The day my small world stopped, yet I couldn’t comprehend why it felt that way.
David Bowie died.
I couldn’t imagine that voice had been stilled. For hours I hoped it was another stupid press stunt, but knew deep down it wasn’t. I’d seen what he looked like in the video for Black Star. He was the wrong colour. No amount of video editing could hide that. Knowing Bowie he’d probably made sure it wasn’t hidden.
It seemed utterly ridiculous to me how much loss I was feeling, especially as I’ve never been a huge fanatic about music stars. Don’t misunderstand me, I love music, and I love singers. I’ll listen to one song over and over, picking out different parts each time - following the bass line, or listening out for the way a singer shapes their words and manipulates the airflow to form their sounds, but I’ve never truly understood that archetypal ‘fan’ behaviour. The obsessions, the screaming or even the need to go to concerts…it doesn’t feel like a major part of my personality.
I absolutely appreciate the talent and the way the music makes me feel, and yes, I have been to concerts and thoroughly enjoyed them but I’m not sad if I can’t. I think I am very much a solo listener. The advent of earbuds have made my listening experience even more immersive.
The person behind the music…they’re just another human being after all and I try and see that more than anything. I doubt I could ever reach the level of dedication that a ‘superfan’ demonstrates, nor do I think I want to.
Bowie though. He’d transcended all my worlds. TV, film, art, photography, music. He was there before I was born and I was privileged enough to have him present in almost every decade of my life. He didn’t just write the soundtrack to it, he was the soundtrack, the voice and the faces.
He almost felt more than human. Given the roles he’d played I could almost believe he had transcended mere humanity and evolved into something else.
Every interview revealed another thing he could do and yet he never saw the remarkable in himself.
Listening to his music…the thought of it has been too much because the way he sang, the tones and the whole embouchure was so very distinct like vocal fingerprints - I couldn’t mistake it for anyone else and I knew the loss would be even more keenly felt.
Today I finally listened.
“ Given the roles he’d played I could almost believe he had transcended mere humanity and evolved into something else.”
A little while ago, I did some reading into the occult symbolism behind Bowie’s work, more of a point of interest, rather than anything I personally believe in. It’s well known how Bowie referenced Aleister Crowley in his work, but when you see just how intricately worn the strands are, it is somewhat breathtaking. He left little references in music videos that transcended decades, and if you know what to look for, there are some rather considerable clues (let’s just say the album name Station To Station doesn’t primarily reference trains). Whether he believed these things or not, I don’t know, but at the very least, it leaves this air of mysticism that makes it very easy to believe that he was aiming to become more than a human frame can hold.