Usually when an artist, actor, or celebrity of note dies, the alert gives a quick one line explanation of exactly why you should know this person. “John Q, backup singer for the Flying Wallabees…” or “Adele McManohan, artist of the painting Godzilla in Spring…”—something like that.
This morning, I looked at my phone and read the alert.
David Bowie dies of cancer aged 69.
No preface. No lead-in. No explanation as to what he was famous for. Just—boom.
And not under “Entertainment” but “Top Stories.”
That’s how big Bowie was. The man lived a life in the arts for five decades. He pushed boundaries, lived a life both dangerous and glorious, and he continued to do what he loved right up to his death.
And yet I have not always been a fan of David Bowie. Continue reading