I DO NOT CARE WHETHER a modern day pop celebrity (or any celebrity for that matter) deserves the kind of worldwide mawkish behaviour that is fashionable in this modern age when they die: if there are two industries that have benefited from such displays, it is surely the wax candle and flower industry.
David Bowie was never my favourite artist. I thought him a self-regarding narcissist who used his androgyny and makeup to accompany his music as a selling point. His voice to me was like a scene from the film Jaws, when Quint (played by Robert Shaw) dragged his nails screeching across a schoolroom blackboard.
Bowie meant very little to me. His appearance in the early 1970's left me divorced from the love of the pop music that was to accompany him throughout that decade. Of course no single individual could be held responsible for my apostasy. No, from the mid 1970's onwards my love of pop music suffered a weary decline. Bowie angered me at the time, not because of his music, but because of his politics.
First of all, at the time I was a Marxist, and was, in the summer of 1975 made manager of a newsagent. It was in this position that I read the New Musical Express which headlined an interview with Bowie in which he believed in a Right-wing form of government in the USA (as well as the UK); a country which he had adopted for himself. Well, as a Marxist at the time, you can imagine my loathing for such a creature. But how right he was and how I was to be proved wrong by events.
But to me his music still holds no appreciation; but before him all pop music including that of the late1950s and the 1960s, I was drawn to; all such music I adored, but has now, in my elderly years, been replaced by a Beethoven symphony –any of his symphonies.
DAVID BOWIE, THE BEATLES, the Rolling Stones, or the Kinks (the latter three I truly loved) mean little to me today except of course nostalgically. As we get older the nostalgia virus will overwhelm us if we want it to. I saw tears for Bowie on my television screen that were wiped away via a sleeve from people of my own age and younger who had not moved on and broadened their musical repertoire: perhaps beyond the popular to the classical. But the tears of those of my own age were sentimentally driven, as were no doubt those wept by the aficionados of Buddy Holiday or any other musical pioneer of every generation that courts a youthful death via a vehicle accident or a plane crash.
The repertoire of the nine Beethoven symphonies has more to offer without a word being sung (apart from the last movement of Beethoven's ninth) than any other creation of popularist pop music. Beethoven's one and only violin concerto stands above all others[1]: this in itself surpasses what we today call popular music.
But do not get me wrong, my whole life has been surrounded by great pop music from the late 1950's through the 1960s and into the early 1970's. But it is only when you discover the classics, when your emotions are driven, not by lyrics, but by the music itself, and in particular, in my case, with Beethoven; that you come alive, and you find yourself elevated in terms of an appreciation that the lyrics of pop music can never lift you.
Bowie's talent I will have to accept was real because of those many millions who listened to him; many of whom now have high ranking positions in the media; and are determined to exhort him as some kind of icon that will, like the Beatles, set the standard for popular music. But Bowie did one thing that caught my appreciation and respect.
When he died he left, I assume in his will, that he should be either buried or cremated within hours of his death without the candles and flowers that would have accompanied a usual celebrity passing. David Bowie's corpse was, to his credit, disposed of without the flummery of media focused tears. His death was to be without any kind of celebrity pomp and circumstance overseen by the world's media without the need for tearful eyes or mawkish tributes from those who knew him.
David Bowie was to me talentless. He did however achieve an aptitude in one respect; but not because of his music; but because of such attributes as his androgyny and his bisexuality; the music and the songs were pitiable, but the makeup sold the music. He performed well in videos and caught the mood of the time; he however lacked the ability to create meaningful lyrics to his songs as did Lennon and McCartney.
Bowie was more of a corporeal presence than a talented musician to the youth he aspired to represent. He was a physical presence of the kind which blinded his followers to his lack of ability as a musician, and I think he thought this himself; thus his quick burial without the usual circus of celebrity attendants and media.
[1] I make this observation without much knowledge of other violin concertos – but I am 65 after all and a late convert to classical music..
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