Great news! My unborn child is a Bowie fan! I’m sure of it. We have been attempting to cram in a bit of culture before B-day so went to the Barbican to see the Michael Clark Company’s Come, Been and Gone. It was tremendous, albeit exhausting to watch. I get puffed out hauling myself out of a chair these days. The final, brilliant act is choreographed entirely to Bowie tracks including Heroes, Future Legend, Aladdin Sane and The Jean Genie. And the kid, who had been pottering around aimlessly, suddenly kicked off, air punching the sides of my womb and (ouch) trampling on my bladder. A week or so later, I was watching a film which plays out to Under Pressure by Bowie and Queen. The same thing happened. I was so proud! Evidence of pre-natal good taste.
Of course, I might be completely misreading the baby activity. I’m aware that I have a tendency interpret his kicks in a way that suits me, for example:
Cannes: screening of a very dark and violent Ukrainian film, My Joy, which I absolutely loved. Baby kicks = Hooray! My kid likes difficult former Soviet cinema. He is bad ass!
Cannes 2: Screening of an interminably dull German film about joyless sex in a corporate world. Baby kicks = Hooray! He’s bored and wants me to leave, probably to buy cake. An excellent suggestion, I will do just that.
So the awful truth might be that far from appreciating Bowie, he’s actually registering his disapproval and demanding Poker Face by Lady Gaga.
Other music he has liked (or not)
I wanna Be Your Dog by The Stooges – on the soundtrack of The Runaways. One of the first times I felt him move.
Swagga, by Excision and Datsik, a track which my husband describes as like listening to someone trying to saw off their own leg with sound, and with which we’re both mildly obsessed.