Continuing where I left off last week, navigating the mind-blowing narrative that is David Bowie’s studio discography, we’re officially in the 1970’s now. When we last left our hero, Bowie was following the successful single, “Space Oddity”, with it’s far-our cosmic folk vibe, and a decent album that allowed him to hide that strange debut a few years previously. Where does he go next, still so early in his career, before him and his creation, Ziggy Stardust, would become household names? Well, let’s put on his 1970 album, The Man Who Sold the World, and find out.
(The Man Who Sold the World album covers, the original release, and the more famous “Bowie in a dress” variation. Photos from Wikipedia)
Did you put on the album? I hope you did. If you didn’t, you’re missing out. The album’s first track, “The Width of a Circle”, kicks off with a striking power chord, courtesy of Mick Ronson. His name isn’t nearly as famous as I feel it should be. Ronson is a huge reason why we have glam rock, and probably a good chunk of punk rock, too. Arguably the first of many excellent guitarists Bowie teamed up with, Ronson’s massive talent and blaring dedication the art form of electric guitar defined Bowie’s early 70’s output. But he is not alone. Along with him, rounding out the rhythm section for this album is Tony Visconti on bass, who would later establish himself as one of Bowie’s top collaborators, both on instruments and producing a large amount of the albums to come, and Mick Woodmansey on drums. This backing trio would call themselves The Hype, and eventually with a few lineup changes, would evolve into the famous Spiders from Mars. And boy, does this band know how to jam. Bowie’s first two albums were a little disjointed, but with this powerful backing crew to help mold his songs, the 70’s were sure to be a fine era for the man. “Width of a Circle” is nearly eight minutes long, and it, along with a lot of the album in whole, sounds like Black Sabbath could have been playing the tunes. Quite a change from spaced-out folk (not that Space Oddity didn’t have it’s hard rock moments), The Man Who Sold the World is an English R&B, early heavy metal explosion. Sabbath and Zeppelin, along with the original 50’s rock and roll staples, are heard throughout the album. “Black Country Rock”, the third song, really feels like Bowie and Jimmy Paige were hanging out and jamming together. That’s how good Ronson is, right up there with Paige. At least in this fanboy’s ears. Despite it’s heavy metal atmosphere, Bowie hasn’t completely let go of his folksy side, as “All the Madmen” features recorder-like instruments by it’s bridge. But lyrically, while continuing to build on themes Bowie has had before, The Man Who Sold the World gets darker in mood. Topics range from insanity and schizophrenia “All the Madmen” (something Bowie had a deep connection with,through his diagnosed older brother Terry, who he would sing about more in later songs), “Savior Machine” speaks of omniscient computers, and he even gets pretty political in “Running Gun Blues”, bemoaning a soldier in Vietnam (again, similarities could be made with Black Sabbath and “War Pigs”). “After All” and “The Supermen” begin Bowie’s flirtations with occult and horror lyrics, with frequent nods to the works of Kafka and Lovecraft, as well as Aleister Crowley. The title track itself, made famous decades later with Nirvana’s Unplugged performance, details being lost in a post-Apocalyptic world, and it’s interpretations range from a meeting with the Anti-Christ or Devil, or a doppelganger. A moody, slower song among all the fasting blues-rock present in the album, a heavy bass-line and whirling guitar riff that add to it’s greatness; it’s a stand-out track, which really says something considering the top-notch quality of this album. The dark tone of this album influenced lots of goth rock, post-punk and heavy metal bands, but the album also stands at the beginnings of glam rock (along with Mark Bolan’s T. Rex, who already building their own legacy, and Iggy Pop, who was a huge influence and close friend of Bowie’s), and we’ll see that trend continue with the next album, Hunky Dory.
(Hunky Dory. Photo from Wikipedia)
Hunky Dory, released in December of 1971, nearly a full year after The Man Who Sold the World, is sometimes considered to be Bowie’s best album, even when compared against the forthcoming Ziggy Stardust, or other stand-outs such as Station to Station and Low. Obviously we’re talking about something big here, then. “Changes” begins the albums, and that being one of Bowie’s best-known songs to this day, might have something to do with that. With it’s easily recognizable piano melody and catchy composition, complete with lyrics about a new wave of kids making their way in the world, and their refusal to stop, well, changing, “Changes” truly marks the beginning of the most beloved of Bowie-eras and styles. And in complete contrast to the dark blues of the last album, in the man’s words, “watch out, you rock n’ rollers!”
The Hype, that backing band I had mentioned early, changed themselves a little bit, with Trevor Bolder on bass and trumpet, reliable Mick Woodmansey staying on drums, Mick Ronson adding several more instruments to his repertoire, he gained a larger role on this album helping Bowie with many of the song’s arrangements. Completing the lineup is Rick Wakemen (Yes, the guy from, uh, Yes) on keyboards. Wakeman’s playing is distinct, and all over the album. Combined with Bowie and Ronson’s arrangements, the whole album leaps, struts, and dances in power-pop perfection. “Oh! You Pretty Things” is the prime example of this. A catchy, jumpy piano drives the song, with a thumping rhythm section for the chorus, Bowie’s monstrously operatic vocals being followed up by a wonderful backing vocal from the rest of the crew. It’s a beautiful dynamic, and Bowie’s lyrics constantly improve. Still referencing all his literary ad philosopher favorites, such as Nietzsche here, Bowie croons about homo sapiens being pushed aside for the next wave of humanity, the homo superior. Maybe he liked the X-Men, too. “Oh! You Pretty Things” seamlessly transits it to the bluesy, “Eight Line Poem,” which again gives Ronson some center stage. This album, more than any other Bowie solo effort, featured even contributions from the other musicians. The album is still undoubtedly David’s, every song, every word and composition is his, but the other members of the band’s fingerprints are everywhere. One of my personal favorite songs, not just of Bowie’s, but of anyone’s, “Life on Mars?” follows “Eight-Line Poem” and I must admit, I can’t listen to it and type at the same time. I’ll post a link to the video, with Bowie, bright and shining with his flame-red hair and shiny blue suit in front of a stark white background, and let the song take you away, too. Take a few minutes, the review will be there when you get back.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v–IqqusnNQ
How’d it go? Brilliant every time. Okay, we’re back. The song highlights Bowie as the actor, the man who takes the stage, and can fill in a multitude of roles. Bowie is the method actor of music, and here we see him beginning to step into the androgynous sex-god persona. But while this album was taking great leaps forwards for Bowie, it also contained aspects of the other albums. “Kooks”, a song written for Bowie’s then infant son, Duncan Zowie, is acoustic and nearly silly, it could have fit on the debut album. “Quicksand”, an epic five minute R&B rocker, may have been conceived during the last album, especially with it’s darker lyrics, focusing on quitting religious and political beliefs, and waiting for the end, as Bowie bemoans “Don’t believe in yourself/Don’t deceive with belief/Knowledge comes with death’s release”, “Quicksand” wraps up the first side of the album, and it’s hard not to immediately flip to side two. The second half of the album, for my money, isn’t as powerful as the first, but still has plenty of wonderful moments. These next songs are mostly tributes to some of Bowie’s influences, the cover song “Fill Your Heart”, the aptly titled “Song for Dylan” and “Andy Warhol” are pretty straightforward in nature, but “Queen Bitch” takes the cake as the best of them, being a Velvet Underground style song about a self-styled New York sex goddess, you can hear Bowie and crew fawning over Lou Reed and his bunch. Ronson’s guitar riff is mesmerizing in it’s simplicity, and I have a feeling every English punk band guitarist tried to learn this song when starting out. “Queen Bitch” is a raucous romp, and is followed by the final track, “The Bewlay Brothers”, which is at first jarring from the sequence of songs just played. It’s longer, slowed down, featuring whimsical (yet morose) strings and warped vocals. Similar in spirit to The Man Who Sold the World, but perhaps even more vague and open to interpretation, the song entices the listener to think, but about what exactly can be unclear. Religious, occult, and even possible a little autobiographical, Bowie himself has cited it as one of his personal favorites, being featured on his hand-picked compilation album, iSelect. It wraps up Hunky Dory, and certainly leaves the listener wanting more, and wondering what Bowie could possibly come up with next. Which direction would he take? He’s been theatrical, ominous, psychedelic, folksy and poppy before, and on Hunky Dory, pretty much all of those at once. Clearly in his dress style he was becoming more and more outrageous, but what kind of music could accompany this look? Well, less than a half a year later, the world would find out with the debut of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, and we’ll find out more about that with my next installation of this series, and as “Changes” put it perfectly, we shall “Turn and face the strange”.
(Bowie and Mick Ronson, with Nick Woodmansey on drums. Photo from TheGuardian.UK)
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