Tuesday 8 January 2012

I first heard about it on Radio 4. There was this almost unbridled sense of glee as we were told that, for the first time in ten years, Bowie had released a new single. Or maybe it was Bowie, rather than Bowie. In all the excitement, there seemed to be even more than the usual two ways to say the name. ( it's pronounced Bowie, by the way). Over on Twitter, the delirium was at fever pitch. It was all tears, Oh My Gods, and tweets delivered mainly in CAPS. There didn't seem to be one negative tweet. There wasn't even one of those tiresome ones where the person doesn't care at all (but nonetheless feels compelled to tell everyone that they don't care).

What everyone enthusing had in common, it seemed - apart from, obviously, their enthusiasm - was a certain lower age limit. It was tough to find anyone under the age of, say, 35. Not that you'd know it from the levels of near hysteria that were bubbling over the Internet like boiling milk in an ignored saucepan (no, I have no idea where that metaphor came from, either). It didn't seem that much different from the sort of reaction you'd get if Justin Bieber had announced a new song, or different haircut, or maybe a safety guard for paparazzi. Alright, maybe not that last one. But you get the point. And whereas the tears and screams that attend a Biever news story seem worthy of some kind of derision, it appeared that to cry on hearing the new David Bowie single for the first time, as many claimed to do, was much more socially acceptable. Part of the reasoning behind this is somewhat obvious (it's Bowie, duh), but you do wonder if all the kids are looking at the 40 year olds with the tight lipped tension that is usually reserved for when you see your dad dancing to Ultravox at your cousin's wedding.

Anyway, it's good news, and certainly a better twitter trend than Justin himself was having this week: #cutforbieber is as depressing and horrifying as you think it is. Bowie remains someone who is innovative and inspirational, which sounds an easy and lazy comment to make until you consider how uneasily embarrassed people appear to find themselves with Macca lately. It shouldn't happen - he's a freaking Beatle, for cryin' out loud - but when he closed the Olympics, we all felt confused and upset: this should have been the gig of a lifetime. But oddly, it just felt like your aging Music teacher attempting to play the cool card by doing a mash-up of Gangham Style and Smack My Bitch Up.