They say that nobody can be all things to all men, but David Bowie, more than probably any other artist, had that immeasurable knack of pleasing everyone. If you like folk, there's an album for that. If you like experimental, there's an album for that. Pop. Rock. Avant-garde. And so on.
But more than just his music, like any true artist who becomes slowly enveloped into the public consciousness, their image and status become more than just an impressive list of works and deeds. Bowie meant something to people, in the way that someone like Lennon meant and still means something to people to this day; Bowie will no doubt still mean something to people many many years down the line.
What I've always found most fascinating about the Bowie persona is how he has always remained true to his art and intentions, seemingly because of, not just despite, his enormous popularity. I've generally viewed him as far from accessible. "Labyrinth", probably his best known film, is straight weird. "The Man Who Fell To Earth" is a work of pure auteur cinema. "Heroes", the album which is home to probably his most well-known song, isn't some straight piece of pop but a truly weird, dark album with themes of war and being plagued with debilitating uncertainty. In a time when homophobia was fairly rampant, and in the midst of some fairly conclusive rumours, Bowie was unafraid to dance like that, in that street, with Mick Jagger. This is a man who, arguably, produced his best work while collaborating with Brian Eno, who is best known for an ambient album. Bowie seemed to work in the mainstream whilst also digressing from it.
This was displayed very well on his most recent album "Blackstar", which all of a sudden makes a great deal more sense. The fact that half of the album was already out there a couple of months before the release date struck me as odd; being able to listen to the songs Blackstar, T'is A Pity She Was A Whore, and Sue (Or In A Season Of Crime) made it harder to get excited about the album as a whole, since it wasn't really going to be a surprise; but if Bowie had known for as long as he has that he was unwell, then all of a sudden there is that sense that Bowie wanted his final statement to be out there as soon as possible. Music videos like "Lazarus" become a little less oblique, the symbolism of the excited burst of writing becoming clear; the lyrics to "I Can't Give Everything Away" (a song I was previously not too keen on), when taken as the final testament of a very sick person, become devastating.
This shows Bowie at his best, then; a man turning deeply personal works of creation and self-examination into art for the whole world.
He was legendary. Nobody I knew actively disliked David Bowie. His reach enormous, his achievements vast, his career towering. He has gone out with a bang by producing some of his most interesting music in decades, and the true tragedy is that it felt like he still had a great deal left to say; indeed, it felt like he would always have something left to say that would be worth listening to.
If that isn't the mark of a great artist and a great man, then I don't know what is.
