So, I don’t have any profound words for this.
When Leonard Nimoy passed, I managed to whip up a Star Trek-inspired soup. But now, aside from listening to Bowie’s music on repeat, I can’t figure out how to properly commemorate him on this blog.
I can’t even remember when, exactly, I became a Bowie fan. I stumbled across his greatest hits album in high school, and later bought the albums Lodger and Station to Station on vinyl. Aladdin Sane and Diamond Dogs accompanied me as I moved across the country, from Detroit to Albuquerque. (I was lucky enough to find the cassettes at a truck stop!)
When Bowie toured with Moby back in the 2000s, I finally had a chance to see him live, at an outdoor venue. Despite the definite non-intimate setting, I still remember how commanding his presence was, how much his voice carried.
And I think, like many of his fans, I liked his music because he made it ok to be strange, to be different. Whether experimenting with fashion or pushing the boundaries of gender, Bowie was revolutionary.
Even with his final album, which seems to be a farewell to his fans, he never stopped being strangely wonderful and quintessentially Bowie. Which is why I’m going to keep this blog short, and let his music speak for itself.