David Bowie is dead. The coldness of that statement, and the harshness of the reality that we will not be living in a world where somewhere his brain is working away, is devastating.
For music lovers, there’s a picture of Bowie next to the definition of ‘innovator’ in the musical dictionary. He challenged everything; genres, sounds, pop culture, fashion, gender, sexuality, expectations, us, but most crucially himself.
Innovating until the end, Bowie released his latest album Blackstar on his 69th birthday, last Friday, January 8th.
Bowie’s creative output and his iconography are intrinsically intertwined, as the 2013 V&A exhibition of his life and archive attempted to illustrate.
Long before there were endless places to go online to seek solidarity in identifying as this, that or the other, Bowie was a beacon for non-conformers who had just a record sleeve to pour over and a magazine interview here and there.
He came from outer space in spangly suits with strange but beautiful, exhilarating music. His soft speaking voice belied a fierce artist.
His music was a portal to escape, to innovation, to the sense that with eyes closed and a lightening flash painted on a face, we could in fact be heroes, if just for one day.
Even though his presence looms like a colossus across music and popular culture, there was never a sense of ego to Bowie.
Instead there was an artist who was both visionary and persistent, that mix of inspiration and craft. Here was an artist of ideas, who created characters through which to contextualise and channel what he had to say, a method that continues to be aped by contemporary musicians’ alter-egos.
A consummate collaborator, his work with Mick Ronson, Brian Eno, Iggy Pop, Lou Reed, Nile Rodgers, Queen, and others, created some of the greatest tracks and albums of the 20th century.
His longevity was typified by diversity, meaning that there’s a point of entry for everyone to Bowie. Whether it’s the 1983 album (his fifteenth) ‘Let’s Dance’ with Nile Rodgers for the disco and pop fans, or the chunky glam rock of ‘Rebel Rebel’, or the queasy synths of ‘Ashes to Ashes’, or the bluesy pop of ‘The Jean Genie’, the epic sweep of ‘Life on Mars’, the number of entries he authored in the great global songbook is surpassed by few.
With each generation, he was discovered and studied, and songs were reinvented by those who found their own entry point; when Nirvana covered 'The Man Who Sold The World', Kurt Cobain brought Bowie to the grunge generation.
Parts of his catalogue had such an impact, that an entire city’s creative output still exists in his shadow: The Berlin Trilogy yielded two of the greatest records of all time, ‘Low’ and ‘Heroes’.
Bowie was captivating because he retained the ability to surprise. In his later years, ‘The Next Day’, an album that seemed to appear out of nowhere, yielded the remarkably tender ‘Where Are We Now?’, while the cover art, referencing ‘Heroes’ caused endless analysis amongst graphic designers everywhere.
The odd beauty of how he would pop up in the most unlikely of places in film and television - The Snowman, SpongeBob SquarePants - always seemed brilliantly knowing, a wink at his presence in the quirkiest and most unexpected corners of popular culture.
Bowie took risks so others didn’t have to. There’s always been a sense of curiosity to his work, exploring new genres with the results being very much his own.
Some experiments failed, some triumphed, but the bravery of his musical explorations is surely the envy of artists who worry about stepping outside of their comfort zones.
Like every ground-breaking artist, he brought a riot of colour to the greys of everyday life, an outlet of creativity to those who aped his stance or makeup or music, a sense of possibility. There are few musicians remaining that are true outsiders.
As the years went by and celebrity overtook artistry in the music industry, Bowie was increasingly lonely in that crumbling Mount Rushmore of true pop eccentricity.
His enthusiasm for invention and reinvention gave the impression that the Bowie well of creativity never ran dry. There was always something to explore, some boundary to push, some project to invest time and energy into, some music to be made for himself and for us.
Other artists - actors, musicians, painters, filmmakers, authors - flocked to him, and whatever his next move was, it was always interesting.
His last single and the current theatre collaboration with Enda Walsh in New York are titled 'Lazarus'. The first line of that song will now reverberate, "Look up here, I'm in heaven." We'll continue to look to the sky and the stars to make sense him. RIP Major Tom, Ziggy Stardust, the Thin White Duke, David Jones.
Bowie forever.
