When I woke up this morning to the news of David Bowie's death, I felt that deep, painful sadness in the pit of my stomach. Then my mother called to "see how I was doing" with the news and offer a heart to heart about how she felt the day Elvis died and I then I wanted to cry. Today is my day the music died.
David Bowie was an enigma. He was sexy and weird all at once. His unmistakable voice was both soothing and haunting. And his music videos and appearances in movies created looks that were forever burned in your memory. Each one was about him being reborn with yet another androgynous yet arousing and totally unique style.
But more importantly, that film opened my young eyes and ears to the magic of this strange but beautiful man.
I consumed all of the Bowie of the past and began following the Bowie that was still unfolding. "Under Pressure" has been my anthem for years and I feel no shame in calling it my favorite song. I honestly could listen to it a thousand times on repeat for days and still love it. And even though I hate going to concerts, I saw Bowie on his Reality Tour in 2003. In the front row. I swear he winked at me with his hazel eye. He was a true ageless rock god whose voice and presence was huge-bigger than life, despite his small frame. And most importantly, Bowie made being different so glamorous and cool. He was a true artist who made every detail he presented to us matter.
I don't really know how to properly mourn the loss of a rock god. Especially one who crossed so many generations that it seemed impossible for him to be anything but eternal. Just last week, Bowie released his new album and video for "Lazarus" and upon seeing it, I accepted it as yet another curious Bowie transformation--a weak, frail bandaged man twitching and writhing in pain.
A sad, silly part of me keeps hoping that this is just a Bowie fake out. That the title "Lazarus" means he will be back, he will be risen. The next Ziggy Stardust. But that is just as foolish as assuming that Tupac calling himself Makaveli on his last album meant that like Machiavelli suggested he was using a fake death to fool his enemies. (A google rabbit hole of conspiracy theories I once went down after watching a documentary on VH1.)
But reality is that Bowie is gone. The Golden Years are over, though lucky for us, his stardust will always remain.
And perhaps it is ok that I all I want to do is watch Bowie videos all day.