I have loved David Bowie ever since I first saw him on the 1973 Spiders From Mars tour. Admittedly I had what is known as a ‘restricted view’ what with being in utero at the time, but it was the start of a love affair I have never quite got over.
As a small girl my Dad sang me to sleep with ‘Starman’. He was part of the soundtrack of my childhood, but I didn’t leave him there.
As a pubescent girl my sexuality was at least in part awakened by the gloriously tight trousered Labyrinth. I was absolutely astounded that she didn’t just let him keep the baby and join him in his Escher-esque castle!
I was lucky enough to see him live several times over the years, the last time being an outstanding and magical Glastonbury appearance some fifteen or so years ago.
I love him a bit. Well. Quite a lot really. One of my heroes. And now he has gone. I don’t quite know what to do with that information. I cried while making the kid’s lunchboxes – marmite and salt water sandwiches today. I played his music on the walk home from school, tears down my cheeks as Major Tom sang in my ears.
I shall pop another album on in a minute. Perhaps the new one released just a few days ago, that I didn’t even get round to listening too yet, that will feel especially poignant now. But while I may feel sad, I can guarantee that I will end up joyously singing along with the classics – because they are brilliant and will never stop being so. If you need me, I will be dancing to Rebel, Rebel in the kitchen, if only I had some red shoes to wear while I dance the blues.