“The stars look very different today.” This line from David Bowie’s 1969 “Space Oddity” flooded social media on January 10 as the world mourned his death, which came only two days after his 69th birthday and the release of his final album, Blackstar.
Bowie’s death came as a surprise to most of us; that is, those of us who didn’t pick up on the blatant clues in the lyrics, title, and music video of “Lazarus,” perhaps the most memorable and suggestive track on Blackstar. It opens with the words “Look up here, I’m in heaven,” and goes on, foreboding from start to finish.
Before Bowie’s death was announced, I found the lyrics and music sentimental, though not especially out of the ordinary for an aging rock star, who although still impressively active and creative was certainly not in his heyday. I listened to the album on Bowie’s birthday, the day it was released. It wasn’t until he died that I got around to watching the music video of “Lazarus” and that of the title track, “Blackstar.” They’re striking.
“Lazarus” especially seems to explicitly foreshadow the artist’s death (though had I watched it beforehand, it may not have been so obvious). Its video is like a warning and a way of ensuring that Bowie wouldn’t go out inconspicuously. However mysterious he was, he was always conspicuous, and, of course, known for being quite self-absorbed.
But more than this, if we look at Bowie as a person rather than a glam-rock icon and his death as a death and not as headline news over the loss of such an icon, the “Lazarus” music video shows bravery. It is a deeply unsettling, theatrical portrayal of his death, which he knew was approaching (he kept his cancer a secret from the public for 18 months). It shows Bowie in a hospital bed thrusting upward in an upsetting way, while a figure, whom I first assumed to be Death, tries to grab him from under the bed.
On second thought, I decided that perhaps the figure represents Hell, and that its infrequent appearances, contrasting with Bowie’s constant upward motion, show that Bowie’s ascent to Heaven is more successful than Hell’s attempts to take him downward. The name of the track, Lazarus, is that of a biblical figure whom Christians believe Jesus brought back to life days after his death, suggesting a desire for immortality. It is also the name of the Off-Broadway musical that opened in late 2015, a sequel to the 1976 film The Man Who Fell to Earth (which features Bowie) that was based on a novel of the same name. Bowie co-wrote the musical Lazarus, the soundtrack of which is entirely made up of his songs. Unfortunately, but as expected, tickets are sold out.
Last summer, I read Bowie by Simon Critchley. It is not a biography; it’s a collection of essays by Critchley, a philosopher, about the pure thrill of Bowie and his effect on Critchley himself, beginning in Critchley’s childhood (the first chapter is called “My First Sexual Experience” and tells of watching Bowie perform Starman on BBC when Critchley was twelve).
Critchley writes like a fan, but with depth, refuting any negative connotations associated with this type of writing. He describes Bowie as “at once cocky and vulnerable,” and how this duality allowed him, Critchley, to express both of those aspects in his own personality, whereas before he felt only vulnerable. Listening to Bowie liberated him, as it did millions of other fans.
Bowie’s music was an appeal to the alienated. This appeal was made through his appearance, performances, and lyrics. He crossed themes of surreality and reality: sci-fi, sexuality, loneliness, and other themes, enchanting all different types. And his music is so alluring because it not only crossed themes, but also genres—rock and roll, of course, but also psychedelia, blue-eyed soul, blues, funk, jazz, new wave, electronica, glam-rock—and all of it was recorded and performed incredibly theatrically, even operatically.
I’ve often asked myself why I so passionately like Bowie’s music. I can’t say that it’s because I felt isolated and his music helped me find myself. It didn’t. Of course I find his lyrics fascinating, and his performances thrilling, but it was the sound that drew me in. He took it all too far, but boy could he play guitar …
Thank you, and R.I.P. David Bowie
January 8, 1947–January 10, 2016