This week, many of our staff were devastated to learn of David Bowie’s passing. Some of them reflect on how his work impacted on their lives.

When I was 13 I was involved in a punch up defending Bowie’s claim to the title of ‘greatest pop icon of our time’. My opponent had declared that said title belonged to Prince. I won the argument but lost the fight.

A master of reinvention and polymath of popular culture, Bowie also recognised genius among his peers – such as Robert Fripp and Brian Eno – and recruited them accordingly. His legacy extends well beyond his 25 studio albums. He will also be fondly remembered for his narration of ‘Peter and the Wolf’ and his numerous acting roles.

Flamboyant and theatrical, he retained a quiet dignity and remarkable humility despite his dazzling achievements over the better part of half a century. To me he demonstrated that pop music could also be an art medium, not merely a disposable cultural product. The Thin White Duke casts a long dark shadow. – Roland Bisshop

I was a teenage layabout in Melbourne suburban wasteland when I first heard David Bowie. It was 1972, ‘Starman’ was being played on the wireless, and the ears of me and my coterie of buddies were enraptured. Suffice to say, it completely stood out from the drivel that was passed off as pop music of the day. We needed to know more. Pocket money was saved, albums were bought, and we were not disappointed. The dozen albums Bowie produced between 1970 and 1980 are astonishing. His creativity during this period was unstoppable. Challenging, innovative, intelligent – everything that pop music wasn’t. And our parents hated it. Cool.

I was one of the lunatics who slept outside the MCG to queue for tickets to Bowie’s first ever Melbourne gig in 1978. I have never bothered to go to such lengths to see any other artiste, and I have seen quite a few gigs in my life. And, yes, it was worth it. Seriously.

A week or so ago, when I heard that Lemmy had died I was shocked, gutted. He was a hero of mine. But when I entered my lounge room the other day, and my sweetheart broke the news that Bowie had left us, I cried. And I’m a big boy, who should know better. – Garry Mansfield

I grew up in North London in the 70s which was a great time of community spirit and free thinking. The old guard of stage performers like Tommy Cooper, Arthur Askey and Max Wall were in their twilight. Bowie was on my radar even if I didn’t know it. My mum used to love Marc Bolan – he had a TV show with special gusts like Elton John and Ringo Starr, but of all the guests I knew Bowie was the most ethereal, and I didn’t even know what the word meant at the time. If my mum loved Marc Bolan surely I could love Bowie. I later realised that this feeling was called adoration.

When Elvis and Bolan died within a month of each, Bowie was my anchor. Later still, the ‘Ashes to Ashes’ music video was aired and heralded the start of the New Romantic Movement for me. I could express myself like Bowie, wearing my mum’s eyeliner and blusher to school. Bowie was the influence everyone spoke of.

I never did get to see him live. When the Glass Spider Tour of 1986 was on I was invited along by a friend but I couldn’t afford it. (I just been to see Queen at Knebworth.) What I have come to understand now is that Bowie is everywhere, and always will be. – Michael Awosoga-Samuel

A couple of years ago my young son went to hear astronaut Chris Hadfield speak at the Melbourne Writers Festival. ‘It was brilliant’, he told me when he got home, ‘He sang this song called Space Oddity which is so cool.’ And so we sat, my son and I, on the floor and I played him the original song as well as some other Bowie anthems. Later still, my son and I went to the Bowie exhibition here in Melbourne and it blew both our minds. Another of Bowie’s legacies: cross generation admiration. – Chris Gordon