An Illustrated Oddity

(A smaller, stripped-down version of this post originally appeared on the blog in December, 2009.)

David Bowie is my favorite musical artist. I've gone back and forth on so many different artists and bands over the years, but Bowie has remained at the top for as long as I can remember.

Throughout his long career, the man has re-invented his image and his sound time and time again, remaining relevant to music fans for over 40 years. From his beginnings in a melding of psychedelic and folk music, to his glam rock "Ziggy Stardust" period, to his experimental collaborations with industry legend Brian Eno, to his more pop-oriented 1980's output, leading to his straight-forward, introspective swan swong with Reality in 2003, David Bowie never let the world pass him by.

He always found that hook, that musical style, that kept him in the public consciousness. He never let his act grow stale before moving on to something different, always moving forward.

I've come to terms with the fact that the man is essentially retired, although I still hope that he'll surprise us all one day with an amazing new work of art. But if his final statement remains the haunting, soulful song that closes his most recent album, "Bring Me The Disco King" (itself originally recorded in the early 1990's), I consider it a fitting conclusion.

I adore David Bowie. His music helped me get through some pretty terrible moments in my life, and I imagine it will see me through a few more in the future.

My favorite album of his will always be The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust & The Spiders From Mars.

There's simply no question. Front to back, top to bottom, this album is absolutely perfect. Hard to believe this masterpiece recently celebrated its 40th anniversary. Recently listening to the album, I find that it's not dated in any way.

I can find no fault with it, and this isn't simple nostalgia talking. I first listened to Ziggy Stardust when the 30th anniversary edition was released in 2002, already well-set in my jaded, cynical ways.

But this was obviously not my first exposure to David Bowie. I can still remember the first time I heard one of his songs. This memory is crystal clear in my mind, despite the fact that I couldn't have been any older than three.

The song was "Space Oddity", and it scarred me for life.

I was in the backseat of my mother's car, sitting next to my brother. We were on our way home from the supermarket, and one of the car speakers was situated a few inches from my head. I was hearing an exchange between "ground control" and an intrepid astronaut named Major Tom.

I was too young to really understand what "a song" even was, so I assumed the things I was hearing were actually happening. I sat wide-eyed in my car seat while Major Tom went through his pre-flight checklist, as ground control counted down the seconds to launch. The reverberating guitar twang as Major Tom blasted off into outer space echoed through my mind.

I shared ground control's elation as they celebrated Major Tom's achievement. You've really made the grade! The papers want to know whose shirts you wear!

Now it's time to leave the capsule... if you dare.

I grew tense as the brave astronaut relayed his egress from the relative safety of his spacecraft. Stepping through the door... 

But Major Tom showed no fear as he stepped out into the void, gazing back on his beloved planet Earth, and I smiled. All was well.

Then the transmission continued.

Something horrible had happened, and Major Tom was lost, drifting further and further away from home...

As I heard ground control pleading...

My little heart jumped into my throat. And when I heard Major Tom's final transmission...

I began to cry. A terrible tragedy had just unfolded, and my heart was breaking in the backseat of my mother's Ford Escort.

Of course I couldn't adequately explain to my mother why I was crying, so she assumed that my brother had done something to me. He got scolded, and I sat alone, unable to articulate the true source of my grief.

I've forgotten so many moments from my childhood as I get older, yet this moment remains crystallized in my mind. With each passing year, it refuses to fade away. When I lay dying, the final memory to pass through my conscious mind will doubtlessly be this experience in the backseat of my mother's car.

David Bowie scarred me for life. And for that, he will always have my gratitude.

Thanks to Andrew Kolb for creating this visual companion to David Bowie's space opera. And now I leave you with thr original music video for "Space Oddity". Thank you for reading.