Given my tendencies toward recollection, you may find it hard to believe that I don’t particularly enjoy visiting my past. There was a lot of ugliness growing up, and dwelling on it is, to say the least, uncomfortable. And yet I do look back. Sometimes I’m called upon to do so, like now.
When I was a teenage kid in Pike County, Georgia, I had a morning ritual that got me going every single morning before school. I would put on David Bowie’s album, “Changes One,” side 2. I didn’t always get through all 5 tracks, but I always listened through “Young Americans” before walking to the bus stop. And it stayed with me, at least for a few hours. That was my refuge. Bowie’s music gave me hope and structure. My home life provided neither of those things and I sorely needed them both. “Diamond Dogs,” “Rebel, Rebel” and “Young Americans” somehow managed to shore up my humanity. I know this sounds extreme, but you’ve got to understand that when a positive, hopeful kid is being beaten down and drowned by her very home, she will grab on to something – anything – in a desperate grasp for air. Music gave me that. And during some critical years, that music belonged to David Bowie.
When I couldn’t handle the rock strains of my morning ritual, I turned to another David Bowie album, “Space Oddity.” This one mostly received full plays. I wasn’t partial to either side, but instead preferred to listen to the entire record. By the time I’d reach the last track on side 2, “Memory of a Free Festival,” I was usually in tears. The lyrics didn’t lead me to cry so much as the music did. And it wasn’t depressing music. It was, quite simply, perfect. And perfect music will do that to a gal.
Waking yesterday to learn of David Bowie’s passing left me very still. And quiet. I sat and read about his extraordinary life of art and I cried near-silent tears. As he had just turned 69 a couple of days before, it would be easy for me to say his death affected me because of my own age (I’m closer to 69 than to my teen years), but that isn’t true. I didn’t think about the number or the age. What I thought about was how I wasn’t finished being a fan of whatever came next from Bowie. And even when his output was sporadic, something always came next. Always.
But not now. For a great creator has left us. Yes – we have tremendous art available from David Bowie. We can listen to his more than 25 albums and watch his various movie roles. We can look to other artists who were inspired by him, such as Kate Bush. We can seek out his visual art, be it painting, sculpture or photography. In short, David Bowie’s work will survive. Long after him, long after us.
Like I said, I don’t always enjoy looking back, but sometimes one must. Right now, in my mind, I’m a kid getting dressed and I hear the opening drums of “Young Americans” coming from my old blue record player. And I know I’m gonna get through this day. I can make it. After all, I’ve got Bowie on my side.