NEW YORK—David Bowie made clear, in a way that was exhilarating and sometimes frightening, what every rock star since Elvis Presley and Little Richard had been telling us all along—that anything was possible.
With his unpredictable range of styles, his melding of European jadedness with American rhythms and his ever changing personas and wardrobes, the gaunt and erudite Bowie brought an open theatricality and androgyny to popular music that changed the very meaning of being a rock star. From album to album, and concert to concert, fans were never sure how he would look—in black leather and a pompadour; in makeup and orange hair as his alter ego Ziggy Stardust; shirtless and wearing a Mohawk; or elegant and debauched in a dark vest and white shirt, cigarette dangling from his mouth, taking in the uncertainty of modern life.
“My entire career, I’ve only really worked with the same subject matter,” Bowie, whose death was announced early Monday, told The Associated Press in a 2002 interview. “The trousers may change, but the actual words and subjects I’ve always chosen to write with are things to do with isolation, abandonment, fear and anxiety—all of the high points of one’s life.”
