“It was transcendent.”
That’s the word a friend used after her first Bowie Bash experience on Friday, January 9. She said it with the kind of disbelief that comes from not expecting to be moved quite the way the First Church of the Sacred Silversexual moves people.
On January 9 and 10, Bowie Bash once again transformed the Great American Music Hall venue into a sanctuary where live renditions of Bowie’s music, a variety of performances, puppetry, and boisterous audience participation melded in collective devotion to David Bowie.
More than just a party, Bowie Bash is the kind of event that makes you forget for a few moments that the world outside is on fire. It’s a yearly observance, purposefully held on or around Bowie’s birthday and the anniversary of his death, making the timing as meaningful as the celebration itself. As Bowie put it, “The truth is, of course, that there is no journey. We are arriving and departing all at the same time.”
Produced by the First Church of the Sacred Silversexual, Bowie Bash has always been about more than cover songs and costumes. It celebrates radical acceptance, queerness, and community — values Bowie not only admired but embodied. “I find only freedom in the realms of eccentricity,” Bowie once said, and Bowie Bash keeps his legacy alive and deeply personal by embracing the raw edges of nonconformity.
Reverend Father Lysol Tony Romeo, founder of the First Church of the Sacred Silversexual, is explicit about that intention. “We are a church that worships David Bowie,” they say. “We structure our services like Christian ones, but instead of a sermon, we have drag, burlesque, and puppets. We’re reclaiming words like ‘holy,’ ‘sacred,’ and ‘divine’ from rigid dogma. What’s truly holy is people gathered together, feeling love in the room through Bowie’s music.”
We believe in the humanist teachings of David Bowie and his works, and spread the message that Bowie Loves You, and that being human itself is a holy thing to be.
— Reverend Father Lysol Tony Romeo
What began as something slightly tongue-in-cheek quickly revealed its sincerity. After immersing themself in Bowie’s lyrics, Romeo realized there was a philosophy at play; one grounded in curiosity, compassion, and creative risk. Early shows packed small venues, and it became clear almost immediately that the project wasn’t a novelty, but a gathering people were hungry for.
The Church was incubated in Romeo’s Mission District garage by musicians and singers united by their love of Bowie. Theatricality was present from the start. But it was the yearly return around Bowie’s birthday that gave the project its staying power. “Doing yearly shows on his birthday gives it the feeling of a reunion,” Romeo tells me. “It gives people something to look forward to, which is crucial in a world that can feel bleak.”
From the moment the doors open at every Bowie Bash, belonging is intentional. Romeo greets attendees himself, handing out programs and setting the tone for a communal experience. The evening begins with a consecration of the space, led by the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, grounding the celebration in a set of humanist principles that Romeo says are non-negotiable and renewed at the start of each night. Boundaries between audience and performers dissolve quickly, and the room begins to move as one body, singing, dancing, laughing, and responding together.
True to form, performances both nights leaned into reinvention rather than imitation. While the band repeated some songs both nights, no two performances were the same. Friday drew heavily from The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, while Saturday celebrated the 50th anniversary of Station to Station alongside Let’s Dance. Each night carried a different charge.
Musically, the band honored Bowie’s sound while remaining playful. Vocals were powerful, and Romeo’s sacramental framing threaded each performance together. Costumes and choreography balanced homage with reinvention: sexy, campy, theatrical, and bold, while the intimate space of the Great American Music Hall amplified the feeling of community.
Cat People (Kat Robichaud) commanded the room with her signature rendition of “Life on Mars” both nights, the entire audience singing along as if it were a hymn. It was the same song she auditioned with in 2014, shortly after moving to San Francisco. After spotting a flyer for Heklina’s Bowie-themed drag night at DNA Lounge, where the Church was performing, Robichaud reached out with a video of herself singing the track and quickly became part of the congregation.
Moments like these make clear why Bowie Bash endures. In dark times, the celebration offers more than entertainment. It brings people together in a sacred space of joy, connection, and acceptance, reminding us why gatherings like this still matter — now more than ever.
