I didn’t retreat to my bedroom, a mess of tears and confusion and anger, and blast “Suffragette City.” I didn’t hide the residue of my salty frustration in my pillows while “The Beautiful Ones” simmered on my boombox. Consider that the day I was born Bowie’s “Blue Jean” was a pop radio hit, and Prince had two songs in the Top 40: “Let’s Go Crazy” and “Purple Rain.”
I’m too young for Bowie, and now too young for Prince.
So why do I feel stunned when the icons pass? Why do I feel inclined to tell my friends, write remembrances on Twitter and turn my ears to all the music we can find?