The world woke up this morning to the news that a true legend had passed. His Facebook page read:
“David Bowie died peacefully today surrounded by his family after a courageous 18 month battle with cancer. While many of you will share in this loss, we ask that you respect the family’s privacy during their time of grief”.
His son, film director Duncan Jones, confirmed it over Twitter, and other various news outlets.
Shock. Disbelief. Sadness. His death comes just two days after his birthday and the release of his new album Blackstar, a work of ambition, vitality and life that bore little sign of the man dying behind the music. Such is Bowie’s trademark, to project a number of persona to the world that are not his own, allowing him to seamlessly reinvent himself as if trying on a new pair of clothes and allowing only fleeting glimpses of the real human being, David Robert Jones.
He released nearly 30 albums of original material over a career spanning nearly 50 years, with a long list of songs that left a lasting mark on the music industry and wider popular culture. Bowie’s music was the very first I ever truly heard. It has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember and will remain as long as I’m alive. The same can be said for countless people across the globe, musicians and music-lovers alike. His music was, I think, how he would prefer to be remembered and so it is fitting that his parting gift to the world is a new album as strange, fascinating and daring as anything he’s ever done.