Ay ya. The emotions have been flowing the past month. Scott Weiland, Lemmy Kilmister and David Bowie – all artists I have either met and/or seen perform live, gone too soon. My personal stories and memories about each one of them or their music isn’t significant, I know this. Blips in their lifetimes, likely they were, but they were special to me. Especially David Bowie.
I don’t remember feeling this way about the loss of an artist. This one hurts.
As a woman, I can’t even really think of a man that I’ve ever truly looked to as an icon, and I’m certain I’m not the only one. Alien-like in appearance, Bowie was a voice for the alienated. He was a creative genius that the world wasn’t ready for, but with his art he made the world ready for him. What a gift that has been, so much so that his fans can’t help but to give back in their own ways. I’m forever grateful to have seen him perform twice with some of my best friends, and I’ve even enjoyed a couple of the same concerts as Bowie, as fans, in New York City. I always made sure to make his collection a stop on a tour I was giving with friends, guests, and media when they visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame + Museum, because he was my favorite artist on exhibition. His music we’d play at almost every single event we’d ever DJed, watching the dance floor light up as if we just sprinkled some of Ziggy’s stardust onto everyone.
Music is at it should be in the context of David Bowie.
And yet, even as certain as death is, who could see the end of the David Bowie? A man who seemed so other worldly that we thought he was immortal.
Rock on, Goblin King.
Illustration above by Regina Yazdi.
Graphic gif by Mighty Oak Grows.