"A True Artist" - David Bowie in Philadelphia

"A True Artist"

Legendary concert promoter Larry Magid on his friend, David Bowie

"A True Artist"

Legendary concert promoter Larry Magid on his friend, David Bowie

January. thirteen, 2016

When I heard the news about David Bowie, I called Larry Magid. About in one case a twelvemonth, nosotros meet for luncheon and Magid, godfather of the 60s and 70s counterculture, humors me by telling stories of the halcyon days when his Electrical Mill—showtime the club, and then the concerts—took on the establishment in Philly and won.

He stared downwards Frank Rizzo, indulged Mick Jagger when he decided he wanted to take the stage riding an elephant, and made sure Janis Joplin had her bottle of Southern Comfort when information technology was fourth dimension to get on. He pioneered the stadium concert and general admission seating, simply, more than than that, he was the pied piper for a generation of kids who, in the historic period of Vietnam and psychedelics, were all going through a soul-searching identity crisis together. Now 1 of his friends and contemporaries was gone.

"That era ended, but every bit long as the progenitors of it are live, it stays with you," Magid said. "I know that David's music will e'er be with us. But I'll miss him."

I tell Magid I didn't wait the outpouring of love for Bowie in Philly these concluding days. "Philly was David's biggest marketplace," he said. "We did two shows at Veterans Stadium, 80,000 people. Unheard of. After the offset day of the Glass Spider tour, we walked upwards 18,000 people. That doesn't happen anywhere else."

"He was ever evolving, similar a chameleon," says Magid. "He didn't change things up to daze you lot and brand you gasp. He wasn't Alice Cooper, allegedly biting off the heads of chickens. He made yous think and made you lot experience. That'south what artists practise."

When Bowie would come to town, he'd visit the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the 2 would compare notes on the institution'south stirring works. How amused might Bowie be today past the fact that Magid at present sits on the museum's board? Backstage at the Spectrum, Upper Darby's Belfry Theater or Electric Manufacturing plant, the two would huddle together, sharing their passion for R&B.

"He loved the Philly Sound, which you can hear on Modern Dearest and songs of that era," Magid recalls. They'd talk nearly obscure acts from the '50s, similar the star-crossed Little Willie John, whose vocal "Fever" was a hit in 1956, and who died in jail in the belatedly '60s after existence convicted of manslaughter. They'd share tales of torch song vocaliser Dinah Washington, the cocky-proclaimed "Queen of the Blues."

Later on 9/11, Magid put on a benefit concert at the Pentagon for the families affected. His friend James Brown summoned him to his dressing room. "Larry Magid," the Godfather of Soul said, "I got something for you lot." It was a dancing, singing replica of himself, a mini-James Brown doll crooning "I Feel Practiced."

The next fourth dimension Bowie came through Philly, Magid presented him with Brown's mini-me, an homage to their shared passion for soul music. That night, when the lights dimmed and Bowie came out, he had the doll in tow. He introduced it to the oversupply and placed it on the phase, where it stayed, dancing and singing the whole night. "He took it on the rest of the bout with him," Magid recalls.

"David was a true artist," Magid says. "Like Miles Davis and Bob Dylan, he was always evolving, similar a chameleon. He didn't take to play his hits. Yous have to respect someone who pushed the envelope like that. He didn't modify things up to shock you and brand yous gasp. He wasn't Alice Cooper, allegedly biting off the heads of chickens. He made you think and fabricated you feel. That's what artists do."

One of the reasons I soak upwardly Magid'due south tales is the dichotomy I find in them. On the ane hand, stories about keeping Van Morrison locked in his dressing room between shows to go along him abroad from the drink, are funny and chaotic, the stuff of legend. On the other, they're the comedic outtakes of an bodily revolution. I once told Magid that he and guys like promoter Bill Graham changed the 20th Century. He scoffed. "Nah," he said. "The music changed the world."

Performers similar Bowie create soundtracks for our lives, and when they leave us, we mourn these strangers every bit if they were family unit. Yesterday, I asked Magid for a final word about David Bowie.

"He was an creative person," Larry Magid said. "And he changed the earth."

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Source: https://thephiladelphiacitizen.org/david-bowie-philadelphia-larry-magid-electric-factory/

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