David Bowie

Probably the least controversial thing I can say is "man, I love David Bowie." Always, have, but that wasn't just a "duh" thing when I was growing up. I.

Too many of the old guard continue to live in the past, when Bowie was a futurist until his last breath, even when he was channeling previous eras. Bowie was a fan of the Velvet Underground, who are forever attached to the myth that “not many people heard them, but everyone who did eventually formed a band,” and here he was, later in his career, kind of making the same thing happen, as far as I could tell. I insist that the lyrical tag of “sailor can’t dance like you” is a playful nod to Lou Reed’s “Sally can’t dance,” because it tracks with a history of puns that also produced “Art Decade” and “Aladdin Sane.” “DJ” is so brilliant, as it rides the line between unhinged and contained. It would be seven more years before I learned the story of how the “Berlin records” came to be, or even heard the the other two in their entirety. African and Arabic influences drove a third of the album. Over the years I’d learn the connections to krautrock, and pondered how weird it was that Fripp, Iggy, Belew, Alomar, could all be in the same orbit. I think he was a little too edgy for a lot of the people in my town, even though it was hardly a backwater. Upon first listen, “Fantastic Voyage” was a nice enough tune, but I wasn’t sure what was going on as the songs played on. I’ll admit all of that “wompwompwomp” and falsetto stuff kind of freaked me out, even if I love it now, but I honestly didn’t know if he’d been making records on the reg. I was sure a different drummer was playing on that song. It didn’t occur to me that Bowie pretty much invented new wave, owned the skinny tie look, and all of the new romantic bands worshipped him.

David Bowie had an affinity for Ireland - and a 2003 concert film shot in Dublin shows the singer exclaiming 'Tiocfaidh Ár Lá' during 'Rebel Rebel'

The 'Tiocfaidh Ár Lá' cry is but one of many highlights from Bowie's 2003 live album/film. In typical cheeky Bowie fashion, he chose an Irish phrase to close off his 'rebel' song - by exclaiming 'Tiocfaidh Ár Lá!' as the audience applauded. The jam-packed setlist included all of Bowie's biggest hits, such as 'Under Pressure', 'Life on Mars', 'Heroes', and 'Ashes to Ashes'.

David Bowie can be defined as one of those music artists who took root in society as something much more prominent than a simple rock star.

On the other hand, the lightning painting could signify the duality of emotions. In addition, the pupil of his left eye would be dilated much more than it normally is for a human. There are several theories related to the meaning of Bowie's famous lightning bolt makeup. "One of the reasons I had the party was because both of us fancied this girl. Back in 1962, Bowie came to blows with a friend over a girl. The first one has to do with the lightning bolt as a symbol of divinity, a natural concept that in most cultures is associated with fire and destruction and has to do with the gods.

On the anniversary of David Bowie's death, MOJO selects his greatest ever songs. David Bowie Earls Court 1973 ...

In 1971 Bowie was tapping into the mood of a jaded, exhausted age, the psychic fallout from the optimism and upheaval of the ’60s. Bugged by a male flatmate (or lover?) and anxiously awaiting the arrival of a “mellow-thighed chick”, the narrator of Suffragette City is a basket case of sexual anxiety. Stuffed with allusions (T.Rex, Charles Mingus, A Clockwork Orange), it presents Bowie as an omnivorous pasticheur with an endless appetite. This has the lot: a theme that’s both self-serving and (those quotation marks) ironic, an epic “lovers across the Berlin Wall” backstory, Eno’s ‘magic briefcase’, dolphins, three Robert Fripp guitar parts rolled into one, and Bowie himself rising above waves both new and old. The music, from the echoey handclaps, the mournful acoustic melody and the chattering, spacey ending sees Bowie take a great leap; the words, a lonely dialogue of alienation between a doomed astronaut and ground control provide a metaphor for Bowie’s entire career. This, however, was no fond nostalgia, but a dissection of masculinity’s clichéd properties (“you can buy a home of your own!”) set to a drunken grind. Given away by Tony Visconti, who branded it a “cheap cash-in”, this magical song was bestowed the most intricate of productions by Gus Dudgeon and a sweeping arrangement by Paul Buckmaster (they defined the sound of early Elton John, too). As the narrative unfolds, strings creep in and his voice turns strident before unleashing a climatic chorus worthy of a terrace anthem to impart a collective outpouring of panic. A brooding, melancholic soundscape, as Warsaw had none of Bowie’s usual lyrical personae to filter through, far from alienating listeners, it actually brought them closer to the emotional core of it composer. The last-minute lyrics, teased out of the then apathetic, love-struck singer, are intriguingly opaque (and scant) and sung in an imitation Marc Bolan voice. After the wired art-mystique of Low and “Heroes”, Lodger’s languorous opening track hits like a revelation. Dave’s in ‘Sarf Lahndahn’ gangster mode, haunted and haunting, beset by Visconti’s barking synth-dogs, issuing sinister semi-threats (“I’ll love her ’til the day she dies”) and thieves’ cant (“waiting at the lights – know what I mean?”) while the chilly relentlessness of Alomar-George Murray-Denny Davis, plus Robert Fripp at his most aggressively random, thicken his insulation against punk.

In the thick of his glam rock era, Bowie stuns in this 1972 performance of “Starman” on Top Of The Pops. The legend gives an effortless show, equipped with a ...

This vibrant performance of “Modern Love” at Live Aid sees the star let loose, tearing up the stage and roaring out lyrics from somewhere deep and guttural. The moment would mark one of his final live performances. Filmed at the Marquee Club in London in October 1973, Bowie electrifies with his performance of “Space Oddity,” dressed in a similar jumpsuit, mullet, and acoustic guitar combo.

Seven years ago today, I was phoned early in the morning by executives at The Independent to tell me that David Bowie had died. I spoke to the then editor, ...

So today, as on every anniversary of his death, I will think of the coolest and most versatile of all rock stars. Little known too was the fact that David was an avid collector, of works ranging from Rubens to Duchamp and [Friends have occasionally whispered “eBay” to me](https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/david-bowie-ziggy-stardust-mick-ronson-tasmania-brixton-b2176624.html) about the latter, but I know I would never be able to part with it. I recognise that I am privileged to have done both. Indeed, TV films about his life, and constant compilations and remasters, have brought in new generations of fans. I was more than happy to do so, as I thought and still believe he was little known as an artist by fans who rightly worshipped him for his music. It was a moment when he was experimenting with using mash-ups of found lyrics to make songs for his new album. It was one of his first appearances in the persona of Ziggy Stardust. Nat Tate was a figment of Boyd’s imagination. “I doubt it,” he replied, and burst into that peal of infectious laughter that I was to come to know well. But my contribution was made in a spirit of sadness as well as celebration, for Bowie had become something of a friend. These were the last months of print for the newspaper, so special supplements were still a thing.

When the shape-shifting, wildly influential rock star David Bowie passed away on this day in 2016, music fans around the world went into mourning.