Skip to main content

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.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

What is happening?

An unpleasant, but in the grand scheme of things quite minor, incident occurred at a local school yesterday. Two lads entered the premises looking for another kid they wanted to assault. The school followed protocols and was locked down until the situation was resolved. Grim enough in and of itself, but not exactly a massive piece of news. Except, of course, on local Facebook pages, where a cast of many hang around visibly thirsting for events like this. This isn't a post about them, however. There is something desperately sad about a million posts on the same subject, everyone breathlessly recycling the same story without checking whether it might have already been covered. It speaks to an unfulfilled existence. Nor is this a post about Facebook and it's local pages, though they are a weird and interesting ecosystem. Were it not for running the pub, my Meta presence would be minimal, I need to be on there for work, and stuff like this is a necessary accoutrement. No, what depr...

Inedible

"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed.  Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...

Worthless Art

Ah, we're back to calling humanities degrees rip-offs, are we? What a semi regular treat that is. There is a persistent strain of thought in British public life which runs thus: things are shit, blame clever people. When a politician needs a convenient punchbag, higher education is always a quick and easy mark. Everyone hates students, right? And those lecturers, bit up themselves, aren't they? And so Kemi Badenoch, bereft of ideas, takes up the cudgels once more, because why not? It's not like she's got anything else sensible to say. Might as well try and score a few populist points. Cuh, English degrees eh? What use are they?  Yes, this week, the erstwhile leader of His Majesty's Opposition decided to wander down a tired and well-trodden path and try to score a few points off the back of the much maligned Arts and Humanities. She's not the first, I highly doubt she'll be the last. She set out plans to a somewhat sparsely attended Conservative Party Confere...