The Man Who Fell to Earth

"Don't believe in yourself, don't deceive with belief
Knowledge comes with death's release

I'm not a prophet or a stone-age man
Just a mortal with the potential of a superman
I'm living on"
- "Quicksand", Hunky Dory (1971)


As a pre-teen Midwestern suburban girl in the early 80s, I had a hard time finding idols and inspiration. I still remember the first time I heard him, crooning in his distinct way on "Young Americans" as I flipped through the radio dial. At that point, the Young Americans studio album had been out for years, but I had just discovered him. I was riveted from the first note to the last. I first saw him in a music video just a little bit later, immediately transfixed and falling head over heels at the very sight of him. That was the "hit record" era; if he wanted to write them, he would and could. Though of course, his version of a radio hit would never be as simple as a hook and a melody. There was always a wink of an eye and a nod of defiance.

In between "China Girl," "Let's Dance," and "Modern Love," I was buying up old cassette tapes and educating myself in everything that preceded that period. I was 10 years old, and my eyes and ears were wide open. And I found my idol. Just when I needed him. That young Midwestern girl was bursting to express herself as an individual because she realized she was different from everyone else around her. She wasn't satisfied being one of the crowd. She found someone who was an innovator, who was weird and wonderfully at odds with the status quo, and who made her feel like she could go her own way.

Every album since then has become part of my own soundtrack, a precious reminder to be unafraid to explore myself fully and what I have to offer the world. As I grew and changed, so did he. It was personal and vital to watch him deliver complex, audacious work that went beyond the self-created boundaries we limit ourselves with. His example to live both a full creative life and a full private personal life is one I have strived toward over the years, one that allows me to actively pursue creativity without losing myself as a person in the process.

As I grew older, I realized that I thought of him less and less as a chameleon and more as an evolved maestro of his own microcosm. As I grew and my experiences expanded, I found his growth and expansion so compelling and complete. And that's just it, he committed to his artistry with an unusual approach and ferocity that elevated everyone around him - record producers, songwriters, musicians, vocalists, lyricists, visual artists, fashion artists, performance artists, video producers. His influence is everywhere. In all of us, and surrounding us.

He was more than an artist, but also just a man. What's so amazingly simple about Bowie and his decades of work is that it is a reflection of humanity - from its shiny surface to its deepest depths with all the complexity in between. Everything that was alien was so steeped in relatable humanity. He was a storyteller, a trader of dark secrets, an unflinching mirror that showed us we were all living with the power to reinvent ourselves. He was greater than rock'n'roll, and there will never be another like him.

His decision to leave us with a devastatingly fearless performance in the face of his own mortality is the greatest gift we could hope to receive. The poignancy, thoughtfulness and artistry behind this incredibly personal work is not lost on me. I feel privileged to have seen him perform live at various stages of my life. His soulfulness, relevance and unending innovation as a creator, destroyer and reinventor of sound and vision have forever changed me and the way I view myself and the world. He gave that girl, and this woman, hope and endless inspiration to be daring and brave. He will always be my idol and in my opinion, the greatest rock star who ever fell to earth.

Ashes to ashes, funk to funky. Rest in peace, David.