'Ain't there one damn song that can make me break down and cry'
David Bowie: 1947-2016. As much as it pains me to write these words, David Bowie died this morning after suffering with liver cancer for 18 months. Living long enough to see the release of his latest album Blackstar, he died just two days afterwards. Suddenly, the album clicks into place: 'I Can't Give Everything Away' seemed before like a tease, and now becomes a final goodbye; the opening lyrics to 'Lazarus', 'Look up here, I'm in heaven/I've got scars that can't be seen', fall into place as a veiled reference to the cancer. Blackstar becomes his swan song, his final parting gift to the world.
Looking at the incredible span of his career, it's hard to believe that one individual can have accomplished so much. David Jones became David Bowie became Major Tom became Ziggy Stardust became Aladdin Sane became The Thin White Duke became The Man Who Fell To Earth. He reinvented himself again and again and again before anyone had a chance to call him old hat. There is so much of modern life and culture that only exists because Bowie had the guts to push the boundaries, to boldly go where no man had dared to go.
Maybe because he wasn't fully a man. You have to consider the courage and strength of will it must have taken to have written such an astounding album as Blackstar whilst suffering from cancer and, at the same time, keeping both of the above heavily under wraps. He remained stoic to the last, maintaining his mystical allure by refusing interviews and tours, drawing the world further into his mysticism. Furthermore, what man could dare to embody the alien beauty of Ziggy? What man had his ethereal handsomeness? What man could pull off a knitted jumpsuit like David Bowie? He was and shall remain superhuman, extra terrestrial, not quite of this world.
There are not enough words in the world to even begin to touch on the wealth of creativity Bowie possessed. Not quite content with storming the music industry, he branched out into acting, delivering fantastically memorable performances: as Jareth the Goblin King in Labyrinth, Thomas Newton in The Man Who Fell to Earth, himself in Zoolander, Nikolas Tesla in The Prestige. No child who has watched Labyrinth can ever forget The Bulge.
As silly as it is, I feel deeply touched by his death, as though I've lost someone incredibly close to me. And I tell myself that I have no right to feel this way, that I didn't know him personally, and it's a terrible affront to all of his nearest and dearest that I have the nerve to presume such an affinity with him. But in all honesty, the fact that so many people feel this way demonstrates his absolute and undeniable talent. If his music was powerful enough to make an eight year old, sat in her bedroom listening to Ziggy Stardust and dreaming of the starman, feel as though she experienced the day Ziggy died in 1973, then his career was a success. To make people feel the core of your music is surely the goal of all musicians. Bowie achieved this in force. Goodbye to the man who sold the world, gone to join the stars that he came from.
