The death of David Bowie had the world reeling with shock, more so because he was one of those people who you thought would be around for ever, producing/making music for all us mortals to enjoy and with each new album he gained a legion of new fans. Everyone has a favourite Bowie song, a song that brings back memories of a particular time in your life (good or bad) and that’s the beauty of music.
A particular song can have you remembering where you were, who you were with, and probably what you were wearing. Most of us discover which particular genre of music we like when we are teenagers, and if you are a true teenage rebel you want to make damn sure that it’s something that your parents don’t like. The music of course goes hand in hand with whoever is singing it, so teenage fantasies are then projected on to that person. You know what it’s like, if the object of your affection likes cheese on toast, wears black underwear and likes to go to the ballet, guess what? That’s exactly what you adopt convincing yourself that you’re closer to them, and if only you could meet them they would know straight away that you’re soulmates (jailbait more like) but every teenager feels the same. Every song is written for you as you can identify with the lyrics, you’ll spend good money on all the merchandise when you go to see them perform but at the end of the day, it’s always about the music. So when someone who’s given us some great music over the decades dies, you’re not necessarily grieving for the person but acknowledging the impact that their music had on your life.
Back in the day I shared a bedroom with my sister who is a year younger than me and both of us had posters on the wall of our respective teenage crush, mine was Rod Stewart and my sister was mad about Donny Osmond. Two opposite ends of the spectrum and many arguements about who was better but I have to say it was usually Donny who somehow managed to get a drawing pin stuck in the middle of his face, (can’t think how) which spoiled his baby face looks…just saying.