David Bowie has died. It leaves me and, I suspect, millions around the world, with an instant feeling of loss and emptiness – and yet also a wistful joy, a sense of how creative and inspirational just one of us can be. His art defined an image of outer space, inner self, and a rapidly changing world for a generation finding themselves at the confluence.
I am honoured to have been able to return some of that favour. Being able to record Oddity on the International Space Station was an attempt to bring that art full circle. It was meant as a way to allow people to experience, without it being stated, that our culture had reached beyond the planet. We live in space. I thank him for allowing us the opportunity, and for being so kind since.
These past two weeks I had watched and listened to David twice: once absorbing Lazarus from his new album, and once re-watching the recording he did of Little Drummer Boy with Bing Crosby.
To me, they are lovely, thoughtful moments, insights into in his relentless creativity. Bookends of intimacy spanning a life, both which make me want to watch them again and again. If you haven’t seen them, I recommend you take the time.
With much respect to a genius, a silent moment of reflection: ashes to ashes, dust to stardust. Your brilliance inspired us all. Goodbye, Starman.