On Bowie

Bowie’s space songs were always about isolation and his desire to overcome it.

Prince dropped Purple Rain, an album that consummated everything Let’s Dance promised, though his guitar sounded more like Scary Monsters—Prince

again. As with so many Bowie fans, what he learned from the master was how to turn loneliness into a grand theatrical gesture—how to turn your loneliness into a work of art.

Both sang their fears of losing their youth when they were still basically kids; both aged mysteriously well. Neither ever did anything remotely sane.

“I’ve met all the women, and I’ll tell you one thing, I’m more woman than any of ’em. I’m a real woman, because I have love, dependability, I’m good, kind, gentle, and I’ve the power to give real love. Why else would you think that such a strong man as David Bowie would be close to me? He’s a real man, and I’m a real woman. Just like Catherine Dene

“You can hold back from the suffering of the world. You have free permission to do so, and it is in accordance with your nature. But perhaps this very holding back is the one suffering you could have avoided.”

At this point, everybody listens to pop the way Bowie always listened, which is: this is cool, how can I steal it?

The karaoke principle: if you can’t fix it, flaunt it.

He loved to keep playing with the words over the years, just like Dylan keeps playing with “Tangled Up in Blue” (his own “Young Americans”).