Something happened on the day he died
Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside
Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried
(I'm a blackstar, I'm a blackstar)
How many times does an angel fall?
How many people lie instead of talking tall?
He trod on sacred ground, he cried loud into the crowd
(I'm a blackstar, I'm a blackstar)
-David Bowie
David Bowie and I share something very special in common. We both discovered The Velvet Underground as young men and knew we had to do something about it.
But I was listening to Bowie long before I had ever heard of The Velvet Underground.
Most of my early memories of music are in my parents' car, listening to classic rock radio. Bowie was always in the mix—songs like "Fame", "Rebel Rebel" and "Let's Dance"—not his best work, but still better than anything else they played on those stations. There was a singular sophistication to the sound of Bowie that set him apart from anything else I had been exposed to as a kid. I had no idea at the time that these songs were a small but significant piece of a discography that would send me to outer space and back many times over.
When I started writing lyrics and singing lead vocals for my own band, the art-rock trinity of Bowie, Lou Reed and Iggy Pop was my bible. I was obsessed with their particular brand of theatricality—the weirdness, the alien-ness, the strange beauty, the danger—something that I could see was missing from my local music scene. As most young artists do, I imitated my idols, but in doing so I found my own creative identity. My first year as a rock'n'roll singer was spent trying to imitate Bowie's voice. It didn't always work, but it taught me how to interpret music and lyrics, and communicate that interpretation to the audience. Bowie taught me how to find the drama in a song and perform from that point. He once said he didn't fancy himself a great singer, but he knew he was good at interpreting a song. I don't fancy myself a great singer either, but I think I've become a pretty darn good musical interpreter because David Bowie taught me how.
Another thing Bowie taught me was the art of persona. The very DNA of the rock'n'roll stage persona is contained in the many faces of Bowie. My own musical alter ego is an amalgam of many interests and influences, but Ziggy Stardust, Thin White Duke, and Halloween Jack are all at the top of the list. Persona can be autonomy, or it can be prison. Bowie always knew when his persona was becoming a prison, when to kill it off and create something new from the ground up. It's his gift to those of us who otherwise wouldn't know when to move on.
And then there's the music. Other artists have been lucky enough to create innovative music for two or three years. Bowie did it for 40. He was always moving forward, and it was always authentic. His music stayed so good for so long that you'd be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't have some type of personal connection with it. Like a million other young people, Bowie was the soundtrack to my college years. His songs taught me to celebrate being different in a place where same was thought to be next to godliness. My wife and I share a deep love for Bowie (my wife's band Saliva Plath does a really awesome, spacey cover of "Moonage Daydream" now and then). "Heroes" was our song when we were dating, it's the song I performed for her right before I proposed, and its the song we danced to at our wedding. There's still not a week that goes by that we don't listen to Bowie together. Drive down Interstate 5 in Orange County and you may just spot us cruisin' along to "Diamond Dogs", "Changes" or "Ziggy Stardust". We're sci-fi enthusiasts, so naturally, Bowie is often the soundtrack to our imaginary journeys through time and space.
David Bowie has metaphorically died and been resurrected so many times over the course of his career that it makes his literal death all the more painful. At the same time, he has transcended so many mediums (music, art, film, fashion, culture) that it only seems natural for him to transcend life on earth. His latest album, Blackstar, was just released a few days ago, on his 69th birthday. Bowie's longtime friend and producer Tony Visconti has confirmed that the album was a heartfelt goodbye—the work of a man who knew his death was coming soon (trust Bowie to die cooler than anyone has ever died). Blackstar is a graceful and gracious exclamation point—a poignant epilogue to a career that permeated popular culture for four decades. Right now I feel blessed to have spent almost 27 years sharing atmosphere with David Bowie. It's heartbreaking to be on a planet where he's no longer with us, but it's also a great time to celebrate his music, which will always be there to take us to the stars.
Love you Starman.
-Andy Andersen
No comments:
Post a Comment