It’s a beautiful Saturday morning and I’m spending it with Bowie. Wasn’t my plan, but a song was playing in Third Rail and inspiration struck. How lucky am I to get to start my day with any artist I could think of? At the push of a button I’ve got the world’s largest record store in the palm of my hand.
I remember the first time I heard David Bowie, at eleven years old and in the car with my dad. Thoughts of childhood always invoke similar memories of sifting through stacks of CDs; long drives listening to albums from start to finish, when people still listened that way; wide-eyed standing and watching rock bands with my dad’s hands on my shoulders, protecting me from rowdy concert-goers well before I was really old enough to have been in attendance. He didn’t care — when he feels something’s right, he presses on, no matter what. I wish I had the confidence my dad does. I’m learning still.
The music and those memories, they run deep through me. They’re coursing through my veins now - along with this coffee - as I sit here with songs I thought I knew, but never stopped long enough to truly listen to.
Janine, Janine
You’d like to know me well
But I’ve got things inside my head
That even I can’t face
A few weeks earlier my dad had bought me the Chronic and if you were a fly on the wall you’d cringe hearing me sing along with Dr. Dre in my bathroom. When I close my eyes I can vividly recall the ten year old confidence, the naughty feeling kids have when doing something they know they shouldn’t be doing. I was unaware of the meaning of half the words I was repeating, though I felt rebellious saying them. All for the sake of art and education.
The first time I heard David Bowie though, that was different. Changes came through the car stereo and after expressing an interest in hearing more, my dad took me to Barnes and Noble for a “Best of” album and CD Trader for a few other used albums. My parents already had dinner plans out with friends, though I’m certain my dad would rather have stayed in listening with me. I also scored a box set of the Pink Panther on DVD that day.
One problem — I was grounded and barred from turning on the tv (though I could listen to music). My parents later recounted how, after finding me asleep with credits rolling on screen and walking me half-asleep back to my room, they stayed up laughing at my version of breaking the rules.