I spent Friday evening at a friend’s British-themed party, where hours of classic David Bowie music looped in the background. It was the iconic artist’s 69th birthday, but most of the guests weren’t paying close attention. That is somehow fitting. Bowie’s hits are so familiar, so deeply ingrained into my generation’s musical memory that they aren’t easily separated out from the other sounds of my youth.
I remember my college roommate regularly monopolizing the bathroom of our first apartment, blasting “Space Oddity” out of a tiny boombox while she took a bath.
That song, for me more than any, captures the alien spirit of Bowie. He was the Man Who Fell to Earth and Major Tom, out there floating ’round in his tin car, far, far away. Bowie was so “out there” that he always scared me a little.
Hearing this morning that Bowie had died of cancer felt like a punch in the gut. Sixty-nine isn’t so old when you are still capable of making material like the haunting goodbye video “Lazarus,” released by the artist just last Thursday. As he sings blindfolded from a stark hospital-like bed, shadowy figures lurk around the edges. “Look up here / I’m in heaven / I’ve got scars that can’t be seen / I’ve got drama / can’t be stolen / everybody knows me now.”
I was lucky to see the only North American stop of the awe-inspiring David Bowie Is retrospective at the Chicago Museum of Contemporary Art last January. The immersive, multimedia exhibit traced Bowie’s astounding career trajectory from ’50s teen rocker to movie star, Broadway star and glam rocker. We wandered through a wonderland of Ziggy Stardust jumpsuits and otherworldly costumes, videos, photos, lyrics and instruments. An interactive soundtrack fired up period-appropriate tunes — and through all of it, Bowie’s voice. His vision. The first time I cried was during the plaintive chorus of “Space Oddity”: “This is Ground Control to Major Tom….”
For all the artistic mementos at the exhibit, I saw very little of Bowie as a father. By most accounts, the international superstar, who struggled with drug issues, was not an ideal dad. But I can’t stop thinking about “Kooks,” a track from 1971’s Hunky Dory that Bowie wrote the night his son Duncan Jones was born.
The lyrics sum up Bowie’s humanity and the keen self-awareness that helped him tap into his musical genius. I can’t imagine a more fitting tribute to parenthood:
“We bought a lot of things to keep you warm and dry
And a funny old crib on which the paint won’t dry
I bought you a pair of shoes
A trumpet you can blow
And a book of rules on what to say to people when they pick on you
’Cause if you stay with us you’re gonna be pretty kooky too
And if you ever have to go to school
Remember how they messed up this old fool
Don’t pick fights with the bullies or the cads
’Cause I’m not much cop at punching other people’s dads
And if the homework brings you down, then we’ll throw it on the fire
And take the car downtown
Will you stay in our lovers’ story?
If you stay, you won’t be sorry
’Cause we believe in you.”
Goodbye, you kooky old fool.
