..............................................just three days ago I suggested the internet would break when David Bowie died.......imagine how weird I feel about that...........................
my suggestion that Blackstar wasn't the masterpiece all the hacks said it was didn't go down too well with fans on FB...................
I don't feel bad about being disappointed.................I never expected another classic from Him because I firmly believe all musicians have their golden years, a definitive period, the like of which will/can never be repeated...........not a radical/original idea yet one some people find hard to apply to their heroes.................
I didn't want to say a thing about His death
I've resisted until now
I cracked
this morning around 7.30 it was cold and it rained and I sat outside a cafe feeling strange about Bowie dying, stranger than I've felt about any other star dying because none of them meant as much to me in my youth as He did..........................and so the legends attract more followers down the decades, those who never knew what it was like to buy The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars when it came out..........or Aladdin Sane and Diamond Dogs.........yet they fell in love with them all the same, of course........
on the BBC's Breakfast News as the story breaks around 7.15 the first 'name' they can get hold to talk about it is someone called Emma B who, when asked, mentions Let's Dance then, when prompted for more favourites, says "ground control".........perhaps she's in shock....I forgive her.................but at the same time I wanted to smash the screen "Get someone who will do him justice! Someone who fucking knows!" I scream silently................
..........................minor celebs, American Rocks stars, kids................GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM! HE'S OURS!
we own Bowie, my generation, my teenage daydreaming, 70s feathercut, baggy-trousered generation....
John, I'm only dancing
(dancing to Jean Genie in the village hall disco 1973)
freak out in a moonage daydream
(taking the Ziggy Stardust album to the youth club 1972)
a Benny Goodman fan painted holes in his hands
(listening to Aladdin Sane with my best friend 1973)
oh you pretty things
(getting a feather cut, my sister putting streaks in it 1973)
a cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest
(drunk in the rec singing every word of Ziggy Stardust 1972)
rats the size of cats
(writing sci-fi stories inspired by Diamond Dogs 1973)
I came across a monster who was sleeping by a tree/I looked and frowned and the monster was me
(discovering The Man Who Sold The World 1972)
we like dancing and we look divine
(we all wanted to look divine but would never have used that word being council house ex-skinhead yobs captivated by this cosmic camp queer bloke in weird clothes and make-up whose sci-fi lyrics intrigued us and me especially being a fan of wonder tales from space whilst this Bowie bloke in the phone box took all us ordinary kids to extraordinary places when we listened...and danced)
every fan owns Bowie, of course............but some of us feel we own him more than others.....
...sadly as I tie my shoes
ReplyDeleteyou said it all dude.