David Bowie is dying, and no-one knows it. No journalists, no fans. Just the chosen few. His wife. His grown-up son, his young daughter. A handful of others, all sworn to secrecy. And he’s been rushing to get songs recorded, videos made, plays performed. Because his life's always been about reinvention, about creativity. About working out who you are, what you want to say. About control of image, and intent. All those wild incarnations – the costumes, the make-up, the poses. All those characters he becomes – Ziggy Stardust, the Thin White Duke, the Man Who Fell To Earth. And now, he's releasing one more album. It’s time for the final performance. The last great artistic move...
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