On this day five years ago, much beloved singer-songwriter David Bowie passed away.
One of things that people quickly learn about me—aside from me being an avid runner, outdoor enthusiast, horse and cat lover—is that I love David Bowie. My entire life I’ve been listening to his music. Several of my earliest memories are Bowie themed: toddler me watching David Bowie music videos on VHS; my Dad, himself a talented singer, playing “Space Oddity” on his acoustic guitar; my Dad and I eagerly awaiting and then listening to the latest Bowie albums released when I was a kid (Earthling, Hours…, Heathen, etc).
So, it was a shock, to say the least, when the news broke that Bowie had died; he’d never let slip that he’d been battling liver cancer for the past 18 months. Only his immediate family and a special few were aware. When it was announced on his official Facebook page that “David Bowie died peacefully today” the world was caught completely unawares. I remember that day quite clearly. I’d just arrived back home, after a drive of several hours. It was evening, I was tired, and I soon fell asleep on the couch. And I then had the most vivid vision: I was in a grayish-white room, and before me stood an upright hexagonal coffin. There was a small window over the face of the deceased. And the face was male, and I just knew I had a connection to this individual. I suddenly felt so frightened and disturbed that my breathing seized, and I awoke with a start. I was quite spooked, and perplexed: why did I see such an image?
I was unable to sleep that night, so I stayed up scrolling through Facebook, when I saw that my friend (who is the ultimate country music lover) had posted, “RIP David Bowie.” What? I dismissed it as a hoax. Celebrities are constantly dodged by fake death announcements. But I had to check. I searched the web, and my doubt soon turned into shock. I literally stared at the wall, uncomprehending. Bowie was dead? But heroes don’t die. And your heroes especially, they never die. Right?
The vision/ dream/ nightmare/ mere coincidence, call it what you may, slammed back into my consciousness. And it was then the tears started. I stayed up for another hour, feeling drained. Yes, I did not personally know the man. But what really hurt me was to think of Bowie’s daughter, Lexi, had just lost her father. She was just 15 then, much too young for any child to lose a parent. 🙁 Lexi, sending you a big hug.
Bowie Beginnings
My Dad is the one who introduced me to David Bowie. He’s been listening to Bowie since the 70’s, when he first discovered Young Americans album while on a trip to England; he attended 10 Bowie concerts over the decades, and has dozens of Bowie vinyls and CDs. To be clear, he never forced me to listen to or like Bowie. He provided me the exposure, yes, but my fascination with Major Tom was natural, organic; I just grew up him hearing him and was completely fascinated by his many transformations, with music styles, characters, and appearance. His vocals, lyricism, his stage presence, are just mesmerizing. He was born to perform.
My Dad and I have always been close. So when I first thought of Lexi losing her father, it hurt me. I’m sure she was close to him. To her, he wasn’t David Bowie; he was her Dad. Bowie the man may be gone; but his legacy, his music lives on forever. Lives end, but legends live on forever. I hope that, in some small sense, this provides comfort to Lexi and Iman, Bowie’s wife.
The day after his death, my Dad and I had a somber conversation on the phone, just reminiscing on our favorite albums and memories. My Grandma Brenda, my Dad’s mom, even emailed me to express her sympathy, writing that she herself enjoyed several of his songs. I then began re-listening to several albums of his, namely 1976’s Station to Station, and just, wow. His vocals are just so incredible, and playing the album was quite cathartic. It would be a little while, however, before I could give Blackstar a proper listen. When I finally did, it was quite the experience. Tony Visconti, who produced several Bowie albums, says it best: “He always did what he wanted to do. And he wanted to do it his way and he wanted to do it the best way. His death was no different from his life—a work of art. He made Blackstar for us, his parting gift. I knew for a year this was the way it would be.”
Five Years On
I’m still incredulous that it’s already been five years since David has passed. Five years…any Bowie fan knows the significance of this number, as one of Bowie’s earliest songs is “Five Years.” Released in 1972, the song relays the story of Earth only having five years left, and individuals’ various reactions upon learning the news. After the initial shock of learning about his death, in other ways I was not at all surprised, when it came to how Bowie handled his failing health and imminent demise. Knowing Bowie and his mystique, it didn’t surprise me that he never divulged his cancer diagnosis to the public. For a man who had a 50+ year career in the spotlight, he was in so many ways very private. By keeping his diagnosis known to those only closest to him, he was able to enjoy the final 18 months of life with privacy, all while writing and recording Blackstar, his final album. Released on January 8, his birthday—and two days before his death—the whole record is clearly his swan song. “Look up here man / I’m in heaven,” are the opening lyrics to the single “Lazarus.”
The stunning fact that Bowie’s diagnosis was never leaked until he finally succumbed, I think speaks volumes about the respect and awe people had, and continue to have, for him. For his whole career, he was constantly reinventing himself in terms of music styles, alter egos, and fashion, always ahead of the curve. It really warms my soul in knowing that Bowie’s career was so long that it spanned and influenced several generations. For example, my Dad clearly remembers purchasing Bowie vinyls as both a high school and college student in the late 70’s and early 80’s; Bowie was still releasing music when I was both in and out of college, in 2013 and 2016, respectively.
So, thank you Starman, for everything. Your massive creativity, talent, that certain mystique about you, live on. No one can ever replicate it. You are the soundtrack of my life. So many of my heroes have been long gone, some for centuries, but I and so many others count ourselves very lucky to have witnessed your career, your presence on Earth. In April 2004, I saw you perform live at Budweiser Events Center, in Loveland, CO, for your Reality Tour. It was a dream come true. I really can say I have seen David Bowie perform live. And it was utterly fantastic. And in many ways, bittersweet. It was both the first and last time I ever saw you. And it was also the last time for my Dad, marking the end to a decades long span of watching his hero on stage. We each wore a Bowie shirt, Dad letting me wear his shirt from Bowie’s ’78 tour; I felt so honored. I could easily keep going on, but I would like to end my ramble on this: we miss you Bowie, Major Tom, Aladdin Zane, Ziggy. And to my Dad (whom I, and others, have always thought could pass as Bowie’s brother): thank you.
~LMC
