The big black speakers sat on the white glossed wooden shelves strategically placed at opposite ends of the living room. It was a Fidelity record music centre; the body grey and a plastic translucent top, resting on the teak record cabinet with two sliding doors.
Sliding the left door would reveal my parents record collection, some compilation albums of middle of the road music and country artists. The right door opened a whole new world, my sister’s record collection. In there I removed a record, the plastic cover protecting the album sleeve indicating this was an item of value. Taking the black vinyl twelve inch record, each groove glistening as it is caught by the sunlight that shone through the window, the orange centre label displayed the album name and artist as I placed with care onto the turntable. I turned the On Off control to the right and there was a crackled static sound that coughed through the speakers. Between my thumb and forefinger I lifted the needle from its resting place and navigated to the first groove. Hearing the needle make contact I turned the volume knob a little further to the right. Captivated by the haunted rhythm of the drum and snare playing 6/8 time which was a sound I had not heard before. Followed by the unique vocal sound of this guy telling me that earth was really dying and we had only five years left to cry in. Mesmerised I turned the album and was half way through the B side when I was hit by the raw sound of guitar and Bowie’s voice blasted and rocked the speakers on the shelf with ‘Ziggy played guitar’ I was hooked for life.
And from that day I will always be eternally grateful for that moment and for the years that followed with the intoxicated sound and feeling that cannot be pinned into any one thing how the music bequeaths such emotion and feeling.
For me on that day in my parent’s living room was the day a genius was born.
RIP David Bowie.