There has been a tremendous outpouring of grief today at the passing of David Bowie. One friend likened his influence to that of Andy Warhol, though in my view Bowie's impact on world culture has been even greater. "Why didn't they knight him?" my friend asked. Why indeed. Paul McCartney, Tom Jones, Elton John, Mick Jagger. If they were in a room right now they would all have to agree that Bowie's achievements are as great, or even greater, than any of them. My friend continued: "I mean, they even gave one to Lenny Henry!"
When the news hit me this morning, my birthday, it was a like a physical blow. I have been reeling all day and even as I write I am still feeling numb. Much will be written about Bowie in the next few days, so I shall suffice with my own Bowie story.
It was 1979, and I had just watched the TV premier of Ashes to Ashes on TOTP. The impact was seismic. We all knew Major Tom from 11 years ago, but had nearly forgotten him in the maelstrom of Bowie's career in the intervening period. Now here he was again, still up, out there, far above the moon. And now,
Ashes, to ashes, fun to funky
We know major Tom's a junkie
And that video, the strange colour effects, Steve Strange doing his very strange thing. It was all too much. I ran out of the house to a dear friend's flat nearby and hit the bell. She opened the door in a flash.
"Did you see it?" I asked
"Oh my God yes!" she replied, and we grabbed each other and held on for a long time. There are few moments like that in the history of pop music. And so fitting it should be David Bowie who created it.
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