I’m not sure what led me to sit in this seat, in this cinema, to watch a film I’ve already seen. All I know is that I can’t take my eyes from the screen for fear of missing him. He’s beautiful, even in the most ridiculous mullet wig I’ve ever seen. And even at my obscenely innocent age of fifteen I can see the merits of those tights. But it’s not just that; it’s his voice. Whether he’s singing or speaking, I’m enthralled. I have goosebumps and I’m not sure why. When I say I’m innocent I really mean it; I’m the one the kids make fun of at break-time in school, making up weird sexual references that I’m forced to say I already know in case they laugh at me for being clueless. Then, of course, they laugh at me anyway. Looking up at this screen now, I’m already dreading the end of the film because I don’t want it to end. Then it gets to the end and I wonder, when offered everything, himself included, why Sarah would ever turn him down. Seriously. LOOK AT HIM. LISTEN. Girl, you’re an idiot, and that baby really was bloody annoying!
Labyrinth was my turning point. When I left the cinema I was desperate to hear more. Beyond vague memories of Let’s Dance and Modern Love I didn’t really know anything about David Bowie, and back then it’s not like I could just go to Google! I had to actually do some legwork. Happily it didn’t take me long. At the time I babysat for a couple who ran the newsagents around the corner, and the dad, Tony, had an awesome music collection. Among them was the first Bowie album I would hear, and what a place to start.
I’m so excited! I have no idea what’s coming, and as I sit here cross-legged on the floor of my bedroom I stare at the strange, beautiful bloke on the album cover. The sleeve of the Aladdin Sane album is in my hands and the needle reaches the beginning of the first song. I’m not sure why but I feel nervous, and when the music starts I feel it fill my room and the adrenalin flood my body. I’ve never heard anything like this before; it feels dangerous and exhilarating. The music is jarring, erratic and jazzy, yet it’s somehow perfect. The lyrics are weird and wonderful, naughty and somehow forbidden to my innocent ears, but that just makes it all the more magnificent. His voice is stunning. I feel like I shouldn’t be listening but I can’t stop. I haven’t even turned the record over yet, and I know I’ve found the love of my life.
From that day on I was on a mission to find everything Bowie had ever recorded. I’d go on a Sunday to babysit and instead of staying in all morning watching Disney movies, I’d put Abi in the pushchair and walk down to the market at Redcar Racecourse. It didn’t take long for the man running the vinyl stall to know me; I’d turn up and he’d bring out from behind his makeshift counter all the Bowie vinyls he’d picked up that week. He gave me first refusal on everything he bought. If not for him I wouldn’t own, amongst other gems, original presses of two of his previous bands The Lower Third and The King Bees, or even (and I kid you not) The Laughing Gnome! That nice bloke on the record stall was like my dealer; he was the first person I went to for the next fix! My record collection grew incredibly quickly, with some wonderful treasures amongst it, and with every new album came the excitement, trepidation and anticipation of discovering yet another side to my new music god.
I’m sat on the comfy chair as close to the TV as I dare, video remote in hand. I can hear my brother and his best mate in the dining room playing an RPG or Subutteo (I don't care to know which) and I turn the TV up again. I keep turning it up not to drown out the sound of my brother and his friend, but simply to have that velvety voice fill me to the brim. I’m watching Ziggy Stardust: The Motion Picture. I’ve watched it before, countless times, and I know the songs inside out. I already have most of his albums and I rarely listen to anything else. I love watching his theatrics and the way his body moves so fluidly. He’s a showman, even I can see that, and he’s performing with such intensity in some of the songs that I wonder where he ends and Ziggy begins. This time, because my parents are out and I have control of the living room, I reach my favourite song, My Death, and turn up the TV again. Nothing will make me move from this spot. His voice is perfect. Absolutely stunningly perfect! He reaches the end of the song and I rewind the video to watch and listen again. Then again. And again. I lose count of the number of times he’s sung this song to me, but now my brother and his mate have had enough. The door slides open and my brother shouts something at me. I don’t know what, and I don’t care. I’m happy. In every atom of my being, I’m happy.
I can’t remember whether I originally owned that concert on VHS or whether I’d recorded it from the TV, but that tape was practically worn through thanks to the number of times I watched it. The DVD I own now is coping remarkably well! My Death remains to this day my favourite of Bowie’s vocal performances. It’s not my favourite song, that can change on a daily basis depending on my mood, but I’ve never found a performance to better it, and believe me when I say I’ve looked.
One of the things I always loved about Bowie’s music was the variety. There are albums I love that rarely get mentioned by the fans or critics. Diamond Dogs is one of my favourites for the combination of the narrative and the melodies. Sweet Thing and We Are The Dead are beautiful songs, albeit with lyrics that, if my mam had ever listened properly, I’m sure wouldn’t have let me continue with my obsession quite so calmly! She loved the song Young Americans and would even hum along to it, but she’d clearly never really listened!
I love Tonight, perhaps partly because I was an 80’s girl. Even now I can listen to it walking down the street and it puts an extra spring in my step. It’s one of those rare Bowie albums that can cheer me up! And don’t get me started on his new romantic look in the video for Blue Jean!
I’m uncomfortable and I’m too hot. I’m sat on a bench in the back of a transit van, being thrown back and forth with every turn. I’m on the way to the school cottage with some of my year group, and the sharper bends make us squash each other. I don’t mind so much though, because I have my Walkman plugged in to my ears nice and loud. I’m listening to Never Let Me Down, and it turns out that so are the people sat beside me! I know because they keep making comments on the lyrics. “Bang bang? What the hell is that rubbish you’re listening to???”. They’re clearly clueless. They’re still stuck on Bros and Jason Donovan. Some of the girls are even trying to dress like Matt Goss. One of them once accused me of only buying a particular type of chewing gum because that’s the one Matt Goss buys. I have David Bowie streaming almost constantly into my eardrums and she thinks I give a crap about Bros’ chosen chewing gum? Sure. They should be thankful I’m not walking around with a lightning bolt painted on my face, although I get bullied enough already without putting a target on my head.
Don’t worry, it’s not all about the commercial albums, in fact it’s not even close. I can happily say I like them regardless of any criticism that may be thrown at me; they have their own merits, but I also adore Ziggy, Hunky Dory, Scary Monsters, Lodger, well most of them if I’m honest! But one of my very favourite albums is The Man Who Sold The World. I find the lyrics mesmerising, and when I was younger they had a big impact on my own writing. I could read poems now that I wrote twenty years ago, and tell you which album or song inspired them. And no, I won’t be publishing them here! I have an unusual, and often very dark, imagination which I have absolutely no doubt was fed by Bowie’s lyrics, especially the earlier years. I still see his influence even now in some of the more recent things I’ve written.
I can’t believe I’m here. I’m actually here! The coach has stopped outside the venue in Newcastle, and I file off with my boyfriend in tow. Everyone’s as excited as I am, perhaps my boyfriend being the only exception. He bought us these tickets for my birthday. I turned seventeen two months ago and I’ve had to wait that long to come see Tin Machine. I can’t deny I’m a little disappointed that Bowie won’t be doing any of his old songs, but I still get to see him and that’s fine by me. Anyway, I like Tin Machine. I really do! Some people think I’ve just continued on the bandwagon and been duped into listening to bad rock, but I really do enjoy it. As we walk into the venue I see the expanse of space near the stage. My boyfriend sees the balconies and tries to lead me up there. Is he insane?! I ask him as much, and say as firmly as I can, “If you think for one second I’m going back there when I can get right to the front, you can bog off! You stand where you want, but that’s where I’m going!”. I point to the stage while holding his gaze and he knows I mean business. He dutifully follows me. Good boy!
It’s only been two years since I found Bowie, but it feels like I’ve been waiting to see him perform live forever. Nothing will tear me away. Nothing. Especially being so close to the stage. He’s so close I can almost smell the sweat. I feel as though I could reach out and touch him. If not for the security it’s entirely possible I could. He’s astonishing. He’s clearly not an equal member of the band, he’s the front man everyone came to see. There are drunk girls being passed forward over people’s heads, and I don’t understand why they would do that to themselves. Why come all this way to see this legend perform, and drink so much you pass out (and they really are unconscious, that much is obvious). They’re being carried out to the foyer, getting nowhere near the man, and missing most of the concert. And here I am, sober as they come but drunk on the atmosphere, his voice, and… oh crap, he’s taking off his shirt…!!!
Looking back I think Tin Machine was what leapfrogged me towards Blaize’s and the ‘Piper with my brother and his unusual, and bloody fantastic, group of friends! Those rock/alternative clubs and the people I was partying with were my lifesavers. Until I met them at eighteen I was still a bit of a misfit. I had a few friends who I loved dearly, and once I reached sixth form college I did fit in better than I ever had at school, but these brand new friends accepted me instantly, regardless of how I dressed or the music I listened to, although I suspect being a Bowie fan helped in some cases!
It was tempting for me to list through all of Bowie’s albums and say what I thought, or list his achievements and for me to go on and on about facts and figures, but it was too clinical. I’m more of an emotional writer, so instead I decided to write more about my feelings and memories. It’s about what I was given as I was going through those difficult teenage years, being a bit of a loner who was bullied at school. It’s about being encouraged to find myself and not apologising for who I am. He helped me find my feet and continues to be a source of comfort and support, and occasionally assists me in my meltdowns; those meltdowns that allow me to unload and not verbally attack the people I care about (and some I don’t!).
I’m sitting at my desk at work. I’ve only been here for half an hour, and it’s a Monday like any other Monday. Irritating, but doable. We always have the radio on and most of the time I don’t even notice the news bulletins, especially as they come so often. But now I’m in shock. Did I just hear that right? He’s dead? No, he can’t be, they must be wrong. It’s a hoax or a publicity stunt. I stare at my desk. I can barely take it in, that this man who seemed indestructible has gone. It was only a few days before when I heard Lemmy had died that I fleetingly wondered whether Bowie would be next. I dismissed it as quickly as the thought came, “Don’t be ridiculous, he’s never going anywhere.”. Now I have to get through my working day without looking like an insane person. I listen to all the news reports, feeling numb. Every time I hear those words, “David Bowie has died”, it’s as though there’s a shock of electricity going through me, then numbness. All I want to do is go home and immerse myself in him. Lock the doors, close the curtains and have him with me until I can finally go to sleep. Perhaps when I wake up everything will be back to normal, and he’ll still be here.
Of course he wasn’t. I watched Ziggy Stardust: The Motion Picture, then the Glass Spider Tour. I tried to distract myself with an hour of something else on the TV, but even now I can’t remember what it was. The whole time I was numb, sat watching and listening as emotionless as if I were sat at work with a PowerPoint presentation. And then I watched his last single release, Lazarus. I hadn’t had chance to listen to it yet so I went to YouTube and plugged in my headphones. That was the moment the floodgates opened, and for an hour I was inconsolable. By the time I went to bed I was exhausted, but sleep was in random short spurts, and few and far between. He was my first thought every time I woke up, and then it took momentous effort to silence my brain long enough to get some sleep.
Some will say that my response to a complete stranger dying is ridiculous. I never met the man, and it’s entirely possible I would’ve been disappointed if I had. It’s been said before that you shouldn’t meet your idols, and I have no doubt that in some cases it’s true. But for me, David Bowie was my absent yet ever present friend. From that day sat cross legged on my bedroom floor listening to Aladdin Sane for the first time, he’s had an impact on my life. Not in huge, profound ways like some people report. Many, many other people and circumstances have led me to be the person I am today; creative, strong, independent, musical, brave, perceptive, and many other not so great things!
Bowie helped me to understand, in his own unique way, that being different is a blessing. Seeing the world differently to others is a gift. Being able to stand up and make people accept me for me, is essential. Exploring other viewpoints is important. And finally, expressing myself, regardless of how anyone else will accept me, is the only way to live. The fact that I have, and continue to grieve for him is testament to his talent and presence. I never met him, but as my sister so perfectly put it, “It’s okay to grieve, he was your buddy”.
I know exactly what led me to sit in this seat, in this cinema, to watch a film I’ve already seen countless times. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. I’ve come full circle. I feel nervous, and I’m jumpy with anticipation. I’m sat in the same cinema as I was 26 years ago. Labyrinth isn’t my favourite of his films, but it’s the one that led me to his music. Now, just as then, I can’t take my eyes off the screen. He’s still beautiful, even in the most ridiculous mullet wig I’ve ever seen. And whether he’s singing or speaking, I’m enthralled. I have goosebumps and I know exactly why. And with the goosebumps comes a lump in my throat that won’t go away. Looking up at this screen, I’m already dreading the end of the film.
I don't want to say goodbye.
