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David BowieAlbums ReviewedThe Man Who Sold The World (1970)Hunky Dory (1971) The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars (1972) Aladdin Sane (1973) Station to Station (1976) Low (1977) Heroes (1977) Lodger (1979) Scary Monsters (1980) If you're buying Bowie's back catalogue on CD, you have two choices; the older Rykodisc versions from around 1990 which are remastered to a decent standard and feature bonus tracks, and the newer versions from 1999 which have no extra songs but have better sound and artwork. Some of the bonus tracks are well worth hearing - of the four albums I have I'd suggest looking for the expanded versions of Ziggy Stardust and Station To Station but other albums have less enlightening bonuses or none at all (Aladdin Sane). Space Oddity(1969)This isn't going to be a complete page - I've picked up most of Bowie's big seventies albums, but I'm not too worried about this one, which is usually pegged as second rate despite the classic title track. He also has some albums/singles compilations before this, but they're not readily available. The Man Who Sold The World(1970)Born David Jones, and changing his name to avoid confusion with Davy Jones of The Monkees, Bowie pottered around as a solo artist in London with unsuccessful material like 'The Laughing Gnome'. In 1969 he gained some recognition with the single 'Space Oddity', but the accompanying self-titled flopped and by the time of The Man Who Sold The World Bowie was still a relatively obscure figure. Although The Man Who Sold The World did nothing to change this, it's still a respectable, if formative, effort. One key to Bowie's improvement is guitarist Mick Ronson, later a huge player in the Ziggy Stardust band, and a tangible force here. Producer and bass player Tony Visconti is also on board, and his influence is more ambiguous; his bass playing is fine, but his thin production does take away some of the muscle that drove Ziggy Stardust. This isn't necessarily a problem; what's possibly intended to be an emulation of early Led Zeppelin is given a slightly more creepy and cerebral edge. Despite the cross dressing cover, the album couldn't accurately be described as glam, especially as the style was yet to be formally recognised; it's more like geeky hard rock, with a dash of musical hall and psychedelics thrown in. It's probably fair to say that Bowie would never again write such dorky lyrics as "The supermen would walk in file/Guardians of a loveless isle/And gloomy browed with superfear their tragic endless lives"; it's not necessarily a detriment to this particular album, but shows he wasn't as control of his image as at a later stage. The problem with the record is an inconsistency in material; although this album is completely overlooked by some Bowie compilations, there is fine stuff here, but there's some disposable material, especially towards the front. The title track is easily the most famous song here, mostly courtesy of Nirvana's cover version on their Unplugged album; it probably is the song that does have a life outside this album, with a darker feel and a more universal theme. Some of the geekier stuff works fine though; 'The Supermen' has some of the album's worst lyrics, but it also has a great guitar break courtesy of Ronson. The lyrics of 'Running Gun Blues' are amusingly clumsy and non-politically correct ("I broke the gooks/I cracked their heads/I'll bomb them out from under their beds"), while both it and 'Saviour Machine' have enough musical ideas to make them entertaining. The eight minute opener 'The Width Of A Circle' drags a little, but builds up steam in the music hall derived coda. Most of the other songs are disposable enough, with 'She Shook Me Cold' a generic blues and 'After All' using an irritating "by jingo" hook, but as a whole it coalesces pretty well. The Man Who Sold The World is hardly among Bowie's best albums, but it's also somewhat overlooked so most of it should be fresh to listeners; it's worth picking up to hear Bowie on the cusp of success and just about to find his artistic feet. 
 Hunky Dory(1971)After the hard rock of The Man Who Sold The World, Bowie took a softer approach to his follow-up record. In the middle of the singer-songwriter boom of the early seventies, Hunky Dory is too camp to be mistaken for James Taylor, but it's dominated by acoustic instruments with Bowie's acoustic guitar and guest pianist Rick Wakeman taking centre stage. Ronson is still part of the band, but 'Queen Bitch' is the only riff rocker on the album and he's largely pushed into the background. The lighter tone of the album draws attention to the fact that Bowie's song writing skills have improved markedly; The Man Who Sold The World was a bunch of interesting genre experiments with only a couple of strong songs, but the majority of these compositions are intelligent and interesting enough and Hunky Dory may be Bowie's best set of songs, if not his best album. The singer-songwriter tone of Hunky Dory also means that it's about as personal as Bowie gets, delivering a career statement of intent in 'Changes', confessing obsession with artifice in 'Life On Mars', expounding his personal beliefs in 'Quicksand', paying homage to influences Andy Warhol, Bob Dylan and The Velvet Underground on consecutive songs, and most personally of all, an endearing song to his young son in 'Kooks'. Hunky Dory starts with one of Bowie's hookiest and most recognisable songs 'Changes'; it's deservedly a radio standard, and one that I don't tire of. Close behind in the pop stakes are 'Oh! You Pretty Things', which is just too weird to be a big hit, catchy as it is, and the soaring, Wakeman dominated, 'Life On Mars'. Alongside this accessible material, it's a fair assumption that the more ambitious pair of 'Quicksand' and 'The Bewlay Brothers' are both fan favourites; the former name checking dubious influences like Alastair Crowley and Himmler and dropping pretentious lyrics like "Divine symmetry/Should I kiss the viper's fang/Or herald loud the death of Man?", while the latter is a lengthy, debatably Tolkien-influenced epic ("He's Camelian, comedian Corinthian and Caricature"). The second tier material is also strong, with 'Kooks' strangely engaging ("Don't pick fights with the bullies or the cads/I'm not much cop at fighting other people's dads") and 'Andy Warhol' a good example of this album's Bowie's balance between glam rocker and singer songwriter. There are a couple of weak tracks that drag Hunky Dory down somewhat, with 'Eight Line Poem' not very interesting and the camp cover of 'Fill Your Heart' a good candidate for the skip button, making it a touch weaker than the following year's Ziggy Stardust. But this is a fascinating record album in the Bowie catalogue; for the next album he became Ziggy Stardust, and never again in the seventies would he sound so human.
The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars(1972)Ziggy Stardust is Bowie's most recognisable guise, and while it's short of a flawless classic it's probably more of an essential rock album than a bunch of records that I rate higher. Switching gears from the balladry of Hunky Dory, Bowie switches into glam rock using his alter-ego Ziggy Stardust, a face painted star. With Rick Wakeman joining Yes the focus is back on Mick Ronson who cranks out riffs like there's no tomorrow. Contrasting this, the music hall aspect that was apparent on his earlier albums is more successfully integrated with great songs like 'Starman'. There's supposed to be a story running through the album, but it's not particularly successful as rock opera, but it's a pretty great bunch of individual songs. 'Five Years' sets the scene with building tension that releases into a singalong chorus about how the world is going to end in five years; the song became an important touchstone for the 1977 punk movement, which emerged five years after Ziggy Stardust, with Bowie one of the few old school rock stars to gain kudos from the punk generation. 'Hang Onto Yourself' was the only song that incompetent Sex Pistol's bassist Sid Vicious was able to master. Absolute classics include the riff driven title track, the music hall of 'Starman', the aggressive 'Suffragette City' (more political incorrectness with Bowie's exuberant "wham, bam, thank you ma'am") and 'Moonage Daydream', while Ziggy Stardust ends on a vaguely meaningful note with 'Rock'n'Roll Suicide', which contrasts the escapist themes of the album with the pain of the real world, setting a precedent for R.E.M.'s clearly inferior 'Everybody Hurts' and tying Ziggy Stardust together nicely. There's a few too many second tier songs here to go the full five stars on this; I'm pretty indifferent to the simplistic 'Hang Onto Yourself', the piano ballad 'Lady Stardust' and the disposable 'Star'. But this is still certifiably classic rock, and I'd submit Ziggy Stardust alongside Sticky Fingers as an accessible example of the genre; its blatantly insincere approach is part of its uniqueness and charm. The Rykodisc version appends a fabulous solo acoustic demo of the title track, as well as the memorable 'Velvet Goldmine' and the controversial 'John, I'm Only Dancing', and is worth tracking down if you can find it.
Aladdin Sane(1973)This one's something of a step down after the twin peaks of Hunky Dory and Ziggy Stardust although it's still very good; possibly the major reason for its lower status in the Bowie catalogue is that it fails to break much new ground, something of an anomaly for a seventies Bowie album. If there's anything new, it's the subtle touches of jazz and R&B coming courtesy of new pianist Mike Garson. Mick Ronson is still on board, which means plenty of riff laden rockers like the opener 'Watch That Man' and the single 'The Jean Genie'. Perhaps another reason for its lower status is that it doesn't quite have the coherent feel of its predecessors, lacking a consistent vision or coherent sound. This isn't too crucial, as Aladdin Sane is punchy and entertaining and Bowie hasn't stayed long enough with glam rock to wear it out, but a few of these songs extend into artistic dead ends like weird campy ballads or trashy throwaways. In the end Aladdin Sane is mid-level classic Bowie; it's a very good album, but as a whole isn't quite consistent or groundbreaking enough to be a landmark in its own right. For starters, Aladdin Sane has some of the lesser singles from a Bowie album from this era; the bluesy rocker 'The Jean Genie' and the piano based ballad 'Drive In Saturday' are both solid but neither is electrifying in the same way that antecedents 'Ziggy Stardust' and 'Life On Mars' were. The singles are overshadowed by the opening one two punch of the sharp, glammy 'Watch That Man' and the cabaret flavoured title track, coloured by Garson's jazz piano. Some might object to the pair of decadent throwaways - the sexually explicit 'Cracked Actor' and the trashy cover of The Rolling Stones' 'Let's Spend The Night Together' - but they're both energetic and fun. If any songs are weak, it's the campy ballads like 'The Prettiest Star' but they're merely unremarkable. I feel like I've spent most of this review trying to explain why this album isn't as good as Hunky Dory and Ziggy Stardust; while the reasons I've given may be valid, none of them really impinge on listening pleasure and this record's not far behind its more esteemed predecessors.
Pin Ups(1974)Diamond Dogs(1974)Young Americans(1975)These are the three seventies Bowie studio albums I don't have - I'm not too interested in the covers album Pin Ups, but the other two definitely have their supporters, even if they're two of his less loved seventies albums, and I'd definitely grab them if I found them cheap. Station To Station(1976)The transition between the soul sound of Young Americans and the electronic experiments of Low, Station To Station is all but a literal bridge between the two Bowie phases. Jerky rhythms and a disquieting atmosphere are achieved, even though the palette is largely limited to a basic guitar, piano, bass, and drums set up. Bowie's backing band has changed completely since the Spiders From Mars days, with guitarist Carlos Alomar, drummer Dennis Davis and bassist George Murray forming the nucleus of Bowie's band through until the start of the next decade, all three contributing heavily to the distinctive experimental yet funky sound of his late seventies period. Springsteen pianist Roy Bittan is on board just for this album and his playing meshes in beautifully with Alomar, his fluent arpeggios filling in the space between Alomar's twitchy rhythm guitar. For Station To Station Bowie invented the nasty persona the "thin white duke", named in the title track as one "throwing darts in lovers' eyes". Bowie also claims that he was too blitzed on cocaine to remember recording this album at all, which is a strange assertion to make for what is perhaps his best realized work. Station To Station is sequenced perfectly, its six tracks bouncing between longer and more experimental tracks, and shorter pop songs. At ten minutes the opening title track is the longest, and one of the most experimental songs in Bowie's catalogue, captivating despite the lack of a clear structure, recalling participation in a Stations of the Cross religious service in Berlin. 'Golden Years' and 'TVC-15' are two supremely strange yet captivating singles, the latter especially a bizarre take on the soul idiom, a collection of chants, rolling piano and jerky beats. On the other hand, the ballad 'Word On A Wing' is plain gorgeous, opening out from a tentative piano introduction; uncharacteristically for Bowie, it's one of the most blatant pieces of God rock to come from a secular artist, going as far as to write "Lord, I kneel and offer you my word on a wing". 'Stay' is an overlooked Bowie album track with more funky riffing from Alomar, which leaves closing cover 'Wild Is The Wind' as the only song that's not totally sensational, and it's still a strong piece, providing a peaceful yet moody closure to an album of sensory overload. Given that I only own a third of Bowie's studio albums, I'd hesitate to label Station To Station his best ever, but I'd be pleasantly surprised if any of his post seventies work tops this. The bonus tracks are excellent live versions of 'Stay' and 'Word On A Wing'; with an inaudible Tony Kaye (formerly of Yes) on keyboards, it's interesting to hear the guitars take over on the latter.
Low(1977)If Station to Station was the brilliant-in-its-own-right transition album, Low perhaps stands as the pinnacle of Bowie career; if not in terms of being his most solid individual album, at least in terms of being the time when his career was the most of ahead of the competition. While earlier on he was a little behind the curve through hard rock, singer-songwriter and glam, on Low he's ahead of the pack, making music that informed post-punk, still several years away, and even arguably making music that sounds only fractionally dated almost thirty years later. Joy Division, one of the most celebrated post-punk bands, went as far as to originally name themselves Warsaw after the opening track on the album's second side. While the core team of Murray, Davis and Alomar are still in place from Station To Station, the traditional band structure is very much subverted, and it's the production team of Bowie and Tony Visconti, as well as guest keyboard player Brian Eno, who are most influential on the sound. The songs of Low are only a facet of the album's appeal; its sonic innovations and its haunting atmospheres are equally, if not more, important. Low was recorded in Berlin, the first of Bowie and Eno's Berlin Trilogy, and accordingly the influence of German bands like Neu! is apparent, but it's also influenced by Eno's own work and also pulled in a different direction by Bowie's own vision. In terms of structure, the record is broken down into two distinct halves; the first side is made up of disjointed, fragmented songs, often minimalist, while the second side consists of four extended ambient instrumentals. Highlights from the first side include the bouncy, melodic 'Sound and Vision' and the accessible 'Be My Wife', although the honour of most distinctive piece probably goes to 'Breaking Glass', with a brief and recurring Eno keyboard motif that sets the tone and the memorable line "don't look at the carpet/I drew something awful on it." It's hard to imagine any Bowie fan not enjoying the first side, as he walks the rope unfailingly between accessible pop and bizarre sonic sculpting. It's the second side that's the test, and while, to be honest, I'd prefer the record to remain in the vein of the first side, it's actually pretty strong. Bowie ambient is distinct from Eno ambient - it feels more composed, less spontaneous and less conceptual than what I've heard of Eno's ambient work - and these pieces are well constructed, while Bowie's wordless vocals often bring an extra emotional dimension. Low is yet another triumph in Bowie's triumphant seventies catalogue, covering more extreme territory than ever before, but still innately musical and accessible.
Heroes(1977)For the first time in the decade, Bowie feels like he's lapsed into a formula, returning to Berlin with Visconti and Eno, and recording an album with an instrumental side and a song-based side. While Heroes follows the Low template, where Low felt both groundbreaking and natural, Heroes feels more contrived, with the two sides having distinct identities - the instrumentals less accessible than before, and the songs longer and more arranged - losing the natural flow of Low and instead feeling like a pair of EPs stuck together. On the positive side, the one new band member for the record is King Crimson guitarist Robert Fripp, and his addition to Bowie's already virtuoso and idiosyncratic band means that Heroes sounds terrific even if the material or the conceptual approach is sometimes lacking. While Fripp and Eno have collaborated on many other projects, it's interesting to hear them in the context of a funky, modernistic rhythm section, where they're merely hired musicians, fighting for attention among a dynamic band. Objections of formula aside, the real problem with Heroes is that the instrumental second side isn't that interesting. As well as losing the novelty factor they had on Low, more crucially they're just not as carefully constructed as on the predecessor, more like jams with interesting textures than expressions of emotions. On the other hand, the first side is strong, opening with the claustrophobic 'Beauty And The Beast' and centring on the six minute title track, a suicide pact tale that was somehow coopted into an uplifting anthem in much the same way that Springsteen's 'Born In The USA' would be the next decade. The album tracks push the envelope even further; 'Blackout' is impressionistic and cathartic, while Bowie's phrasing gives 'Joe The Lion' a weird energy. There's also a full song tacked onto the end of the instrumental side, the funky piano groove of 'The Secret Life Of Arabia'; although it's sequenced like an afterthought, it's arguably the strongest song on the disc. While Heroes is relatively weak by Bowie's standards for this era, it's still cut from the same cloth as his other contemporaneous works, so it's hard to imagine any fan of late seventies Bowie being too disappointed by it.
Lodger(1979)One of the more overlooked entries in Bowie's seventies canon, the final instalment of the Berlin trilogy is the first Bowie album since 1970's The Man Who Sold The World to be nothing but Bowie songs, with no covers or instrumentals. If that statement makes it sound accessible, in fact Lodger is debatably the weirdest set of songs that Bowie's ever committed to vinyl, with more emphasis on rhythm and exotic sounds than ever before, often at the expense of conventional vocal melodies. Some of the songs are little more than chants, while there are drones aplenty, whether it's the Middle Eastern strings of 'Yassassin' or guitarist Adrian Belew's avant-garde stylings. All of this means that some of these songs are tough going, and it's far from Bowie's set of best written songs. Nonetheless, it's a fascinating collection; it has plenty of personality and it's relentlessly creative, so it it's a fair bet that it's a favourite of many of his more devoted fans. There's only one major change in the band, with Belew replacing his future King Crimson partner Robert Fripp, and it makes little difference - even if their styles are different, Belew is almost the only guitarist capable of matching Fripp in the weirdness stakes - while Utopia's Roger Powell guests on synthesiser. Bowie and Visconti have since stated in interviews that the mixing of the album was rushed, and they're correct, but the rough mixing gives Lodger a sense of urgency and immediacy that's welcome. Of the material that doesn't quite work, 'Move On' is almost a straight out failure with little musical interest and awkward travelogue lyrics, while there's little interest in the closing 'Red Money' beyond the stacked vocals in the title phrase. Of the other less conventional pieces, the chanting 'African Night Flight' actually works fine, even though it's a brave choice to place it at first drop. 'Repetition' is thinly written, but prospers on engaging domestic violence lyrics and an arrangement that overlays haunting strings over a very Television-like guitar riff. There's still a fair dose of accessibility present; 'D.J.' is one of Bowie's most creative and infectious singles with a discofied beat, kiss-kiss hook and more musings on the blurring of artifice and reality. The other major classic here is the 'Yassassin', fuelled by weird Eastern strings. The aggressive 'Look Back In Anger' steers relatively close to conventional rock, while 'Fantastic Voyage' provides the album with a solid start. Lodger clearly isn't the place to start an investigation into Bowie's catalogue - it's quirky, flakey, and downright weird in places, but its throw-everything-at-the-wall-and-hope-something-sticks approach is quite unique in the Bowie catalogue, and it throws up more than its share of great moments.
Scary Monsters(1980)The last album in Bowie's magical seventies streak, Scary Monsters doesn't break any new ground for Bowie, but it's a good summation of his late seventies ouevre, more commercial and accessible than anything he'd released for a long time. With Eno not involved, there's less sonic experimentation than before, and it's much more song oriented. Despite this, it still fits into the vein of his previous few releases, with the rhythm section of Alomar, Murray and Davis still intact, and Robert Fripp and Roy Bittan returning to the fold. It's hard to describe the sound; too much further it's just like a less expansive version of the last few records, with tighter song writing and structure. In fact, the first side might be the best half LP of Bowie's career, with three terrific singles all following each other, and if the second side suffers in comparison, it's still solid Bowie nonetheless. The competition for best song is a close race between the 'Space Oddity' sequel 'Ashes To Ashes', the 'Fame' sequel 'Fashion' and the Fripp-dominated title track, while the bouncy piano vamp of 'Up The Hill Backwards' is one of Bowie's best album cuts and opening 'It's No Game (Part 1)' has enthralling Japanese backing vocals and a notably histrionic Bowie vocal performance. Side two is less dynamic, but still features one of Bowie's best covers, a take on Tom Verlaine's 'Kingdom Come', as well as a guest appearance from Pete Townsend on 'When You're Young', and really the most notable flaw is the overlong 'Teenage Wildlife'. If you've heard the preceding records there's little that's revolutionary on Scary Monsters, and it's not quite as major a statement as epochal records like Low were, but it's extremely well done and extremely approachable, and a fine culmination of Bowie's late seventies experimental years.
After this, Bowie took a more overtly commercial direction with Let's Dance, starred in Labyrinth, formed a metal band, married a model, and released some more albums, some of which are supposedly quite good. I'm not planning in exploring post-1980 Bowie in too much depth, but I'd like to hear albums like Hours and Reality sometime. |
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Written 2001-2009, Graham Fyfe
