Life on Mars

Probably fewer words rather than more are better. But I’m inordinately affected by the unexpected death of David Bowie. I haven’t really listened to anything new from Bowie in years. But as a teenager, in early 80s – ironically in one of his fallow periods – I was obsessed with the whole 70s oeuvre. If you don’t know Bowie other than as a name from a guy who was big in your parents’ day, set aside some time and listen to The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. A certain measure of pure critical acclaim always just eluded Bowie. But for influence, on the full terrain of Anglophone pop music, there are very, very few who even come close. It’s not a measure of some abstract greatness – just an intuitive, personal response: but other than Dylan, Jagger, Richards and maybe McCartney I can’t think of anyone else from this era whose passing would shake me up quite as much. And somehow, Bowie, although certainly not a young man at 69, continued to strike me as much younger than his years. Bowie dead? Really? For now just this …