2016 has been a year. It hasn’t blown in, it’s scythed in. We’ve lost idol after idol after idol and though I am sure these things go in cycles, and it’s not actually that extraordinary, this year dammit it seems personal.
Someone mused today that Terry Pratchett is no longer around to keep Death confined to pages, so now He’s out, and running amok. We all know He loves music with rocks in, but please….man…enough.
I’m refusing to believe Lemmy is gone. It’s easier that way.
Bowie has transcended this tired earth, and gone on to the stars. I’ve written about him at length, but I’m still not ready to write more, to actually believe.
Chyna – she really was amazing. She – along with others that we have lost too soon – made it ok to be not the norm, not a size 6, not tiny/super pretty/blonde.
She was beset with pain for most of her life, ridiculed for what she looked like, but she emphasised her size, and ramped up her power.
She did her own thing, her own way, all the time. This is a woman who had her swimming pool built in the shape of Paul Levesque’s arse, for goodness sake.
She was beautiful, and powerful, and somebody who made me think Yes, ME AND MY BODY ARE NOT WRONG. I just wish that her pain had been ended a different way.
Victoria Wood…too much. She was a friend, she felt like someone you knew, had already met. She was that person who knew how we felt, how we all felt, and echoed it in her characters. Everything had life running through it, our lives, our experiences, our blushes and our fears and our laughter.
Prince…I can’t even take that in today. I sat on the train tonight, tears rolling down my face, as I searched for that one bit of hope that TMZ had got it wrong, knowing in my heart that it was true.
Today is the one day that I have worn purple, in years. I hate that this is fitting, but I’m damned sure I’ll be wearing it tomorrow.
His Purpleness caused outrage, and scandal, and in doing so made sure that people knew that sex, and sensuality, were NORMAL. Things to be sung about, talked about, shown and dreamed about. Having sexual feelings isn’t wrong, and he confirmed that to us time and again.
He glorified in sound, and rhythm, drums and bass and guitars and vocals. All of it, everything, and then some.
He gave women performers their space, and their time to be recognised, when often they were ignored or relegated to ‘background’ vocals. (Though many songs would be nothing without those vocals.)
He pushed artists into areas they were not used to, and pushed those areas into accepting performers they never normally would because it would have taken a spine made of adamantium to stand up against his will.
His genius flowed outwards and over others, bringing them into the fold, and making stars out of them too.
He told us, insisted, that being sexy wasn’t something to be hidden – and why should it be? Bodies are beautiful, and ours. They are the ONE thing that truly belongs to us. No shame, no fear, no “I should be…”
He gave us more than music, he gave us, along with Bowie, permission. Permission to be weird, to be us, to be and sing and play and wear what the hell we liked, regardless, and against the odds.
His music went far beyond his own.
Saying He Will Be Missed doesn’t even come close. It can’t.
You will be mourned, and celebrated, and played, and shown, and loved.