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Not much of a public griever.

As you may have noticed, this Monday just gone saw the death of David Bowie. I believe it was mentioned in the news. Now, I'm not about to write a "What Bowie meant to me" piece. There have been rather a few too many of those clogging up the place of late, but his death did get me thinking.

I was genuinely surprised (though I shouldn't have been, the man had form for keeping things under wraps), and briefly,well, not upset. That's too strong a word. Regretful, maybe. What a shame, I thought, the last couple of records were corkers, he probably had a lot left to give That sort of thing. And, being not entirely unacquainted with death myself I had a brief jolt of sympathy for his family, friends and loved ones. The sort you do when you hear anyone's died. Ah, that's a shame. I was less surprised by the wave of very public grieving that followed, and I'm afraid it mystifies me.

I kind of expected it from 6 Music, and it was handy timing that Lauren Laverne was on after the news broke, she has a skill for handling that sort of thing, empathic without over-emoting. I was unsurprised that the schedules were cleared and it was wall to wall Bowie, the man was an icon, it's what you'd expect. But still, I was already starting to feel a little queasy as listener after listener emailed in to express their shock and sorrow.

I don't doubt they felt it, and I'm sure that it was genuine but it all felt a little...forced. As though everyone were participating in a mass grieve-off. As if it were something...expected. And I felt nothing. I loved a lot of his records, I recognise his importance and greatness as an artist but...grief? Really? I grieved when my briother died. I grieved when my Nan died, I grieved when a friend at school died. These were people I knew, and loved. When Kurt cobain died I tried to act all hurt because it's what was expected, but I was teenager then, and an idiot. At the age of 38 I'm not grieving for someone I don't know. Even people I'm a massive fan of. I didn't grieve when Bill Griffiths and Lee Harwood died. Poets I admire immensely, idols even. I felt regret at their passing, yes, I acknowledged it. And I felt sympathy for the poets of my acquaintance who knew them and counted them as friends. But I didn't know them, I'd met them, but I wouldn't presume to know them.

Maybe I'm being too english about this, but I don't think so. This isn't about repression of emotion. My grief at the death of my brother was public, long and loud. It's more that I'm uneasy at how the death of a public figure is instantly appropriated. Everyone makes his death their own story "this is how I, me, feel about it". There's a rush to hagiography, nuance is drowned out. Amidst all the adulation there's nary a peep about the statutory rape, the playing with Nazi imagery. It's a mad dash to crown oneself as king/queen of the grievers, and this is what doesn't sit well with me. It's not you that died, it's him. This isn't about you.

Still, that new album really is fucking great. Shame there won't be another.

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