It’s a month today since David Bowie‘s death was announced. Despite making a couple of posts about his music in that time, I didn’t really talk about what he, his music and his other works meant to me. I’m not going to do that now, the internet is chock-full of better-expressed words on that subject. Something that did cross my mind at the time was the idea that, like the common wisdom that one only fully becomes an adult when ones parents die, we all have to be our own David Bowie now that he’s not here to do it for us. Let your freak flag fly and all that. Gotta make way for the Homo Superior!
Like all good intentions and New Year‘s resolutions, that’s fallen by the wayside for me. I’ve got two small, personal Bowie projects I wanted to get done and between work, excessive gaming, this blog and Real Life™ I’ve not even made a start on either of them. One of the interesting themes of the Bowie obituaries and think-pieces has been people (including vgr2016’s own Da22) articulating something paraphrasable as “I didn’t know I was a Bowie fan until he died”. I’ve loved reading variations on that sentiment and I’m not normally a gatekeeper, but if I don’t get at least one of my projects well underway/done by Easter everyone reading this has my full permission to kick me in the shins any time I claim to be a Bowie fan.
My initial splurge of Bowie-listening has reduced to its admittedly-high normal level (the only artists by whom I have multiple albums on my phone are Bowie, NIN and Die Krupps). I was listening to Blackstar again earlier today after having put it aside for a week or two and it struck me how much its relative brevity works in its favour, regardless of whether that was an intentional choice or forced by circumstance. All killer, no filler, like the 7-8 solid songs you used to get on an LP (I’m particularly thinking Metallica, Iron Maiden and Bowie again here!). I’m especially enjoying Dollar Days at the moment, which strikes me as the sort of song that could get lost or buried on a 12+ song album, e.g. The Next Day (which is excellent and I’d say the sheer quantity of songs is its only flaw).
Having praised brevity, I’ll take a leaf out of my own book and leave my wandering thoughts there.
“I can’t read and I can’t write down….”