As with every David Bowie album from ‘Hunky Dory’ on, I purchased ‘Blackstar’ on the day of it’s release. I was on tour at the time and had set aside the evening of Saturday, January 9 to immerse myself in it (post show) via headphones in the dark, dark basement of that night’s venue, an old house in suburban Seattle. The album blew me away. Once again Bowie had dared to dive into wild unchartered territory and it was thrilling to tag along.
The following day I travelled by train to Portland having booked a recording session there on the Monday. That night David Bowie left the planet.
In a state of shock I played the new album for the second time. Now with an entirely different perspective. Listening to it in that very weird, poignant and strangely exalted state I was struck by the notion that Bowie had created an incredibly complex and layered swan song and had, in effect, transformed his death into an astonishing work of art. By the time the final track came on I was weeping copiously. Those tears needed somewhere to go. They ended up in a song. One that simply poured out of me. I recorded it the next day.
(Props to Revolver Studio owner and engineer, Collin Hegna for assembling such a great group of musicians at such short notice in order to fully realize the work at hand.)