Bowie's Barcelona

Now some good news, David Bowie had been to Barcelona.

It was 1987 and Bowie was in a mid-career funk as he made his play for ‘hits’ and the mainstream. It was his first ever time touring Spain and Barcelona with his fabled Glass Spider Tour. It was outlandish and ostentatious playing off the back of his Never Let Me Down album. This sought to fuse all the styles and influences he’d tried so far as it chased down commercial success. Upon its release Rolling Stone weren’t so sure, suggesting it ‘…didn’t bode well for his present, or future...’

But, like, whatever. Bowie was going to put on a hell of a show anyway. For his first ever gig on the Spanish mainland he was lowered onto the stage on a swing, there were telephones that needed answering, spoken word song introductions, blinding visuals and backing dancers all embroidered together for the largest touring set ever. Bowie thought of it as taking a musical on the road.

As I arrived under the tepid glow of fading autumn light to see where he’d played, I discovered there was a football match on. Barcelona were at home in the Champion’s League. After getting a ticket from a tout, I failed to bribe my way into the training stadium where Bowie had played and ended up in the main stadium, the Camp Nou, next door eating hot dogs and watching the game.

I missed the first few goals haggling but Barcelona won 7-2. Although I’d suffered defeat in gaining entry to the stadium, I took solace in a pizza which removed the skin from the roof of my mouth and countered that with an ice cream half the size of my face.

Bowie’s Barca return.

It was 1990 and Bowie was back in town. This time he was playing at the (deep breath) Olympic Estadi Olímpic Lluís Companys stadium for his Sound and Vision world tour. Although this show was more pared back, Bowie, craving commercial success, had an idea. He set up a premium hotline so the fans could choose their favourite song. 1-900-2-BOWIE-90 if you want to call (ask permission from your Mum). This was leapt upon by mischief makers requesting his novelty song The Laughing Gnome be played (it wasn’t).

So the day after the football fiasco, on a bright Sunday morning, I cycled to where he’d played 26 years ago to see if I could have a nose around the stadium.

Its ornate stands were originally meant to host the 1936 Olympics until Hitler reared his silly moustachioed lip. They finally did so in 1992 and the marble tower gleaming in the morning sun churned childhood memories of an archer sending a flaming arrow into the cauldron as Freddie Mercury roared ‘BARCELONA. ’

After a full Spanish breakfast I gained entry into the stadium, through a rather unusual means. You could go and have a nose around if you were willing to splash out five euros to run on the Olympic racetrack. I saw a sign recounting all the legends who had played here: Springsteen. Jackson. Prince. The Stones. David Bowie. Metallica. Van Halen. Thinking I had to have a look around, I put my running shoes on - some royally knackered adidas canvas shoes that were falling apart - and decided to create some history of my own on the racetrack…

I wasn’t alone. A tubby middle-age middle eastern man in loafers pulled up next to me on the starting blocks. He didn’t look like a Bowie fan. But as I lurched from the blocks - my breakfast slopping around inside of me - he was the Starman of this track. As his beige slacks streaked into the distance, I had to show Bowie I was a willing disciple, I found a last burst of energy, no doubt fuelled by the hastily scoffed loaf of egg-smeared bread I’d eaten 15 minutes earlier, and dipped for the win. Hunched over at the side of the track, blindly out of breath, I found I wasn’t experiencing either Sound or Vision. And, like a forty-something Bowie, was left contemplating my next move on this lyrical journey.