Wild is the Wind

I’m still surprised at how sad I was to hear of David Bowie’s death, though I’ll spare you my own memories of discovering his music as a melancholy teenage misfit, as you’ve heard it all a billion times since Monday. I can’t resist pointing out, proudly, that he was from South London  (you can still hear the sarf lunnen twang in the way he pronounces Major Tom) and I’m also going to post this link to my favouritist favourite of his many songs, Wild is the Wind. It seems so much more direct than most of his lyrics, until you realise he could either be singing about the beginning of a relationship, or its bitter end. Brought up in Beckenham, and yet enigmatic to the last, farewell to the emperor of the oxymorons.

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