It is the bitch of getting old that you have to experience your cultural bedrock slowly moving down, down, buried by layers of strata, voices becoming muffled and then silenced.
Or in this case, just silenced.
I don’t have the hero-worship of Bowie that I know a lot of people have. Another bitch of getting old is recognizing the failures of the giants of your youth, understanding how problematic they are. How problematic we all are.
But the output, the career—before that, I am awestruck, bewildered. The range. The willingness to risk. If we have to lose so much, then that, at least, is something we can carry forward.