Remembering David Bowie
A short recounting of a memory
Bowie was a feature in my family home since I was a baby. My sister, 17 years older than me, had posters of him on her bedroom wall and he was a constant source of conversation throughout the years, binding our age difference as he changed styles, and even now after his death. A family favourite you could say.
There’s been hundreds of books and a plethora of documentaries made about the boy from Brixton, it seems futile to add to an already huge mix, so I will plump for personal experience.
The first time I saw Bowie live was at the Old Trafford cricket ground in Manchester and the lineup included The Divine Comedy and Suede, part of the ‘Move’ Festival in 2002. A contemporary and heart-warming line-up for my friends and I at the time, we were in our very early 20s - yet it rained for most of the day. Once Bowie sauntered onto the stage, in a three-piece suite - Dior I think - with watch chain and ash blonde hair he opened with ‘Life on Mars’. The rain immediately stopped, umbrellas were collapsed and the sun burst through the grey northern clouds. Bowie’s knowing wide grin re-affirmed all we already knew.
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