The news of David Bowie's death left a creative void for the music industry and admirers. Most fans around the world did not even know he had been battling cancer. Bowie lived a life of distinguishable, unparalleled oddity and artistry to the end.
When David Bowie showed up and captured us in song, we knew we had found a brother from another mother.
I believe that genius is made of three important ingredients: creative impulse, hard work and careful study. They are created, not born. Bowie was a genius. One more for old times sake, Mister Jones, with glitter on top?
I can absolutely trace back my fascination with beautiful white boys and their pretty faces, especially the ones who weren't afraid of eyeliner and nail polish, directly to David Bowie in Labyrinth.
The song my sisters liked was "China Girl." They were four beautiful girls -- eminently dateable -- and I was their youngest brother, their pet. They weren't allowed to go off with strange boys. My parents were very strict. But they dated anyway, secretly, and I was their alibi.
Bowie's success was built upon his marked departure from what was the music industry fad at the time. Of course, he had his influences, but his ideas came from an inner conviction.
Our reluctance to have an honest and open conversation about the flaws of celebrities we love stems from a simple fact: we see ourselves in them.
The other day, I was about halfway through a piece on David Bowie's outstanding, genre-annihilating new album, Blackstar. Today, I write something new, a head full of Starman-studded memories, eyes damp with real tears.