David Bowie died yesterday. He was 69.
I've written elsewhere about my love for Bowie. It would be hard for me to overstate his impact on me musically and personally.
I was born the same year that The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars was released, the same month that Bowie broke Top of the Pops with his live performance of "Starman." In fact, "Starman" was the very first record I remember hearing as a child.
My brothers played Bowie when I was young: Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, Hunky Dory, Space Oddity, Pinups, Young Americans, Scary Monsters, and the Live! album. Oh, and Lou Reed and Mott the Hoople and anyone else Bowie influenced. By the time I was 10, I knew all the words on every one of those records.
David Bowie was the reason I had rock star fantasies. The Beatles were big to me and Prince a little later, but it was Bowie who first combined the music with the costumes and rock-star attitude.
Like a lot of people, Bowie gave me courage to be the person I was. He still does, as a matter of fact. All of those songs about being an alien — is there life on Mars? — gave comfort to all the freaks, geeks, and queers of the world. Thousands of kids like me growing up in small towns got strength to be ourselves through his music.
I puzzled over his weird turns of phrase, trying to work out what they meant. "She's a tongue twisting storm, she will come to the show tonight, praying to the light machine." "I'm closer to the Golden Dawn, immersed in Crowley's uniform of imagery." "As they pulled you out of the oxygen tent, you asked for the latest party. With your silicone hump and your ten inch stump, dressed like a priest you was, Todd Browning's freak you was." His lyrics sent me to the dictionary and to the encyclopedia. They were smart, but to creative ends — not just playing at cleverness.
Of course, the music was something else. At times just pure rock and roll — "Rebel, Rebel," "Suffragette City," "Jean Genie" — at times arty or experimental — "Space Oddity," "Warszawa," "Yassassin." And what about soul? The Thin White Duke was funky enough to be invited on Soul Train and name checked in one of Parliament Funkadelic's best-known tracks.
And he played saxophone. I wonder how many people can say they chose to play saxophone, which in turn led to a career in music and two college degrees in saxophone performance because of David Bowie? Before Trane, before Bird, I knew Bowie. I can still see my junior high school band director's puzzled look when I told him Bowie was my favorite saxophonist.
His music has truly been the soundtrack of my life. I boogied to Let's Dance in the early years of MTV. I obsessively watched the TV show Life on Mars because of it's constant references to Bowie. When I was teaching, I wanted to share my love of the music so much that I asked my friend Steve to arrange four songs for a Bowie tribute show with the marching band. I listened to "Loving the Alien" over and over when I was going through a loss of faith. I put Bowie on several playlists for my children, include track one of the mix they listen to every night when they fall asleep ("Kooks"). I blasted "Modern Love" driving to the church when I got married. I never saw him live, though I did see a great cover band one at the Empty Glass and sang along very loudly and very drunkenly. Just Friday I found myself listening to all of Low for inspiration with my electronic music. Facebook tells me that I've mentioned Bowie more than 55 times, more than any other person other than family members, and that's not including the times I just posted lyrics or shared articles.
So it was that I noted his birthday just a few days ago and downloaded his new album, Blackstar. I hadn't yet had the chance to give it a listen, because I wanted to give it my full attention and in a house with four kids, that's not often possible.
Then I was up late, watching some Netflix with my wife and I saw it on Facebook.
I don't ever remember being this distressed about the death of a celebrity. John Lennon, maybe, but I was eight-years-old at the time. It feels a little silly, to grieve someone you don't know, but I can tell you that I do.
I went to my basement and put the record on.
It's brilliant, of course.
It's also obviously meant as something of a last statement to the world. Hitting me heavily right now is this lyric:
Something happened on the day he died
Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside
Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried,
"I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar!"
How many times does an angel fall?
How many people lie instead of talking tall?
He trod on sacred ground, he cried loud into the crowd,
"I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar, I’m not a gangster!"
I can’t answer why (I’m a blackstar)
Just go with me (I’m not a filmstar)
I’m-a take you home (I’m a blackstar)
Take your passport and shoes (I’m not a popstar)
And your sedatives, boo (I’m a blackstar)
You’re a flash in the pan (I’m not a marvel star)
I’m the great I am (I’m a blackstar)
Almost no one knew he was dying, but he did. The New York Times reported today in it's arts pages today that "it's a good time to be David Bowie." While probably not exactly accurate, this is certainly the way to leave the world.
So goodbye, Davy Jones. Goodbye, Major Tom. Goodbye, Arnold Corns. Goodbye, Ziggy Stardust. Goodbye, Halloween Jack. Goodbye, Jean Genie. Goodbye Aladdin, Sane. Goodbye, Thin White Duke. Goodbye, Goblin King. Goodbye, Tao Jones.
Rest in peace, David Bowie.
Long live rock-and-roll.
