COLUMN: Ritual Magick and David Bowie


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Columnist Ben Solis

People die, including rock stars, but David Bowie always seemed immortal.

Everything about Bowie's life and career, his ageless face and voice that got better each decade, transcended the inevitable fate of earthly men. By all accounts, David was not an earthly man.

In that same regard, his music engendered what it means to be alive; to be damaged, beaten, or completely enveloped in love and loss.

On Monday, at 69 years old, Bowie lost his private, 18-month battle with cancer. No one outside of his new band, producers and family members knew he was withering. I've been wrestling since Monday morning, teary-eyed and sleepless, with the fact that David is actually gone.

Unlike other artists who died unexpectedly, the loss of Bowie is particularly heartbreaking. No other artist in the great pantheon of rock and pop lived, wrote or performed like him. No other artist dared to innovate the way he did, eschewing formulas that sell record to try something new -- even in the face of obscurity and poverty.

"Blackstar," his latest album released just days before his passing, is another fine example of Bowie bucking trends, and is some of his most inspired work, period.

Bowie’s pained dedication to his work is why his music resonates so deeply with people our age, our parents and, maybe, our future children. It's also why the whole world mourned his death with collective, unshakeable anguish.

Your grandparents probably remember an event in 1959 called "the day the music died."

It was a tragic plane crash that killed Buddy Holly and two other famous singers at the time. When an influential musician dies before their time -- John Lennon, Freddie Mercury or Kurt Cobain come to mind -- the press and fans evoke images of this crash.

I now know what that feels like, to lose an icon without warning. It's unbearable. Spiritually, physically, unbearable.

I've been into David's music for longer than I can remember, and I can trace each major era of my life back to some intense fascination with Bowie. Fawning over his genre-defying catalogue is, was and will always be a personal obsession..

Last week, on his 69th birthday, David released "Blackstar" and the video for the track "Lazarus." At first, I was hesitant to give the album an immediate listen.

During the past decade, there was a shift in David's lyrics and persona, one that relied exclusively on occult and religious imagery. “Blackstar” is no exception. For days, I sat unnerved with the album sitting in front of me, unsettled mostly by the frightening scenery in the titular music video. Highlighting bejeweled skulls and ritual witchcraft, the eerie vignettes in “Blackstar” also feature flashes of scarecrows nailed to crosses.

It's a real horrorshow that's more Aleister Crowley than Bowie. If art becomes incomprehensible, you're probably just too old to get it. That was probably right in this case.

On Sunday, I decided to no longer delay "Blackstar." Embracing the ceremony, I waited until dark and lit a single candle. A single candle, like "Blackstar" instructed. Sprawled out on my living room floor, I let the sound wash over me. It was a masterpiece, and his first foray into Avant-garde jazz.

Tony Visconti, Bowie's longtime producing and songwriting partner, said recently that the two initially bonded over big band music, espousing a deep love for the likes of Gil Evans -- a far cry from the contemporary punk or glam rock of the 1970s.

With "Blackstar," again, David transcended pop on every level.

I spun the record three times that night, and once before bed around midnight -- most likely around the same time that David died. I remember dozing off near the end, waking minutes later to deafening silence.

The music stopped, yet the candle still burned. 

"It must be over," I mumbled, blowing out the dying ember. In the hours that followed, David was gone.

I’d like to think of that moment as my final spiritual connection with David’s music. I realize that even in death, he will continue to imbue me with lessons and light through his music and legacy. 

I also see "Blackstar" for what it really is: A final bow, a carefully planned denouement to a life steeped in glam theatrics.

The tributes are poised to continue for a month. I'll remember him for as long as live. As long as human beings are alive, they will always remember David Bowie.

To quote Dean Podesta (no, that quote was not by Simon Pegg): "If you're ever sad, just remember the world is 4.543 billion years old and you somehow managed to exist at the same time as David Bowie."

Listen to Solis' favorite Bowie tracks here.

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About Ben Solis

Ben Solis is the Managing Editor of Central Michigan Life. He has served as a city and university ...

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