Much in the news this past week was the death of David Bowie. A rock and roll icon! It was big news at least until the death of Glenn Frey. Or whatever the next big thing was.
In the early days of my music career, as a listener, David Bowie was one of my favorites. Like me, he had a fascination with outer space, and alien life. Not monsters from outer space, but real “human” types of life that just happened to be from other worlds.
Look at his work. He WAS Ziggy Stardust. On records and in the movie The Man Who Fell to Earth. He wrote songs like “Moonage Daydream,” “Starman,” “Life on Mars?,” “Hallo Spaceboy,” “Dancing out in Space,” “Born in a UFO.” And a whole album called Space Oddity. It had to do in part with a sense of alienation from the “real” world and confusion over how he, like many others, fit in. And in some ways he didn’t.
But I’m not here to write his life story. I’m not a Bowie scholar. It’s just that I’m sitting here at the Foundy Lounge in Athens, Georgia, waiting for an open mic music night to begin and as background music the club is playing what else, David Bowie.
And as I look up at the ceiling, I see a thousand stage lights, arranged all willy nilly, but all small and white. And I think it looks like deep space. I’m gazing into the depths of the universe. And I’m wondering what stellar performances I will hear this evening. And who might emerge as a superstar. That’s part of my story. What’s yours? www.personalhistorywritere.com