Bowie by Herb Ritts (1993)

I’m not sure I can really remember a time in my life before I loved David Bowie. When Labyrinth came out in 1986, I was mesmerized with the spiky-haired Goblin King from the start. Cult classic fantasy films aside, I can’t say I remember ever consciously choosing to explore Bowie’s music; it’s just as though it was always a part of my life without beginning or end. His music became the soundtrack of my life, as so very many of his songs have specific memories of moments in my life attached to them. He was, in my opinion, the greatest musician of all time, to say nothing of his talent in other aspects of his career. (If you’re not familiar with some of his films, I recommend The Man Who Fell to Earth, Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence, and The Prestige.)

2016 was a dark year for music, beginning with the loss of the gender-bending man with the blown-out pupil, and arguably the most recognizable voice you’ll ever hear. Just two days before Bowie’s death, I had sent a birthday wish out to the universe for him while I listened to Rhett Miller cover “Life On Mars?” at a Sketchfest event; to think that Bowie was now simply gone was surreal, if not downright unimaginable. Though we lost a staggering number of incredible talents in 2016, few come close to the level of loss I felt (and perhaps always will) at Bowie’s passing.

I don’t believe anyone can ever truly fill his shoes, but there certainly is some comfort in having such a massive catalogue of music by which to remember him. In that sense, and because he could never be forgotten, it’s as though Bowie will live on forever in those of us who loved him. As the first anniversary of his death is upon us, I bid adieu to Ziggy Stardust one last time in the best way I know how: I’ll put on my red shoes and dance the blues.