I’m 38, and I can’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t aware of David Bowie on some level. His music was always around, it seemed to permeate the air. Even though I was growing up in the eighties, when Bowie had somewhat fallen from favour. I remember seeing the Ashes to Ashes video, and being weirded out by the clowns. I remember feeling sad for poor Major Tom. I remember the garish video for Dancing in the Street on Top of the Pops. Along with many girls my age, seeing The Goblin King in Labyrinth on the big screen was a (ahem!) formative and educational experience…

I got into David Bowie through listening to bands who had been influenced by him. More specifically, I got into David Bowie via my love of Suede, who made no secret of their own love for him – it pretty much oozed out of their beautiful pores. And there was SO MUCH Bowie and SO MUCH of it was perfect and it spoke to me, as a person who always felt slightly the wrong shape for the world, always felt slightly on the outside. He made it ok to be different. He made it ok to be weird. He was, as my friend Mike pointed out, the only person ever to look effortlessly cool in what was essentially a babygro and a ginger mullet…


Right up to the end, he was relentlessly creative, always ahead of the curve, growing of the latest thing and moving on before most people had even realised what the latest thing was. He was, pretty much, the living embodiment of SF, a slender, glamourous chameleonic alien. He came down to earth for the alloted span of our human years, no more, and now he has left us to live once more out in the universe, tuning his guitar to the sound of slowly spinning nebulae. The song that comets sing is the sound of David Bowie, and the world he has left behind was more colourful when he was in it.

As another friend says, she can’t believe that David Bowie would ever do something as mundane, as ordinary, as dying… Wherever he’s gone off to next, whichever planet or star system, I hope he’s as loved there as he was down here on Earth….