“Did you hear that? Wake up…”
There are only a handful of reasons as to why my husband would wake me in the morning whilst our daughter is still sleeping beside us…
David Bowie is… dead.
As my head starts to wade through the fog of half-sleep, I reach for my phone. I check Facebook (as that’s where most of us go to these days for our essential news), there was nothing in my feed. I check the BBC website; there’s nothing there… until the breaking news banner appears and a holding page/statement is uploaded.
It’s not a hoax.
It’s both expected and a shock (we had some time ago heard rumours by industry people that he was battling cancer but speculation is speculation). I guess we never expected him to be gone. We lay in bed, silently listening to the tributes roll in on the Today programme.
There’s nothing I can say that hasn’t already been said.
I remember playing R Low when I was pregnant with her, explicitly explaining that under no circumstances could she dislike Bowie and that I’d return her if she did. I couldn’t wait to watch Labyrinth with her (6 months was probably too young).
We have many differing tastes in music in our household, but we have a list of “non-negotiables”. Bowie would top that list (the list including The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Dylan, Wilco and Cohen). Our go-to vinyl when we can’t agree on something. Our go-to whatever the weather.
We can’t attribute the word ICON, not with all seriousness, to many people these days. Not even to some of those on the above non-negotiable list. Legends, sure. But icon…icon is definitely reserved for Bowie.
Musician. Actor. Artist. Icon. One of a kind.
Heavy, heavy heart.