The room at the top of my mum's house was dark and a bit
musty, full of model aeroplanes and books. Still is. But that was where my
brothers kept their
record collections.
In one room there were Beatles
and Sisters of Mercy LPs. In the other, a Bowie collection. It
was from these records that I first heard Station To Station, Ziggy
Stardust, Space Oddity and Hunky Dory. (Oddly, I only came to Low and
'Heroes' much later, and was blown away by how modern they sounded,
how I could see the clear lineage between these albums and those of
my other favourites, Radiohead.)
David Bowie reminds me of home. My
sister playing me “The Laughing Gnome” when I was a kid. Being
taken to see Labyrinth (and when we got our first VCR I recorded the
film off the telly and watched it daily). My dad taking the piss out
of his mannered singing style (a bit rich, frankly, given that he was an opera fan!). Playing tapes with
my oldest mates. Me and Peter were CB radio nerds. We used to
broadcast out to the taxi drivers and other weirdos and jam the
airwaves with tracks off Space Oddity. Bowie's genius was that –
even though he was a global rock star – he always felt like
yours. I think, to a degree, we felt like we were the first
to discover him.
I am aware of how old I sound
right now. I'm 35. And no, I don't want to know what Bowie had already done at my age.
Over the years my Bowie listening has
drifted in and out of focus, but he's always been there. I listen to
“proper” dance now because of his much-derided, actually-pretty-great drum 'n' bass album, Earthling (or is it Eart hl ing? I've never been sure). My interest in
soul started with Young Americans. And it's not just music – I read
1984 because I was obsessing on Diamond Dogs. 1. Outside fed off of
and fuelled an interest in cyberpunk. He's even in Twin Peaks, my
favourite fictional world.
No matter who or what you've been
I had a bit of a bad time a while back, linked to the depression I've struggled with since I was a teenager and my dad died. But I still
had Bowie. In 2013 I spent a fun weekend with friends in London and,
on the last day, decided to check out the David Bowie Is exhibition.
I'd read the reviews, but I remember expecting something small
that I'd nip in, then out, then get on the train home to Bath. As you
entered there was a sign that stated 45 minutes was the average viewing time.
I was in there for four hours.
Three bits leaped out at me from that
show, for different reasons.
- “The Man Who Sold The World” video with Klaus Nomi. It seen it before in YouTube blur-o-vision, but here it was pristine and gloriously, bogglingly weird.
-
The “Boys Keep Swinging” video. One of the weirder things that's happened to me in recent years is the Lodger has become my favourite of the Berlin trilogy, and here's one of its best tracks with Bowie in drag and cool as fuck.
-
The end of the exhibition. It was an enormous hall, with screens on all sides projecting various Bowie videos. And on one of them was “Rock 'n' Roll Suicide”.
So here's a thing – I don't rate the
Ziggy Stardust album that highly. Hey, some great songs for sure, but
it's no Hunky Dory, or Low, or Station To Station, or...
But then “Rock 'n' Roll Suicide” came
on. And Bowie sang “Oh no love, you're not alone” and, man, I
cried hard in the middle of the V&A. The video ended, and I sat
there and let it cycle around. And again. And again. I know I'm not
the only one who had that experience. In fact, from talking to
others, mine was one of the more moderate reactions.
That was a big moment for me. I'm not exaggerating when I say it was
that precise point that I realised that things would be OK. Hey, David
Bowie got through worse than this! Maybe I could ease back on the
booze and other stupid things that were propping me up at the time?
Heaven loves ya
One more memory: last Friday. I was the
first person to walk into HMV Bath that morning. I grabbed the CD and
vinyl copies and then... paused.
I buy a lot of vinyl. Like, a shit
load. A few months back I
decided to cut back on that. And I chose not to buy Blackstar on
black wax. It was more than twice as expensive as the CD and the
cover was bleeding horrible (now I think that star is a piece of
hilariously self-aggrandising genius on DB's part). 'I'll pick it up
later,' I thought. 'There'll be an expanded edition out at
Christmas, no doubt, and another album next year.'
David Bowie died two days ago. I still
don't really understand what that means. There were so many David
Bowies and we've already said goodbye to many of them that I think
it's going to be a while before it sinks in that there will be no
more.
It's not even about the music, at this
point. After Reality I was resigned to there being no more records, so
everything since has felt like a lovely bonus, but it just felt right
that he was in the world. He was hanging out with Tilda Swinton
and reading novels and being a family man. And good for him. If
anyone had earned it...
And now he's gone, his death as stylish as anything he did in life. Yesterday, when I wrote the
first draft of this, was sad. But after seeing the reaction to his passing, I feel heartened. It's nice to hear how many lives he touched. Maybe Lodger will get the reappraisal it deserves, now, cos honestly it's fucking great.
I didn't know how to end this, so I
decided to take some inspiration from Big Dave and rely on the
randomness of the universe. I put my Bowie album playlist on shuffle
and planned to use a quote from the first track. iTunes picked
“Neighbourhood Threat” from Tonight. Fucking hilarious – a
forgettable track, and a cover at that, from an album that even he would happily admit was a contender for his worst. But never mind, eh? I'll just hit shuffle again
and who knows what will come up? Glam rock? Ambient music? R&B? A
spoken-word interlude about Baby Grace Blue followed by goth techno?
Godspeed, David.
Will xxx
