Last night, a man died.
Or rather: last night, a man was announced to be dead, which
initially sparked cries of “hoax,” but was then followed by millions of sad
reactions and lyric quotations and old pictures flooding the internet when we
realized it was true. (It pains me so, to type these words.)
David Bowie has died.
As many of you know, and I am but one man among countless
human beings who say these exact words (especially now, whether others mean
them or not), David Bowie was one, is
one, of my favorite artists. Fortunately for me, I have many friends who know
this, and I received many messages of condolences when they heard the news,
some assuming that I already knew, and others breaking the news to me gently.
What a beautiful thing, receiving comfort from those close to me due to the passing
of someone I’ve never met.
On January 22, 2014, I purchased The Next Day on vinyl, The
Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars on used CD, and a
used vinyl copy of Let’s Dance. I
purchased these with a very good friend of mine, and I chose these particular
albums due to a “beginners guide to Bowie” blog post that another one of my
favorite artists compiled. The day I started my journey into the work of David
Bowie is one I remember fondly, and think back on often. Since then I have acquired
and heard almost every one of his 28 studio albums, whether on vinyl or CD,
watched almost every one of his film roles, attended his travelling “David
Bowie Is” exhibit in Chicago with someone very close to me who also adores
Bowie’s art, and have otherwise become what is known to most people as a
“superfan.” I’ve had people send me links to articles about his work, give me
old magazines containing interviews with him, and make me hand-drawn Christmas
cards displaying his likeness. My mother shares the same birthday as David
Bowie. My best friend and roommate called a record store and claimed a rare
copy of his album Low to give me on
my 25th birthday, which was the very copy I had been eyeing for
months and was unable to purchase myself. I went to Los Angeles with the same
friend who was with me when I bought those aforementioned first three albums,
and he took pictures of me by Bowie’s star on the sidewalk, and went with me to
record stores where I found the latter two installments in the Berlin Trilogy.
I received a special edition copy of Labyrinth from the same person who went
with me to Chicago. And just three days ago, my girlfriend took me to as many
record stores as needed, in a city neither of us knew well, in order to buy
David Bowie’s now-final album, Blackstar on
vinyl, because CD just wouldn’t cut it quite yet. All of this is to say that my
love for David Bowie’s work is known and celebrated with many people in my life
who love me, and that beautiful message isn’t even why I sat down to write all
this.
But it is now.
Originally, I was going to write a long piece about legacy,
and how the man has died but the art will live on, and the Bowie we all know
cannot die because his music and movies and books and whatnot shall always
exist as long as humanity exists. I was going to write about how he has
“earned” a peaceful death because his life was so full, and his life was full. It was full of writing songs,
singing lyrics, dancing and performing for others, but it was full of
experiences and mistakes as well. And it was full of love, from strangers to
family; this man was loved, and inspired love. His music entered my life at a
time when I needed to lose myself in a new exploration, to be inspired by an
artistic innovator, and to feel like someone else “got” it, but what I didn’t
know is just how much his music and art would inspire new friendships, inspire
my own music and art, or most importantly, bring me closer to the people
already in my life. And isn’t that the point? David Bowie sang countless songs
about loneliness, confusion, pain, redemption, hope, and love. He brought
people together. It’s not David Bowie we love, but rather the way he brought us
all closer together under the blanket of being human, and inspired one more
day, one more step, one more try.
Thank you, David Bowie. My life is better with your words
and music and image in it. And that’s all I, or any artist, should really want
from a legacy: to inspire hope and love in someone else.
Just for one day.
lovelovelove,
Adam
