Mary Lucia

This one of the hardest days. This one hurts. This one really hurts, and I think that I wish I wasn't a DJ today. I wish that I was just at home, like you maybe are, and just talking to my friends and grieving on my own, but that isn't the case.

As the resident Bowie lunatic here, I feel a little extra pressure that I have to come up with something profound or meaningful to say about this loss. We're going to be talking about and listening to Bowie all day long, and that's what's great about today.

What else is great is that you look at the life of an artist such as David Bowie, and the admiration I feel for anybody who refuses to let others define who they are, whether it be as an artist or gender wise, it's so inspiring to me — and rare, because there aren't that many people that really do that, and do it that well.

One thing I think maybe gets a little overshadowed with the persona of Bowie being somewhat larger than life is what a phenomenal songwriter he was. Phenomenal. And it's to me, again, a great loss because today is the first day of my life that David Bowie is not in this world physically. And I'm sorry for your loss. This isn't just about me. This isn't just about Brian Oake or Jake Rudh or any of us who love this music and this artist. It's all of you. And I know we'll just lean on each other, man, and we'll get through this. And we'll cry and we'll get through this today.

It's amazing, after someone passes, especially if they contributed something in the world — music or writing — how prophetic and quotable a lot of their lyrics become in hindsight. I think that's what Facebook is all about today, is people just pulling lines and what seems more meaningful today than maybe it was yesterday. So we're just going to plow through and we're going to listen to my favorite artist of all time.

Jake Rudh

I stood under the man that October night at the Roy Wilkins Auditorium in 1997 … his graceful moves hovering over me and the other lucky ones who got there early. Being that close to a man I admired so much was a surreal experience. David Bowie possessed so much creative talent he almost seemed otherworldly. At the same time, he also seemed like the most down-to-earth approachable guy. That point was proven to me in January 2004 when he brought his "Reality Tour" to the Target Center. The Mrs. and I were lucky enough to have a brief encounter with Mr. Bowie, his smile, his look into our eyes and his voice — all of which are now seared into my memory forever. That is why, when London's Victoria and Albert Museum announced to the world that it would be hosting the first-ever David Bowie career retrospective in 2013, we had to attend. One problem — it was sold out. So we became members of the V & A solely to attend "David Bowie Is."

We spent more than five hours that first day, soaking in every original artifact including his stage costumes, lyric sheets, photos, films and other memorabilia. Those five hours seemed like five minutes. Similar to today, many tears were shed. We returned the next day to do it all over again.

Those are just three experiences that I will cherish for the rest of my days. This does not include the countless hours digging through crates at record stores and rummage sales, DJing years worth of Bowie material on the air and at the clubs and hosting annual tributes to the man.

I am absolutely gutted about the news that has hit us today, but am using this deep sorrow to move up my already scheduled tribute to David Bowie to Tuesday, Jan. 12, at The Varsity Theater. A night where we can be surrounded by David Bowie's music, art and friends as we all celebrate and grieve together.

I leave you with lyrics from my all-time favorite song:

"Though nothing, will keep us together

We could steal time, just for one day

We can be heroes, forever and ever

What d'you say?"

Jade

David Bowie has always felt like a friend to me. A friend I had never really met, but who would probably get me. I've had so many dance parties alone to his music and have dressed up like the Goblin King (giant sock in the leggings, wig and all) for various holiday parties. His effortless cool, grace, style, flair and weirdness welcomed everyone in and made us all feel like being a little weird could be cool, too.

Bill DeVille

I've been an admirer of David Bowie for most of my life. I think I first heard "Changes" on the radio as kid. "Fame" was one of the first 45's I ever purchased. His best of, ChangesOneBowie, was one of the first albums I purchased with my own money.

The guy was an artist, whether acting or writing songs or making music. Even though he sometimes wore outlandish costumes and portrayed oddball characters, he showed he was member of the human race and not just another rock star when he participated in the big charity concerts like Live Aid and The Concert for New York City. I also loved that he was a champion of new bands and artists, and was enthusiastic about music to the end.

Jay Gabler

David Bowie's inspirations were clear — from flamboyant rockers like Little Richard to sonic adventurers like John Cage to the avant-garde theater scene of the '60s — but the confident vision that animated Bowie's art was singular. He was ahead of his time, ahead of my time, and in some ways even ahead of the time we're living in right now.

Beyond his classic songs and pioneering music-theater fusion, the aspect of Bowie's early career that seems most prescient in today's context is his comfortably fluid sexuality. Whether he was wearing a dress, a suit, or some combination of the two, Bowie was always simply gorgeous. He was dead sexy in a way that drew on gender conventions without being constrained by them: when he was in a dress, he didn't seem to be in drag, and he looked just as comfortable in a three-piece suit as a full-body fishnet.

Of course, a freewheeling sense of style and sexuality was just one of the ways in which Bowie was a pioneer. There was his eclectic musical taste: his ability to venture into different genres without ever sounding forced or losing his own identity. Almost as easily as he hopped genres, Bowie hopped from record to canvas to stage: thanks to nearly impeccable taste in projects and collaborators, he was able to marshal his interests in acting and painting into the service of his musical career. Then there was his international inclination — notably, the British rocker's early and intense interest in Japanese art and fashion.

Bowie lived in the present, and looked to the future. Maybe that's how he seems to belong to every generation at once: he's a Boomer, he's Gen X, he's a Millennial. He's a Starman.

More from Jay Gabler about David Bowie

Euan Kerr

Bowie just was always there. He was a wonderful electric presence, hovering just beyond wherever we were. As a kid growing up in Scotland, I remember being shaken by hearing "Space Oddity" on the radio when it was first released. The story of an astronaut whose triumphant ascent into space goes wrong and he drifts off into oblivion thinking of his family and his powerlessness was almost too painful to bear, but impossible to set aside. Soon "Bowie cuts" were evident on heads across the playground. We all envied Rab Halliday for his naturally red hair, which he transformed into a towering mullet which appeared to establish his deep personal connection to Ziggy Stardust.

Major Tom was just the first of a series of surprises, and Bowie rolled out his music and his personas. As I think back to scenes from my life over the years, it's amazing how often he was there, if only in the background. The jukebox in the university pub, of course. There's a bar in Northern Wisconsin I occasionally visit that doesn't seem right unless it's being filled with the bass notes of "Let's Dance." But then I remember years before, riding in a bus back from a rugby match and being astonished by "The Laughing Gnome." (I have it on my phone and it still makes me giggle.)

But Bowie specialized in discomfort and we loved it. (Have you ever listened to "Love You Till Tuesday?" A great song, but just asking for a restraining order.) He kept producing something new, really new, and always worth discussing. His songs challenged the orthodoxy, whether through his glam-rock androgyny, his musical re-invention, and just his insistence of creating his own fashion trends. fI remember arguments that the Thin White Duke brushed too closely with fascism. It seemed everyone was relieved it was just a phase. But have you heard him sing "Heroes" in German? It will change your life.

Bowie entertained while making us look at the world and ourselves. He made that world a little more accepting for people on the fringe. Now he's gone, a showman to end, dropping an album on his birthday and then dropping dead. I'm sad, but it makes me shake my head and smile.

Euan Kerr interviews David Bowie's son, film director Duncan Jones

Leah Garaas

My first memory of Bowie is watching Labyrinth on the Disney Channel when I was six or seven. I even remember bringing a VHS tape of the movie to daycare the next day to watch again, this time sharing the experience with my peers, while the toddlers napped on a scorching summer afternoon. Over the years I made connections between Jareth the Goblin King, Ziggy Stardust and the vast repertoire of David Bowie. Who knew a crystal-ball juggler would wind up being one of my favorite artists — and I mean, artist — of all time? His influence is real. His influence is still alive.

Kelsey

David Bowie's work spanned genres, personas, generations, and so much more; it touched many corners of pop culture and it touched many of us. Of course, I am forever grateful for Bowie's incredible music, but I'm also thankful for his pioneering spirit. Unafraid to experiment with his identity, he inspired others to do the same and ultimately carved out a place in the mainstream for those who often find themselves on the outskirts. In times of great loss, we grieve together, so it seems fitting to end my reflection by sharing a thought from the person who first introduced me to Bowie's work. In the words of my mother: "He just made being different so cool."

Jim McGuinn

Finally, this past weekend I got to dig into Blackstar, Bowie's new album. The record flows like a river of sound. It's a beautiful album, and over the weekend I felt closer to it than any of Bowie's releases in the past two decades. I'm thankful to have had that time with the music before today, because now forever more, the album will take a different shape in our minds. It's no longer Bowie's latest, it's his last, and we will hear it differently. But it's still worth listening to, maybe more now that we know what he was going through as he made it.

It seems impossible — the world without Bowie? Yet today it is true. And it is a sad time, but also a time to be thankful — I appreciate that he made Blackstar, that he made all his records, and from his music that bonds (and bands) were sparked a million times over.

Today we celebrate his music on The Current, and that won't stop. As long as we're here, David Bowie will have a home on the radio, for all of us. We are all family in music, and today, while the world is a little less Bowie, maybe we are all a little more Bowie.

John Moe

I'm sitting in the back seat of my family's Ford LTD. Big land yacht of a car. We're driving by the bank. And a song called "Fame" was on the radio. I'm maybe six years old. And the man on the radio is singing about a concept I barely understand. But I can't help but listen. I love when the "fame fame" part gets lower and lower and then there's a final high "fame!"

I'm 13 and hanging out with my older sister, who has developed a crush on David Bowie. She has all these pictures of him. He looks ridiculous and beautiful and masculine and feminine and like he's having a wonderful time. We listen to "Changes." I think about changes.

I'm 20 and spinning records at my college radio station. I play "Bewlay Brothers" quite a lot of times, and each time the song reveals more and more. I'm lost in the phrasing. "I was stone and he was wax so he could scream and still relax. Unbelievable." It sure was unbelievable. For the rest of my life, that song can make me cry with its incomprehensible beauty.

I'm 26 and singing in a band. We attempt to cover "Space Oddity." I realize that while a lot of people were paying attention to Bowie's persona and outfits, he was an absolutely brilliant vocalist. I try to match his power, phrasing, clarity, subtlety. I give up. We don't cover the song.

I'm 35 and listen to Bowie all the time, letting each song bring its bounty to my ears and brain. I think about David Bowie's smile. He knows something. He is in touch with something beyond what the rest of us can see. But it's a kind smile because he's going to lift us up and give us a look.

It's last week. I'm sitting at my desk here at MPR. Headphones on. The Blackstar album playing pretty much on a loop. I don't understand it all, though I intend to address that through repeated listening. I am just as struck by what he was doing as I was when I was six. And I sense that this album is not just brilliant but important. Something is happening with it. Something is in motion.

It is this morning and I get the news. My seven-year-old daughter comes downstairs to start her day. I put on some music. I say, "This is David Bowie. And he was a beautiful singer. He died last night but he left us all this music."

We listen together.