Sunday I went for a drive. I tuned my radio to the college alternative station at which I DJ'd more than 11 years ago.
David Bowie playing. David Bowie playing again.
The young DJ came on, and announced that in honor of David Bowie's recent death, she was going to play David Bowie's music all morning. She then described how she cried when she heard Bowie had died, as the man's music meant so much to her.
Hmm...I thought. We don't I care this much?
After all, the guy basically invented entire genres, right? He fought against the stuffy norm, right? I mean, I feel sad in that basic, distant, "It's sad when anybody dies" vein, but nothing beyond that.
Then I realized: My parents' generation experienced Bowie's peak creative years firsthand. Conversely, the kids of today have the entire breadth of Bowie's work laid before them, essentially curated by time.
They have that.
But here is the Bowie I grew up with.
Yeah...so...how about those Yankees?