Last week, my boyfriend did this thing where he said “hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” And because I do this thing where I worry about every single thing that ever happens in my life (by the way, when I was talking to my therapist about this, do you know what she said? She said “just stop.” Seriously? And when she made me tell her about all the things I do to keep from worrying, she said “yeah, just stop.” And I was like “if I could just stop, I probably would have by now,” because come on, seriously?), I freaked out. But all he said was “you don’t seem too excited about that new Bowie album, is everything ok?” And I laughed, and the worry left my heart. And the wonder crept in.
It’s a new Bowie album, guys. David Bowie recorded new music, and he’s releasing it in March. That’s huge. I’ve loved that man for as long as I can remember, but I’ve just come to accept that I was just born in the wrong decade to be a truly gratified Bowie fan. At the tender age of 16, I started the long, hard road to acceptance. I told myself that I would never, ever, not ever, get to experience another Bowie album. I’d heard all there was to hear, and I resigned myself to that cruel fact.
What I’m saying is that I still can’t even believe this is happening. Maybe next month I’ll start being visibly excited about it. Maybe that will be the time that I start crying uncontrollably and shaving off my eyebrows as a show of dedication. But right now, I’m still in shock.
But just to pile onto this madness, we’re now learning about what’s going to be Bowie’s second single from the album. It’s a song called “Dirty Boys,” and his producer, Tony Visconti, had this to say about it:
“Dirty Boys, the second song on The Next Day, is dark and sexy … like stripper music from the 1950s. Old bump-and-grind stripper music… It wouldn’t be out of place on Young Americans.”
Oh, ok, so that’s just the best thing I’ve ever heard in my whole entire life. No big deal.