My relationship with Bowie was never as robust as I always felt it should have been. My introduction came at age 9, though not in the usual “Labyrinth”-ine ways. This was around the time I’d presumed to have seen and heard it all musically, thanks to the scouring of my father’s exhaustive record collection. MTV and VH1 were all but banished from the house until I was a teenager, so to satisfy my ongoing quest for a visual aid to my beloved tunes, I settled on the bottom-rung alternative, MOR Music. The QVC of music television, producers would intersperse classic music videos with “hosts” pleading you to call the number below and order the corresponding album. The channel was short-lived, but its influence on my music formation prevailed.
Tangent aside, I would watch MOR Music every morning while getting ready for school. While usually imbued with likes of the Bay City Rollers and David Cassidy, I took pause at a random, unfamiliar name uttered from the host’s mouth, a new David.
My curiosity quickly turned into captivation as the usual fluff was replaced by antiquated computer symbols, and a gangly looking guy with no eyebrows, feathered, multicolored hair and a sequined shirt singing to someone named Major Tom. As a burgeoning queer kid, the cryptic flamboyance was almost too exciting to bear. As a Trekkie, the sci-fi atmosphere was totally compelling. And as an already established music snob, the music was damned powerful.
That night, I asked my Dad about this Bowie character and why he doesn’t have any of his records. His response threw me.
“Never cared for him much. His voice doesn’t really do it for me.”
And that was that for about 15 years, until I voluntarily took the plunge into the world of Bowie albums somewhere in my early 20s. Some I loved (“Hunky Dory”, “Heroes”), some I hated (“Pin-ups”, “Diamond Dogs”), and most I merely liked. While I was absolutely rewarded by the experiencing of his albums, part of me felt as though I missed the Bowie train during my formative years, and that perhaps Dad was right all along. His brazen challenging of gender roles, often through the filter of science fiction is everything I ever dreamed of. But I often find much of his music impenetrable, and its elusiveness was a mystery to me. Perhaps that’s point of it all. Sometimes genius needs to be taken in smaller doses.
“Space Oddity” is certainly not my favorite Bowie song. It is not even my favorite space-themed Bowie song (both of those honors go to “Life on Mars?”). However, it is certainly important to both myself and the world at large for bringing attention to this challenging, enigmatic and still somehow accessible artist. The story resonates, the structure is entirely unique and effective, and it is a sheer masterpiece of mood. Listening to it in 2017, the sound holds up, despite the layers of mellotron and clunky sound effects. Bowie achieved an ambiance that has never successfully been duplicated.
David Bowie is not an immediate go-to artist for me. However, I find myself ceaselessly rewarded by the soundscapes and melodies whenever I take one of his discs for a spin. As the years progress, I'm gradually catching up. It’s impossible to truly process how many barriers he broke as a visual artist, and his genius for instrumental music, composition, lyrics, singing, and even acting is as far-reaching as the galaxy.
Happy 70th birthday, David. We really miss you back here on the ground.
- Josh
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYYRH4apXDo
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