This morning when my sister called me and told me David Bowie was dead. I am heartbroken. Everyone will be writing on their blogs and in magazine articles how they felt connected to him, and I am writing too. Like millions of others, my “connection” to him started when I fell in love with his album Ziggy Stardust when I was 15. I went to two Los Angeles David Bowie concerts: the Diamond Dogs Tour in 1974 at the Universal Amphitheater and the 1987 Glass Spider Tour at The Forum. After I was 15, I regularly purchased his albums. Years later, my husband had the fantastic opportunity to work with him for a day.
The connections people make between themselves and a musician’s musical creations are of validity. I admired Mr. Bowie’s beautiful, sexy, deep, versatile voice, lyrics, appearance, music, creativity and brilliance. Events in my life are linked to his songs forever.
I think it’s astounding and clever how his cancer was kept secret from the public. He didn’t want us to know and it wasn’t any of our business. The day Blackstar came out, I watched the Lazarus video twice; Bowie looked and sounded amazing.
And in photos of him from December 2015, in his last public appearance, he looked good, and I am glad he looked good. In this era of intense and many times unfair and invasive media coverage, we are all kindly curious as to what kind of cancer took the man we admired, respected, and whose music we escaped into.
My condolences to go David Bowie’s wife Iman and 15-year-old daughter Lexi, and the rest of us millions.
What GIFTS he left us!
Title of blog post inspired by Sherri Shepherd.