Moondust will cover you
Friday I was in the car a lot, and listening to a radio station here in Seattle called KEXP, which is listener supported and plays the most amazing music. People are always asking me how I find such cool stuff for vids, and a lot of it came from KEXP (they stream online, and I highly recommend the station). Friday was Bowie day, in honor of his birthday and the release of his new album. They had dug up such rare treasures, and cuts you usually don't hear, and talked facts, a lot of which I'd never even heard about in the stuff I bought at the V&A Bowie exhibit a couple years ago. I was happy to be trapped in the car, for once. (And it reminded me of listening a few years ago, when that DJ played "Life on Mars" followed by Flight of the Conchords' "Bowie," and I nearly lost it at the sheer genius of that.)
For me, Bowie will always be a memory that's still so crystal in my mind it's like it was yesterday: a bunch of us kids downstairs in our terrible basement in our house at the end of the airport runway, three white kids and two black kids and one black-Samoan kid playing pool on our broken table, and a song comes on the radio. It doesn't sound like anything else I've ever heard, and everyone's talking and playing, but I stand there with my cue stick frozen in the air, listening, and the guy on the song is singing about "these children that you spit on as they try to change their world" and I'm looking at my friends, my little multicultural group of friends and feeling like someone was singing about us, and knowing, "Yes, this. This is that."
For me, Bowie will always be a memory that's still so crystal in my mind it's like it was yesterday: a bunch of us kids downstairs in our terrible basement in our house at the end of the airport runway, three white kids and two black kids and one black-Samoan kid playing pool on our broken table, and a song comes on the radio. It doesn't sound like anything else I've ever heard, and everyone's talking and playing, but I stand there with my cue stick frozen in the air, listening, and the guy on the song is singing about "these children that you spit on as they try to change their world" and I'm looking at my friends, my little multicultural group of friends and feeling like someone was singing about us, and knowing, "Yes, this. This is that."
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I read your comment to
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I listened to Bowie all day long on Spotify; it made me both sad and happy.
My youth memories of him aren't that clear -- Under Pressure; This Is Not America; Modern Love -- but later on, from the end of the nineties into the early millennium...yeah.
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I think part of the reason my memory of that is so clear is that I'm sort of a contemporary (obviously younger, but still around)--there was a lot of experimentation in music in the early '70s, but nothing, nothing like that. So it crystalizes in your mind, because you're hearing something for the first time with the whole rest of the world, rather than later when there's some history for it. I just knew that it was utterly unique and I wanted more.
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I remember where I was and who I was with the first time I saw David Bowie and heard him sing. It was "Blue Jean," because I didn't have a real radio station (or cable) where I grew up and had to wait for MTV at a friend's house. We just kind of stared, mesmerized, and I went and bought the 45 that weekend.
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Thank you for sharing that beautiful memory.
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