Friday - 12.31.99 - 11:30a Joe the Lion Detective Adler sums up his latest assignment: "Art's a farmyard. It's my job to pick thru the manure heap looking for peppercorns."¶
After surgery and investment in a bullet-proof mask, Ramona turned up in London, Canada as owner of a string of body-parts jewellery stores. Lamb penis necklaces, goat-scrotum purses, nipple earrings, that sort of thing. The word on the street, however, suggested that it was not in the best of interests to become one of her clients as occassionally, a customer would step into her shop and not come out again.
The whistle blew after a much-loved and highly respected celebrity, known for being known, failed to show for a gallery-hanging of her mirrors. Other celebrities, equally known for being known, some only to each other, thought it the most profound exhibit in years and couldn't take their eyes off the works. All the pieces sold within an hour, many for record prices.
When the critic for Tate magazine asked for an interview / the celebrity-artist, the gallery owner recalled that he hadn't seen her since earlier that day. She'd mentioned that she would be going shopping for a diamond-encrusted unbilical cord as a celebratory thing to announce her pregnancy. She would be back in an hour. Just a quick stop at the "Gallstone."
1986. That pregnancy would have been produced a being that would be around 14 years of age. If it was still alive.
To be continued...
Read The Annotated Diary of Nathan Adler Diamond Dogs "I've always felt like a vehicle for something else but then I've never really sorted out what that was" (1973). -|-
Bowie explaining the cut-up technique he employed for Diamond Dogs.
The concept album 1.Outside aka Outside is based, in part, on a diary that Bowie kept over the course of a 2-week spell and, found wanting for publication, instead turned it into a short story about taboo. Revisiting the cut-up method, pioneered by the Dadaists of the 1920s and later deployed by
Brion Gysin and William S. Burroughs to disrupt a linear progression, Bowie stitched together another kind of diary: kept during the course of a murder investigation. Bowie claimed that it took about three and a half hours of using the cut-up method to create "virtually the entire genesis" of the album. He had just stepped away from finishing the soundtrack to 1993's Buddha of Suburbia mini-series for BBC Televsion. -|-
Bowie on death, violence and chaos in his 1995 concept album Outside [-12:50-] Sons of the Silent Age Photo shoot for the never realized album Contamination.
Outside was just one of several albums, a set, that Bowie started to work on w/ Brian Eno. The next one was to be Contamination, peopled w/ "17th century" characters. The day after Bowie's death, Eno recalled: "About a year ago [David and I] started talking about Outside – the last album we worked on together. We both liked that album a lot and felt that it had fallen through the cracks. We talked about revisiting it, taking it somewhere new. I was looking forward to that."
More Breaking Glass
"Strong smatterings of Diamond Dogs." 1.Outside was eleased September 25 1995, and features on the cover a 1995 self-portrait.
OUTSIDE ALBUM -|- Producers -
Brian Eno-|- David Richards (co-producer)
-|- Mixing and additional treatments - David Richards, David Bowie
-|- Mastering - David Richards, Kevin Metcalfe
Assistant Engineers: Ben Fenner, Andy Grassi, Jon Goldberger, Domonik Tarqua.
-|- Album Design & Image Manipulation - Denovo
-|- Photography - John Scarisbrick
-|- Stylist - Jennifer Elster
Recorded at Mountain Studios, Switzerland.
Mixed and Additional Treatments by David Ricahrds, Assisted by David Bowie.
Mastered by David Ricahrds and Kevin Metcalfe at The TownHouse Digital Mastering Studios, London.
The Leon Suites Complete 1994 [-1:11:14-] Weeping Wall -|- David Bowie: vocals, saxophone, guitar, keyboards -|- Brian Eno: synthesizers, treatments, strategies -|- Reeves Gabrels: guitar -|- Erdal Kizilcay: bass & keyboards -|- Mike Garson: grand piano -|- Sterling Campbell: drums -|- Carlos Alomar: rhythm guitar -|- Yossi Fine: bass -|- Joey Baron: drums
OUTSIDE MUSICIANS -|-
David Bowie - vocals, saxophone, guitar, keyboards
Brian Eno - synthesizers, treatments, strategies
Reeves Gabrels - guitar
Erdal Kızılçay - bass, keyboards
Mike Garson - grand piano
Sterling Campbell - drums
Carlos Alomar - rhythm guitar
Joey Baron - drums
Yossi Fine - bass
Tom Frish - additional guitar on "Strangers When We Meet"
Kevin Armstrong - additional guitar on "Thru' These Architects Eyes"
Bryony, Lola, Josey and Ruby Edwards - background vocals on "The Hearts Filthy Lesson" and "I Am With Name"
Listen to full album online [-6:22:01-] Mass Production Detail of Outside Tour poster by
Includes among others:
Enemy is Fragile -
I'd Rather Be Chrome -
Dead Men Don't Talk -
Inside the Motel -
Baby Fingers -
I Am W/ Name Hide Me We Creep Together Part 1 -
Hide Me We Creep Together Part 2 -
The First Time -
Hello Leon -
Leon - The Outside Outtakes - 2016 edit [-1:09:45-] Rubber Band For a glimpse backstage, there is a
10-episode diary (±60 mins) of the Outside Tour.
Outside tour, Bowie and his band would come onstage while opening act
Nine Inch Nails was finishing, and both bands performed "Subterraneans", "Hallo Spaceboy" and Scary Monsters", followed by 2 NIN songs ("Reptile" and "Hurt"), after which NIN decamped and Bowie's set proceeded.
David Bowie + Nine Inch Nails - Dissonance Live 1995 (HD) [-45:16-] Fantastic Voyage - The 19-song live set in Mountain View Calif. began w/ Subterraneans and ended w/ Teenage Wildlife.
Lyrics - 
LEON TAKES US OUTSIDE : Leon Blank
Valentines Day - 25 - June - 16th - Wednesday - July 6th - 20 - 0 - 20 - 15 - Martin Luther King Day - June 18th - June 6th - Wednesday - August 18th - 9th - 1999 - 12 - Nicholas - August - Wednesday - 13th - Sunday - 5th - March - October - January - October 13th - Wednesday - Martin Luther King Day - Afternoon - In view of nothing - 20 - 0 - 1 - Late winter - Martin Luther King Day - 12 - 16 - August - Wednesday - 13th - Friday - 7 - June.
Leon Takes Us Outside / Micah P. Hinson - The Dreams You Left Behind [-4:51-] Time Asked what was the heart's filthy lesson Bowie answered "that you die."
Lyrics - 
OUTSIDE : Prologue
Now. Not tomorrow.
Yesterday, not tomorrow.
It happens today, the damage today.
They fall on today - they beat on the outside, and I'll stand by you.
Now. Not tomorrow. It's happening now, not tomorrow. It's happening now. The crazed in the hot-zone. The mental and diva's hands. The fisting of life to the music outside, to the music outside.
It happens outside, the music is outside. It's happening outside, the music is outside.
It's happening now, not tomorrow. Yesterday. Not tomorrow. The music is outside. It's happening outside. The music is outside. Outside.
Reddit - Official Album Discussion #25 - 1.Outside 1995 Red Money - Baby Grace Blue seeps in the "... nasty-neon of NY night."
Lyrics - 
THE HEART'S FILTHY LESSON : Detective Nathan Adler
(Heart's filthy lesson) There's always the Diamond friendly, sitting in the Laugh Motel. The Heart's filthy lesson, with her hundred miles to hell. Oh, Ramona, if there was only something between us, other than our clothes. Something in our skies. Something in our blood. Paddy, Paddy, who's been wearing Miranda's clothes? It's the Heart's filthy lesson - falls upon deaf ears. (Heart's filthy lesson) Falls upon deaf ears. (Heart's filthy lesson) Oh Ramona, if there was only some kind of future. And these cerulean skies: Something in our skies - Something in our blood. Paddy, Paddy? Paddy, oh Paddy, I think I've lost my way. (Heart's filthy lesson) I'm already five years older I'm already in my grave. (Heart's filthy lesson) Will you carry me? Oh Paddy, I think I've lost my way. Paddy, what a fantastic death abyss. (Heart's filthy lesson) It's the Heart's filthy lesson. Tell the others.
The Heart's Filthy Lesson - David Letterman Show 1995 [-5:03-] Watch That Man ... and a humbug bunch of packet-sniffers they are now ...
Lyrics - 
A SMALL PLOT OF LAND : Citizens in Oxford Town
Poor soul. Spit upon that. Poor soul, he never knew what hit him - and it hit him so. Poor dunce. He pushed back the pigmen. The Barbs laughed - the fool is dead. Poor dunce. - He's less than within us. The brains talk but the will to live is dead. And prayer can't travel so far these days. The talk of your life , standing so near - to innocent eyes. Poor dunce. Swings thru the tunnels and claws his way. Is small life so manic? Are these really the days. Poor dunce, poor soul.
A Small Plot of Land - Live Wembley 11-15-1995 [-6:55-] Yassassin ... young Korean artist ...
Lyrics - 
(SEGUE) BABY GRACE (A HORRID CASSETTE) : Baby Grace Blue
Test, testing, testing -
This, hmmm, Grace is my name -
And and I was...um... -
It was that photo... a fading photograph of a patch..., a patchwork quilt. -
And they've put me on these ... -
Ramona put me on these interest drugs -
So I'm thinking very too bit too fast like a brain hatch -
And ah they won't let me see anybody -
If I want to sometimes ... and I ask -
I can still hear some pop...popular musics and aftershocks. (Ahhh-choo)
See I've been watching a television of um... in the homelands -
That's the new homelands and um that's all I can remember -
And now they just want me to be quiet -
And I think something is going to be horrid.
(Segue) Baby Grace (A Horrid Cassette) - By bowiechick [-1:30-] Untitled No. 1 - Nicolas Serota, director of Arts Protectorate of London. The name echoes director of the Tate Sir Nicholas Serota.
Lyrics - 
HALLO SPACEBOY : Paddy
(Hallo) Spaceboy - you're sleepy now - Your silhouette is so stationary - You're released but your custody calls - And I want to be free - Don't you want to be free - Do you like girls or boys - It's confusing these days - But Moondust will cover you - Cover you - This chaos is killing me - So bye bye love - Yeah bye bye love - Bye bye love - Yeah bye bye love - This chaos is killing me - And the chaos is calling me - Yeah bye bye love - Yeah bye bye love - Bye bye love - Good time love - Be sweet sweet dove - Bye bye spaceboy - Bye bye love.
Hallo Spaceboy - Brit Awards '96 w/ Pet Shop Boys [-2:47-] Life on Mars? ... the sky is made of chrome ...
Lyrics - 
THE MOTEL : Leon Blank
For we're living in a safety zone don't be holding back from me. We're living from hour to hour down here and we'll take it when we can. It's a kind of living which recognises the death of the odourless man. When nothing is vanity nothing's too slow. It's not Eden but it's no sham. There is no hell there is no shame. There is no hell like an old hell.
There is no hell and it's lights up, boys. Lights up boys. Explosion falls upon deaf ears while we're swimming in a sea of sham. Living in the shadow of vanity - a complex fashion for a simple man. And there is no hell and there is no shame and there is no hell like an old hell. There is no hell and the silence flies on its brief flight. A razor sharp crap shoot affair and we light up our lives. And there's no more of me exploding you. Re-exposing you. Like everybody do. Re-exploding you. I don't know what to use. Make somebody move. Me exploding. Me exploding you.
The Motel - Live Rotterdam 2003 - A Reality Tour [-6:07-] Cracked Actor Algeria Touchshriek - Male. Caucasian - 78 years - Owner of small establishment on Rail Yard - Oxford Town, NJ - Deals in art-drugs and DNA prints - Fence for all apparitions of any medium - Harmless, lonely. ...
Lyrics - 
I HAVE NOT BEEN TO OXFORD TOWN : Leon Blank
Baby Grace is the victim, she was 14 years of age. And the wheels are turning, turning, for the finger points at me. All's well but I have not been to Oxford Town - all's well no I have not been to Oxford Town. Toll the bell pay the private eye. All's well - 20th century dies. And the prison priests are decent, my attorney seems sincere. I fear my days are numbered - Lord get me out of here. All's well but I have not been to Oxford Town - all's well but I have not been to Oxford Town. This is your shadow on my wall. This is my flesh and blood. This is what I could've been. And the wheels are turning and turning, as the 20th century dies. If I had not ripped the fabric, if time had not stood still, if I had not met Ramona, if I'd only paid my bill. All's well but I have not been to Oxford Town - all's well but I have not been to Oxford Town. This is my bunk with two sheets, this is my food though foul, this is what I could have been.
I Have Not Been To Oxford Town -
Audience-recording - NEC Birmingham 12-13-1995 [-4:23-] Dum Dum Boys ... Leon Blank : Male - Mixed race - 22 years - Outsider - Three convictions for petty theft, appropriation with plagiarism without license. ...
Lyrics - 
NO CONTROL : Detective Nathan Adler
Stay away from the future, back away from the light, it's all deranged - no control. Sit tight in your corner, don't tell God your plans, it's all deranged - no control. If I could control tomorrow's haze, the darkened shore wouldn't bother me. If I can't control the web we weave, my life will be lost in the fallen leaves. Every single move's uncertain, don't tell God your plans, it's all deranged - no control. I should live my life on bended knee if I can't control my destiny. You've gotta have a scheme, you've gotta have a plan, in the world of today, for tomorrow's man. No control. Stay away from the future, don't tell God your plans, it's all deranged - no control. Forbidden words, deafen me in memory - no control. See how far a sinful man burns his tracks, his bloody robes.
No Control 1995 [-4:12-] Criminal World Detective Professor Adler, small-fry at Art-Crime Inc.
Lyrics - 
(SEGUE) ALGERIA TOUCHSHRIEK : Algeria Touchshriek
My name is Mr. Touchshriek, of Touchshriek, with mail over and fantasy. My shop sells egg shells off the shesores and empty females. I'm thinking of leasing the room above my shop to a Mr. Walloff Domburg - a reject from the world wide Internet. He's a broken man; I'm also a broken man. It would be nice to have company. We could have great conversations. Looking through windows for demons, and watching the young advance in - all electric. Some of the houses around here still have inhabitants in them. I'm not sure if they're from this country or not. I don't get to speak much to anyone or that sort of thing. If I had another broken name - oh, I dream of something like that.
(Segue) Algeria Touchshriek - Matt Chamberlain as Algeria Touchshriek 1-18-2016 [-3:56-] Panic In Detroit "It's quite amazing what is happening as we approach the end of this particular passage of time."
Lyrics - 
THE VOYEUR OF UTTER DESTRUCTION (AS BEAUTY) : Artist / Minotaur
I shake - at the mother's brutal vermin.
I shake - and stare at the watery moon.
With the same desire, as the sober Philistine.
And I shake
(turn and turn again)
worm, the pain and blade -
turn and turn again.
The screw is a tightening atrocity - I shake. For the reeking flesh os as romantic as hell. The need to have seen it all: the voyeur of utter destruction - as beauty.
I shake - turn and turn again - I shake - turn and turn again - I shake.
Research has pierced all extremes of my sex. Call it a day - call it a day.
Needle point life blinds the will to be next - call it a day. Today.
The Voyeur of Utter Destruction (as Beauty) - Live Loreley 1996 HQ [-50:40-] Queen Bitch ... Ramona A. Stone : Female - Caucasian - Mid-40s - Assertive maintenance interest-drug dealer and Tyrannical Futurist - No convictions. ...
Lyrics - 
(SEGUE) RAMONA A. STONE / I AM WITH NAME : Ramona A. Stone + her Acolytes
I was Ramona A. Stone. I started with no enemies of my own. I was an artiste in a tunnel. But I've been having a mid-life crisis, and I've been dreaming in a sleep. And ape men with metal parts, I've spat upon deeply felt age. I've hid my hearts in, and I hate the funny colored english. We'll creep together you and I, for I know who the small friends are. I am with name, I am with name, I am Ramona A Stone. A night fear female. Good timing drone. I am with name, I am with name, I am Ramona A Stone. (She should say: twitch & stream - it'll end in chrome - night of the female - good time drone.) A person who loses a name, feels anxiety descending. Left at the crossroads, between the centuries - a millenium fetish. (Give it to me one more time!) Anxiety descending.
Ramona A. Stone - Fluxus open [-4:07-] The Width of a Circle "The narrative and the stories are not the content — the content is the spaces in between the linear bits. The queasy, strange, textures."
Lyrics - 
WISHFUL BEGINNINGS : Artist / Minotaur
Cruising around me - the flames burn my body.
Wishful beginnings - does this remind them again and again?
You're a sorry little girl. You're a sorry little girl. Please hide - for the pain must feel like snow. You're a sorry little girl. Sorry, little girl. Please hide from the kiss and the bite - shame burns. Breathing in, breathing out. Breathing in only doubt - the pain must feel like snow. I'm no longer your golden boy. Sorry little girl, I'm sorry little girl. The pain must feel like snow, there you go. Cover me, cover me. We flew on the wings. We were deep in the dead air, and this one will never go down. We had such wishful beginnings, but we lived unbearable lives. I'm sorry little girl. Sorry, little girl. So so sorry little girl. The pain must feel like snow. There you go, there you go.
Wishful Beginnings (a Bowie a day) 2016 [-6:33-] Across the Universe ... a mumble slouch unreal ...
Lyrics - 
WE PRICK YOU : Members of the Court of Justice
White boys falling on the fires of night
(I wish you'd tell). Flesh punks burning in their glue. Revolution comes in the strangest way (I wish you'd tell). I'd rather be inside you. Tell the truth - we prick you. (You show respect even if you disagree -
you show respect.) Mama can I kiss you daddy can I ***you (We wish you well). Innocence passed me by. Wanna be screwing when the nightmare comes (I wish you well). Wanna come quick and die. All the little rose-kissed foxy girls - shoes, shoes, little white shoes; where have all the flowers gone? All the little fragile champion boys - toys, toys, little black toys; dripping on the end of a gun (Even if you disagree).
We Prick You - Unreleased version 1995 [-4:14-] Lightning Frightening ... it's not Eden but it's no sham ...
Lyrics - 
(SEGUE) NATHAN ADLER : Detective Nathan Adler
Old Touchschriek was the main nameserver. Suspected of being a shoulder surfer, but he didn't know from shit about challenge response systems. Now Ramona A Stone we know was selling interest drugs. She got males all hung up on her mind filters. She was if you don't mind me saying so an update demon. Now Leon, he couldn't wait for 12 o'clock midnight. He jumps up on the stage with a criss criss machete and slashes around cutting a zero on everything. I mean a zero - in the fabric of time itself. Was this a suspect? I says to myself - Woa! "Quelle courage!" - Oh wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me take you back to when it all began–
David Bowie as Nathan Adler [-1:13-] Fame -|- Lloyd's Building, London, 1978-86 - Richard Rogers Architects -|- Chapel of St Basil - University of St Thomas - Houston 2007 - Phillip Johnson
Lyrics - 
I'M DERANGED : Artist / Minotaur
Funny how secrets travel, I'd start to believe - if I were to bleed. Thin skies, the man chains his hands held high. Cruise me blond cruise me babe. A blond belief beyond beyond beyond. No return no return. I'm deranged. Deranged, my love. I'm deranged down down down. So cruise me babe cruise me baby. And the rain sets in, it's the angel-man - I'm deranged. Cruise me cruise me cruise me babe. The clutch of life and the fist of love - oer your head - big deal Salaam. Be real deranged Salaam, before we reel. I'm deranged.
I'm Deranged - Outside mix version [-5:18-] Sense of Doubt ... a dark spirited pluralist ...
Lyrics - 
THRU THESE ARTHITECTS EYES : Leon Blank
Stomping along on this big Phillip Johnson, is delay just wasting my time? Looking across at Richard Rogers, scheming dreams to blow both their minds.
It's difficult you see, to give up baby, to leave a job, when you know you know the money's from day to day.
All the majesty of a city landscape. All the soaring days in our lives. All the concrete dreams in my mind's eye. All the joy I see thru these architects eyes.
Cold winter bleeds on the girders of Babel. This stone boy watching the crawling land. Rings of flesh and the towers of iron. The steaming caves and the rocks and the sand.
Stomping along on this big Phillip Johnson, is delay just wasting my time?
It's difficult you see to give up baby, these summer scumholes, this goddamned starving life.
Thru These Architects Eyes - By Anna Dennis [-4:11-] Station to Station "It's like a painter repeating significant motifs in his own work, creating a personal vocabulary. I now have my own currency, 24 albums' worth."
Lyrics - 
STRANGERS WHEN WE MEET : Leon Blank
All our friends now seem so thin and frail.
Slinky secrets - hotter than the sun. No peachy prayers, no trendy rechauffé. I'm with you, so I can't go on. All my violence raining tears upon the sheet. I'm bewildered for we're strangers when we meet. Blank screen TV, preening ourselves in the snow. Forget my name, but I'm over you. Blended sunrise, and it's a dying world. Humming Rheingold, we scavenge up our clothes. All my violence raining tears upon the sheet. I'm resentful ror we're strangers when we meet. Cold tired fingers, tapping out your memories. Halfway sadness, dazzled by the new. Your embrace was all that I feared. That whirling room, we trade by vendu. Steely resolve is falling from me. My poor soul, all bruised passivity. All your regrets ride rough-shod over me. I'm so glad that we're strangers when we meet. I'm so thankful that we're strangers when we meet. I'm in clover for we're strangers when we meet. Heel head over, but we're strangers when we meet.
Strangers When We Meet - Top of the Pops 1995 [-4:03-] Andy Warhol - After finishing Outside, Bowie jumped in to play Warhol in 1995's
Basquiat. Future Legend Four years after Outside Bowie became a game character named Boz in the video game Omikron: The Nomad Soul.
Based on reports from, among others,
George A. Paul,
and Internet searches.
bowiesongs, The National, Jason Lundberg, One Half of the Bowlettes, lo-fi noise makers, wn, john b, Mauro B. C., sonyakossta, Timetakesafag, SenseOfDoubt1, bowiechick, Beco2103, theMusicofmyLife1, BOWIElover, Jorge Gago Lopez, Matt Chamberlain, joymarr, KyOdar, BlueM2012, Halloweenjack84, Anna Dennis, david bowie tin machine.
Be My Wife Iman and Bowie - By Bruce Weber - Vogue April 1995
David Robert Jones aka David Bowie died from liver cancer two days after his 69th birthday, on January 9 2016. His ashes were scattered on the island of Bali, in a Buddhist ceremony. He left behind his wife Iman Muhammid Abdulmadjid, teenage daughter Alexandria, adult son Duncan Jones, Duncan's ex-nanny Marion Skene, and long-time personal assistant, Corinne Coco Schwab.
THE GOLDEN AGE
Lois Lane is already there
when Clark Kent arrives on his first day at the Daily Planet, she’s working on a lonely hearts advice column. Clark, a seasoned reporter, gets called in to the editor‘s office and is assigned a new beat.
In a supreme act of irony, he’s to cover someone who has been seen in Metropolis, looking to be a champion of the oppressed.
Proximity to the vibrations of an unknown being notwithstanding, Lois soon slips into a vaudevillian vortex. Somehow a dastard is sure to create mayhem, usually a damsel-in-distress episode plays out, maybe an acrobatic act follows displays of unnatural skills, w/ a secret identity plot tying things up into a bow.
Page after page, the reader gets to know more about a super-being living in Metropolis, while he himself is getting to know more about Lois, pulling her into the maw of mayhem by his dada duels w/ super foes. Lois can’t see Clark for the super-simulacrum that he’s hiding behind, is drawn to Superman instead. Clark smiles and winks often at the reader, seemingly at ease w/ the imponderability of it all.
Lois and Clark start dating right away, in the first comic book they go out on the town in evening dress.
The next week she flies off on assignment to a foreign land and, due to misadventure, ends up blindfolded and standing in front of a firing squad. Back home again, Lois resorts to dropping a sleeping pill into Clark’s cocktail so as to chase a lead and beat him to a scoop. This brazen stunt backfires when she lands in trouble and, for the first time, falls out of a window.
But first, she hones in on Clark’s beat by looking up the Man of Mystery herself, trying to score an exclusive. Going to a traveling circus where he was performing for charity, an unexpected twist ensures she will not get her scoop. Their editor, Perry White, will sometimes send them out together, especially when murder has occurred. They’ve covered politics too, and, for the sake of filing a report, once took a cruise together. On these occasions, Lois often ends up solo because Clark can and will disappear at the first sign of trouble. One time this happened, she was tied down next to a table saw w/ the on switch deployed, too annoyed though not surprised w/ Clark to bother about her predicament.
Chastened to live another day, Lois expands her comfort zone, finding it in herself to bring comfort to a thawed caveman, out of time and gravely disoriented. She was one w/ her natural self another time when she ran around w/ a great ape. Through all this, Lois kept up her advice column, where once a grateful writer bequeathed a gold mine to here and which, sadly, she lost. She then plunged herself into a murky tale about a fifth columnist movement in Metropolis, wading into espionage, disinformation, and sabotage. Staff photographer Jimmy Olsen could, if prodded, fill in more details: Resorting to disguise in order to bring down a den of thieves, or committing crimes while hypnotized, or getting involved w/ murder when her fingerprints were found on the revolver, or being tied up w/ a bomb nearby (several times).
Around this time she meets Lex Luthor. Picking through the day’s press releases, Lois sees a tony and toothy one: Someone has called a gathering of the millionaires of Metropolis. Intrigued, Lois finds a way into the mansion and hides behind draperies. Eight men enter, followed by their host; Lois pulls out her notepad. Altogether, these men control railroads and airlines, real estate and financial firms. They’re involved in prohibition-era rackets, one has a publishing firm hawking inspirational books. Another runs a secret fascist cell, while the last to speak turns out to be a common man who had impersonated in order to give a rant on the wickedness of wealth; what happens to him is not shown on the next panel. All this Lois takes down, filling one comic page w/ nine speech balloons each of considerable length. Suddenly, Luthor appears w/ a weapon and knocks everyone, including Lois, out.
By 1943, budding popularity for her character propels Lois onto the cover w/ Superman, gasping as he goes head-to-head with crime’s comedy king, the Prankster.
Lois is on the splash page too, because she has inadvertently stepped too close to a giant jack-in-the-box … a year later she lands her first series, LOIS LANE GIRL REPORTER, focusing on her exploits w/out Superman or Clark; it ran for thirteen issues.
EPILOGUE Looking back at the Golden Age (which took place on Earth-Two), it has come to light that the biography of Lois Lane, beginning from about 1948 on, has properly belonged to the Silver Age, and its revamped version of Lois. All along, readers had grown up w/ a Golden Age Lois, there was a Golden Age Clark; and Superman, too. It turns out there has been – and always has been – some other Lois, who lived on Earth-One, w/ another Clark and a different Superman.
In 1956, fan loyalty was rewarded when DC Comics put out the first issue of SUPERMAN’S GIRLFRIEND LOIS LANE. Once again, a new Lois Lane sprang forth, helping to usher in the Silver Age. She again came fully formed – and having a lived-in backstory. The first two tales, about a witch and a wig, look forward towards the experimental 1960s, when beauty was redefined, and backwards, w/ a ginned-up glance at the battle of the sexes, when it was still in black-&-white.
What is left of the original Lois are some stories about the Man of Steel in which she features prominently, where she proves herself an intellectual equal of a super-man. These historic events embark embryonically from the heartland of America during the onset of World War II. They then roam globally, and extra-globally, disembarking at an untested outpost – the Cold War.
Lois of Earth-Two became marooned until the DC universe took on a reimagination. By 1978, her story was once again rethreaded into the continuity. She had married Clark in the late 1950s, discovered he was Superman, went on to new adventures, even after their son was born, passing the mortal coil in 2005, in events occurring during the Infinite Crisis.
Working nine to five as a reporter for a city daily must not leave time to do much else. As a single female working and living alone in Metropolis, how do you find balance in your life?
Lois Lane, Clark Kent and Superman are the creations of writer Jerry Siegel and artist Joe Shuster, two Cleveland teenagers nurturing keen tastes and quick psyches, who combined complementary skills to make manifest their dream of another world. “A good reporter should be able to unravel clues and invent gimmicks!”
- Lois Lane
They invented a city of skyscrapers where an otherworldly creature lives and makes its living as a newspaperman, while wooing a wonderful woman, and using as his secret identity a coward’s persona. Overnight their comics become a bestseller, starring the Man of Tomorrow opposite Lois Lane.
THE SILVER AGE
The winds of change began blowing in the mid-1950s, when DC Comics rehabilitated a dormant character from the past and introduced a new Flash, having a new backstory and wearing a different costume.
Gradually, this new DC Universe folded outwards and divided into two.
In 1956, a seminal tale had taken place on Earth-One.
While Barry Allen was working late one stormy night, an accident sends a bolt of lightning crashing into the room, striking chemical vials filled w/ various liquids; Barry is knocked unconscious and falls to the floor. Lying in a suspicious-looking soup of laboratory liquids overnight, he undergoes a sea change. What had lain on the lab floor that October night was a police-lab scientist, what arose and got on its feet the next morning turned out to be an agile Adam – and harbinger of a new era. This refashioned Flash draws a chalk line at the starting point, resets the timer to zero, jumps into his costume and takes off. Soon enough he learns of the existence of Earth-Two, and visits w/ the original Flash, semi-retired but still contending w/ super-villains.
Overnight, the aggregate number of super-beings doubled, then grew, as readers couldn‘t get enough.
The Lois of Earth-One lived a complicated existence, being routinely subjected to Imginary Tales of what-ifs that bedevil readers w/ known facts from familiar fantasy. This Lois had her own title, which ran for 137 issues, ending just in time to usher in the Bronze Age, and are known chiefly as having imparted a level of light-heartedness to her life.
In between, Lois left her classic looks behind and is shown on a 1968 cover tearing down part of her own masthead containing the words "GIRL FRIEND", and throwing it to the ground. This was just one step less shocking than her get-up: knee-high go-go boots and a rocking Aquanet hairdo, declaring that she was through w/ the Man of Might.
This fit of feminist zeal subsided, though, and the designation reappeared on the next cover. Lois Lane, born on Earth, had up until then led an unearthly existence, all because she chose to be near the one she loves, and do battle w/ battalions of babes intent on becoming the one to make children w/ the alien Adonis.
As our story begins, Lois is about thirty years old, w/ Clark two years older than that.
Champion of the oppressed
[-1938-] Lois Lane sprang into life fully formed, alongside the genesis story of Superman. On his first day at the Daily Planet,
Clark Kent knows that he is smitten w/ her, and actively pursues Lois.
When Clark is assigned to cover a mystery man showing remarkable potential, Lois is intrigued and goes on a first date to find out more.
Twirling about the dance floor, he asks pointedly,
“Why is it you always avoid me at the office?” “Please Clark! I’ve been scribbling sob stories all day long. Don’t ask me to dish out another.” All the while she’s acting bored and staring off into space, when her eyes happen to lock onto Butch, who’s been staring at her for quite some time.
Seeing his move Butch cuts in, then things turn ugly, and Lois gets an inkling that Clark may not be a man’s man.
When Butch facepalms her date she storms out and calls Clark, for the very first time, “… a spineless, unbearable coward!”, and is later rescued by you-know-who. Catching up w/ the car that has just abducted her, Superman upturns the vehicle and catches Lois, for the very first time, as she spills out of the backseat window. What he does next w/ the car is famously depicted on the iconic first front cover.
Turning his attention back to Lois, she backs away in mild terror until he says, “You needn’t be afraid of me. I won’t harm you.”
Transfixed, she lets the strapping stranger scoop her up into his arms and, leaping high, carries her away.
This winning formula provided years of creative chaos as the three characters circled each other round and round.
Thus ends the first tale of Lois Lane’s life, and the beginning of her startling adventures to document the existence of this mental marvel and physical wonder, devoted to daring deeds that will reshape the destiny of a world.
The Daily Planet
Every year on the anniversary of her first day, Perry White has thrown an office party to celebrate. Then one time he became sentimental, and opened up.“... When Lois first asked me for a job, I told her I would hire her if she brought me three scoops in three days! She did it ... w/out Superman’s help!”
Picking up the cue, Lois blows out the candles, gives the first slice to Perry, and takes over. On the first day Perry handed her a couple of leads, and she chose the easiest one: securing evidence on a team of safe-crackers. She went dressed as a cleaning lady and boldly entered their lair. She then kicked over the waste paper basket, plugged in her vacuum cleaner, and turned it on. This brazen act turned up pure gold when a torn-up note was recovered and when taped back together, implications were deduced, and arrest warrants then issued. Los had her first scoop. By now slices had been made, and plates started to go around.
Her next assignment was to secure the first-ever photograph of a reclusive royal, prone to strongarm tactics in order to secure his privacy. And she comes back w/ the photo.
Then Clark and Jimmy Olsen ask for another slice, both at the same time. Lois takes this opportunity to sit down, staring into the cavern created in the cake. Her car had unexpectedly broken down on the third day, and she ended up walking miles out to nowhere in order to interview an archaeologist, claiming a new discovery.
She gets her story, and it’s a doozy but, w/ no easy access back, Lois devises the most ingenious methods yet known to newswriters worldwide, enabling her post to reach Perry. It is front page news, and Lois lands her dream job.
• AN UNTOLD STORY + DEMAND CLASSIC
Man or Superman
[-1942-] One time Lois and Clark teamed up to track down the Talon, titular head to a gang of thieves.She later returned to her desk, thinking she was going to write up a scoop, only to learn that Clark got there first.
Exasperated, she then asked and he then gave a reason so lame that it was enough to make her wonder if Clark might be Superman. There have been many versions of this story.
In one telling, they were working at their desks when a commotion on the street below draws their attention: a necklace robbery was in progress. She suddenly got a feeling she knew what Clark would do next, which was to give a flimsy excuse and disappear, then a minute will pass and Superman should (and will) come flying past the window. This quizzical look does not go unnoticed w/ eagle-eyed Clark as he stages a retreat. Changing into his costume he thinks back to the very first time Lois ever did all of her wondering.
It happened one morning when he had flown over to the office, and she had caught a quick glimpse. Lois was rounding a corner and became aware of his landing on the roof of her building. “… and now he’s dropped out of sight! Good gracious! Maybe he works on the Planet staff, under a secret identity!”
[-1944-] Lois once went above and beyond her duties as the advice columnist. She had shown up at the eighth floor landing window of the Belvue Apartments, where a despondent man was threatening to jump.
Lois climbs out, telling him she too wants to jump, “Er-(gulp!) Do you think you’re the only person in the world w/ a broken heart?” Promptly looses her footing, goes over the edge. She manages to catch the corner of a election banner hanging below and before it tears off she has swung into position to plummet through a number of window awnings which cushion her fall until a fireman’s net catches her.
This vivid demonstration of falling in love cures the man’s sick heart, so he climbs back in and goes to where Lois is being treated. “You’re wonderful, Miss Lane! The next time I commit suicide, it’s going to be over you!”
School for scoops
[-1961-] Through pluck and perserverance Lois becomes the number one female reporter in the United States! The University of Metropolis then asks her to give a lecture course. Hearing this news, racketeer Nick Roker sends two gunmen to the campus. Because.
Lois proves a precocious professor, and w/ the help of Jimmy Olsen stages reanactments of actual cases.
Jimmy walks the class through the first scenario:
Drugged by a gang she’s been after, Lois gains consciousness to find that she is bound, gagged, inside a tiny basement. Someone behind is about to put a blindfold on her. At this critical moment, Lois locates the basement’s electric meter and memorizes its serial number.
This bit of information helps break the case and gets her a scoop. Before dismissing the class, she hands out writing assignments.
The students return the next day and are greeted by a gruesome set piece: Having crossed the line w/ racketeer “Duke” Benson, he entices her over to his office and there ties her up in a chair, placing a bomb under the chair before his exit. Ignoring the lit fuse, she leans forward and nudges the phone off its cradle, picks up a pencil w/ her mouth, and dials 9-1-1. By the time she grades this second assignment Lois has deduced that two are not written by journalism students.
Thinking to instruct her class by treating this as a case study, she outs them only to realize too late they were sent by Roker. Lois’s quick thinking disarms them long enough for Jimmy, using his signal-watch, to summon Superman, who makes a brief cameo at the very end.
[-1965-] One time, Lois took Jimmy Olsen and Superman to her college reunion. There she grew nostalgic and, picking up a school scrapbook, leafed through and found a clipping of her first scoop for the Raleigh Review.
It was an impossible first assignment: to join an all-male only fencing team and write about the experience. The fencing captain, who was a good sport and willing to go along, gives Lois a week to practise before they were to meet in a bout. Through diligence and sheer love-of-writing, she outfences the captain, landing Lois her very first scoop. Then she puts down her punch and begins leafing through a second scrapbook, locating a clipping of her first-hand account of discovering a new comet – by fluke, during a night at the Smallville Observatory, where she was using the telescope to write a paper for astronomy class.
The last page of the scrapebook held a tattered clipping of her strangest scoop. Taking a solo field trip for biology class, Lois had stumbled across – and captured on film – a live pterandon and a living sabre-tooth. Her biology teacher is wowed. “Those prehistoric creatures vanished without a trace, Lois! But thanks to the movies you took, we know exactly how they looked and acted!”
• AN UNTOLD TALE
[-1948-] While attending high school, Clark was once sent a letter from the Daily Planet:
clark kent, 713 main street. congratulations!
you are one of the two winners of our annual contest to honor the best school newspaper reporters. your prize is a free-trip to metropolis, where you will be allowed to work as cub reporter for one week.
Overjoyed and full of bonhomie, Clark shows up and is introduced to Lois Lane, the other winner; he takes an instant shine to her.
The editor tries to break his spell by assigning a competition to see who can bring in the best story of the day, whereby the winner will get a front page byline! Lois suggests a side bet to Clark,
“The loser treats the winner to an ice cream sundae?” “I never bet … but I’ll make an exception in your case!” After handshakes all around, Lois ventures out and, based on a hunch, stumbles into criminal activity, resulting in being tied up and about to meet her end – Superboy arrives and saves the day. After he has dispatched her attackers, he glides over and unties Lois. On an impulse she jumps into his arms and asks to be carried away from the scene, a request the Boy of Tomorrow was fated to grant.
She wins the competition (Clark has been too busy) and, after work, he takes her to a soda fountain and pays his bet.
They spend the week chasing stories, then it’s time to wave goodbye to Lois from a train platform, wondering if he’ll ever cross paths w/ her again.
• AN EXCLUSIVE ADVENTURE OF SUPERBOY
LOIS LANE FOOTNOTES
LANA LANG – In 1950, the first LL to enter Clark's life happened when Prof. Lewis Lang, his wife and daughter Lana first became neighbors w/ the Kents.
Lana promptly becomes prey to an ex-convict, and her life in Smallville then becomes threaded into Superboy's. It was while staying w/ the Kents when her parents go on a business trip that she began to suspect that the two boys are one and the same. This causes Superboy to fly over to Africa, helping the Langs round up animals they were contracted to procure and destined for zoos, so they could come home early.
COMIC BOOK ERAS: Golden Age [-1938-to-1955-] –
Silver Age [-1956-to-1972-] –
Bronze Age [-1973-to-1985-] –
Steel Age [-1986-to-2015-] –
Diamond Age [-2016-to-2040-]
BACK COVER AD – In the very first appearance of Lois, Clark and Superman, the back cover was bought by the
Johnson Smith & Company
in Detroit, Michigan. They were purveyors of, among other things:
- pocket radios
- midget radios
- midget pocket radios
- magic radios
- crystal radios
- radio & television books
- experiment sets
- wireless transmittals
- telegraph sets
- electric phones
- electric baseballs
- world mikes (a microphone)
- deluxe microphones
- big entertainers (an air mattress)
- Stinson Reliant giant flying planes
- all-metal model airplanes
- wigs (blond only)
- yacht caps
- live chameleons
- x-ray glasses
- booklets on hypnotism, learning to dance, learning to tap dance, ventriloquism, and ju-jitsu
- whoopee cushions
- joy bussers
- luminous photos
- luminous paints
- movie projectors
- field glasses
- world's smallest candid cameras
- bull dog fish hooks
- and Japanese rose bushes.
BASED ON reports from, among others,
and the internet.
LOIS LANE BIBLIOGRAPHY —
No.1 (Jun 1938) SUPERMAN, CHAMPION OF THE OPPRESSED |
No.2 (Jul 1938) REVOLUTION IN SAN MONTE |
No.5 (Oct 1938) THE BIG SCOOP |
No.6 (Nov 1938) THE MAN WHO SOLD SUPERMAN |
No.7 (Dec 1938) SUPERMAN JOINS THE CIRCUS |
No.9 (Feb 1939) $5,000 REWARD FOR SUPERMAN |
No.23 (Apr 1940) EMPIRE AT WAR (PART II) |
No.27 (Aug 1940) THE BRENTWOOD REHABILITATION HOME |
No.31 (Dec 1940) THE HAND OF MORPHEUS |
No.32 (Jan 1941) THE PRESTON GAMBLING RACKET |
No.35 (Apr 1941) THE WORTHLESS GOLD MINE |
No.36 (May 1941) FIFTH COLUMNISTS |
No.37 (Jun 1941) CLARK KENT, POLICE COMMISSIONER |
No.38 (Jul 1941) HYPNOSIS BY RADIO |
No.41 (Oct 1941) THE SABOTAGE RING |
No.44 (Jan 1942) THE CAVEMAN CRIMINAL |
No.47 (Apr 1942) POWERSTONE |
No.57 (Feb 1943) CRIME’S COMEDY KING |
No.68 (Jan 1944) SUPERMAN MEETS SUSIE |
No.80 (Jan 1945) MR MXYZTPLK RETURNS |
No.139 (Dec 1949) CLARK KENT, DAREDEVIL |
No.144 (May 1950) CLARK KENT’S CAREER |
No.164 (Jan 1952) HALL OF TROPHIES |
No.169 (May 1964) THE MAN WHO STOLE SUPERMAN’S SECRET LIFE! | No.189 (Mar 1954) CLARK KENT’S NEW MOTHER AND FATHER |
No.254 (Jul 1959) BATTLE WITH BIZARRO |
No.128 (May 1948) HOW CLARK KENT MET LOIS LANE |
Justice League of America
No.21 (Aug 1963) CRISIS ON EARTH-ONE |
No.22 (Sep 1963) CRISIS ON EARTH-TWO |
No.4 (Oct 1956) MYSTERY OF THE HUMAN THUNDERBOLT |
No.123 (Sep 1961) THE FLASH OF TWO WORLDS |
No.10 (Oct 1950) THE GIRL IN SUPERBOY’S LIFE |
No.31 (Mar 1954) DEMON REPORTER |
No.41 (Jun 1955) JUNIOR SLEUTHS OF SMALLVILLE |
No.47 (Mar 1956) SUPERBOY MEETS SUPERMAN |
No.4 (Mar 1940) SUPERMAN VERSUS LUTHOR |
No.6 (Sep 1940) LOIS, MURDER SUSPECT |
No.12 (Sep 1941) PERIL ON POGO ISLAND |
No.13 (Nov 1941) THE MACHINATIONS OF THE LIGHT |
No.17 (Jul 1942) MAN OR SUPERMAN |
No.19 (Nov 1942) FUNNY PAPER CRIMES |
No.19 (Nov 1942) SUPERMAN, CARTOON HERO |
No.28 (May 1944) LOIS, GIRL REPORTER |
No.85 (Nov 1953) CLARK, GENTLEMAN JOURNALIST |
No.125 (Nov 1958) CLARK’S COLLEGE DAYS |
No.135 (Feb 1960) WHEN LOIS FIRST SUSPECTED CLARK WAS SUPERMAN |
No.165 (Nov 1963) THE SWEETHEART THAT SUPERMAN FORGOT! |
No. 169 (May 1964) THE MAN WHO STOLE SUPERMAN’S SECRET LIFE! |
Superman’s Pal Jimmy Olsen
No.34 (Jan 1959) THE MOST FANTASTIC CAMERA IN THE WORLD |
Superman’s Girl Friend Lois Lane
No.1 (Mar 1958) WITCH OF METROPOLIS |
No.1 (Mar 1958) BOMSHELL OF METROPOLIS |
No.3 (Jun 1958)– THE MAN WHO WAS CLARK’S DOUBLE |
No.17 (May 1960) HOW LOIS GOT HER JOB |
No.29 (Nov 1961) SCHOOL FOR SCOOPS |
No.20 (Nov 1961) THE IRRESISTIBLE LOIS LANE |
No.55 (Feb 1965) LOIS’S COLLEGE SCOOPS |
No.80 (Jan 1968) SPLITSVILLE FOR LOIS AND SUPERMAN |
No.30 (Sep 1947) SHERIFF CLARK |
1915 PANAMA - PACIFIC INTERNATIONAL EXPOSITION – Marina District of San Francisco. The Palace of Fine Arts on the left is one of only a few surviving structures, is still situated on its original site, and was rebuilt in 1965. More.
Hyde Park by the Hudson, a 2012 British retelling of the 1939 stay, at the dawn of nazism, by King George I and Queen Elizabeth, at Franklin D. Roosevelt’s country estate in order to secure a Special Relationship between the two and declare the Atlantic Ocean a pond. Featuring newsreel footage of the Royal visit by Pathe News.
∏ ∏ ∏
CENTRAL SUBWAY DIG —
Work began in 2013 when Fourth Street at Bryant was closed off, a launch box was set up, a bore put down, and a portal opened up.
Even super-heroes have to stop and pay toll, as the Thing heckles Johnny Storm's tossing chops. "Let's get going, Torchy! Bank robbers ain't exactly our speed! Hey! Ya missed the coin bucket!" "But I threw it okay! It wasn't my fault! The bucket moved!"
Zatara the Magician's town car w/ a sturdy trunk to fit all his stage props.
The Green Hornet‘s limo as a model kit from Aurora.
Nick Fury's careening car in his first battle w/ Zodiac.
Suddenly, the hovering air-car is jolted by a fantastic wave of force … then the dymanic director of SHIELD sees the awesome firure that waits ahead to confront him …
Captain America's convertible, repeatedly stolen then returned because it was a badge of honor to always leave the keys in the ignition.
The Wizard being chauffeured in his limo in 1962, and already plotting against the TORCH.
"Fire is a powerful weapon! But I possess the greatest weapon of all - the world's greatest brain!!
Ghost Patrol relaxing on a cloud … “Ho Hum! Another quiet day. Nothing doing on our setor of earth lately.” “Strange! This is usually the most troublesome of the planets!
” “What's that ahead? Why – it's a horse!”
Batwoman leading the Batmobile into the fray. Robin: “Hurry, Batman – The Batwoman is beating us on this mission!” in her first appearance in “The Bat-Woman!”
Blackhawk's 1949 Hudson, later owned by Jack Kerouac. It has now been restored but is no longer driven.
Aquaman's rarely seen Drop.
Wildcat's ride on a postage stamp.
Professor X ferries his young charges to the airport in private school manner.
"Boy! It musta taken a heap of green stamps to buy a chariot like this!"
"No joking, please! Concentrate on your mission! Review your powers! Our foe is certain to be highly dangerous!"
After Captain America punched Hitler‘s face in his debut to the American public, the city of New York awarded him w/ this spanking red ride.
Tony Stark's rooftop treatment of the first Avengers Mansion, modeled after the rooftop track at Fiat headquarters in Turin.
A peek into Tony Stark's collection: 1959 Firebird, 1958 Nucleon, 1949 Tabot Iago, and a Norman Bel Geddes prototype.
Mirror Master's mirror mobile from his first appearance in Flash #105, “The Master of Mirrors.”
The Black Canary's convertible parked in front of her aerie on Potrero Hill.
The Joker Mobile. “The whole job — the safe-cracking, the getaway — all bear the stamp of Dink Devers! The cops think he died — but he's right here in town, at the Blake Hotel! HA-HA-HA!”
The original Human Torch was an android from the laboratory of Prof. Phineas T. Horton, one of the pioneers of A.I. and robotics. A "fire truck" came w/ the android on its missions. Remote controlled, it was a commission that Stark Industries took on and had built by General Motors. Inside is heat-proof, contains a lab, carries experimental fire gear, and comes w/ sleeper car appointments.
In swift pursuit of a gangland car, Green Arrow takes aim, and … “Our last arrow, Speedy — our last case!”
“Yes — finished, G.A.!”
Hawkman was so smiten when Hal Jordan drove up in this car that he gave it to the extraterrestrial detective as a planet-warming present.
The Black Knight's backup.
The Shadow's elusive car, Ink, immortalized on a US stamp.