Long live Bowie

WHEN THE world went hippie, the musical genius David Bowie went dark. Instead of floating flowers around the necks of near-naked girls, he looked to the furthest reaches of space as the Cold War took hold of his consciousness.

In the next decade, as the world went pop, Bowie went darker, as he tried to find the truth about his inner man. And in the Eighties, while all those around him were making the songs which defined their generation, he was looking forward, towards the electronica that now underpins most downloads.

Ever the pioneer, ever the elegant scout, Bowie’s death a couple of days after his 69th birthday came as a shock yesterday to the world of music and the fans who took pleasure in his mystical qualities. Unlike most celebrities, who knew Bowie? He was the ultimate artist: remote, beautiful and clever.

His death is also a reminder that a generation of superlative artists is passing. The Stones, Dire Straits, what’s left of Pink Floyd… the sublime and the subversive of the world of rock are in the twilight of their physical years, yet their sound and their ideas will remain with us.

Surely, to all of those great men of music, Bowie’s death strikes hard. Who’s next? But until then, Let’s Dance.