A tribute to David Bowie
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I was late to the world of David Bowie. I was born at a time where most of what were, arguably, his best eras had already happened. By the time I was old enough to appreciate music in my own right, in the early- to mid-nineties, Bowie wasn't an active presence making waves in the industry as he once was. While I was busy discovering the current crop of guitar music and developing heavier and more eclectic tastes, David Bowie's offerings somehow stayed off my radar. It wasn't until sometime later that I had my own David Bowie phase. That's when I fell in love.
I can't remember a period where I didn't know who David Bowie was. Though his music didn't frequent my childhood home, David Bowie somehow did. I grew up adoring the film Labyrinth, which at one point I could probably have quoted verbatim. I can still remember the first time I saw it. I think my dad put it on one Sunday afternoon. At that time, I would probably have been playing on the living room floor—either with Lego or He-Man figures—but soon I was drawn in. Bowie's portrayal of Jareth, the Goblin King, was as captivating in my youth as the visual spectacle of Jim Henson's puppets.
My dad, who was a disc jockey until the mid-eighties, had an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of largely useless musical facts. I have memories from a family trip to the south of France, during the late eighties, where, one evening, as a monstrous but otherwise benign wasp buzzed around the caravan's central light, he reeled off a list of such facts about Bowie. This was in an era before we had the internet to check things and, being a child, I had to take what my dad said as fact. At least most of what he said was true. He told me, for example, that David Bowie had unusual eyes (actually he told me they were different colours, but that's not the case). He told me that Bowie had collaborated with, among many others, John Lennon (which, as the biggest Beatles fans I've ever known, was a big deal for my dad). And he pointed out all the David Bowie songs I knew but, as a child to whom such things hadn't mattered until then, I hadn't connected him to. There were a lot. And so began my passing interest.
Years later, my mum got a CD player. This was a big thing. We weren't wealthy and this was new technology. CDs had been around for a number of years, but we'd had to stick to cassettes, and even then just the odd one or two, while my mum struggled to raise me on her own. But then there was a CD player and, with it, came a variety of CDs. My own contributions to the pile came in the form of offerings from the likes of Nirvana, Metallica and Bon Jovi, which I could only play when I was home alone, except for the latter, which would be tolerated if it was quiet. It was on one of my Nirvana CDs—the live album, MTV Unplugged in New York (1994)—that I heard the song The Man Who Sold the World. It's a brilliant cover version of a Bowie song from 1970. A little while later, my mum bought one of Bowie's best of albums, which included the original version of this song. I borrowed it. At first I'd just pick out the songs I knew. Then I took the plunge and listened to the whole album. I listened. I listened again. And I haven't stopped listening.
When I got my first job in 2001, I'd allocate a proportion of my meagre salary each month to expanding my CD collection. There were lots I wanted to get that I hadn't been able to afford before. Among them were several of David Bowie's albums. That greatest hits album either introduced me to or reminded me of several breath-taking songs that I needed to know more about. As soon as I could, I added the original albums they appeared on to my collection, perhaps to give myself a better idea of the context those songs came from. By then a budding amateur musician in my own right, Bowie's music became a huge influence on my playing and writing style. Straight away I saw him not just as a brilliant songwriter and performer, but as a pioneer in his many fields. I was able to appreciate, albeit second-hand compared to some, how he had defined and set new trends through his music, lifestyle and art.
David Bowie was a unique and compelling figure, the like of which we might never see again. Today the world found out that he passed away after an eighteen-month battle with cancer, aged 69. The tributes that have poured in since have been fitting for such a creative genius. Bowie earned himself an iconic status and, to me, was one of a rare breed of true celebrity. His loss is significant. But for many—myself included—his inspiration will live on for many years to come.