Sid says, "I never thought that I'd see the day when David Bowie would've sold-out, but he did it in a HUGE way with "Heroes" (for Microsoft), "Watch That Man" (for Tommy Hilfiger) and "Rebel Rebel" ...."
The "mainman" keeps an eye on the "main chance." A good clue that corporate sellout was waiting in the wings was Bowie's 1997 sale of $55,000,000.00 worth of 10 year bonds backed by the Bowie back catalog to Prudential Insurance, said bonds yielding a healthy 7.9%.
My bet is that the Thin White Duke is angling for a knighthood á la Sir Paul, Sir Elton, and Sir Bob Geldorf; let's face it, if a hair-plugged old boy-boffer like Sir Elton can wangle a title out of the royals, Bowie's "gay guy from outer space" past isn't going to present any kind of roadblock. Let's face it, rock celebrity is no longer about who has more number one singles, who got on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, or who boffed the most Tuinol-addled sixteen-year-old twin-sister groupies; competition is now about who's on the Fortune Magazine list of wealthiest individuals. It's not about guitar solos, it's about net worth.
As for "sell-out," though, let's be quite clear that each one of these poncy populists has been under contract to a big multi-national corporation since their Clearasil years; practicing rock as rebellion whilst under contract to one of the five mega-corporations that control and distribute 85% of all music on Planet Earth strikes me as a faux-revolution by erzatz bohemians.
And to be completely honest, I'd be honored to sell out, too. If I could make buttloads of bucks by selling a jingle to the local poison gas factory, or those sods who make those great Pokemon flammable kids pajamas, or even the nice friendly people over at Soylent Green, you can bet your entire collection of Radio Birdman bootlegs that I'd be all over that action like cops on a jelly doughnut. Where's my check and my bag of cocaine?
Capitalism can swallow anything, its great secret is that NOTHING sticks in its throat. You make it, we can make a profit on it. Let's face it, you may have memories about a song because you got banged for the first time in your mom's station wagon while it was on the radio, or because you stood there pumping your clenched fist in the air with 20,000 other drunks singing along to a live performance in concert, or perhaps, just perhaps, a piece of music actually changed, or even SAVED YOUR LIFE (Thanks, Mott The Hoople!), but when it gets right down to the REAL NITTY GRITTY, this is where ART meets COMMERCE, and songs are COMMODITIES.
Юåf+êrvÕ¡: ain't there one damn song that can make me break down and cry?