This three-month sabbatical has been pretty wild. Not that my personal life is the focus of this blog (that would be the other one), but my fiance and I broke up. It was my call.
Between that and my semester ending, I've had a lot more time to just sit and listen to music. It's been a real renaissance for me.
But enough about me in 2010, let's go back to me in 2001, when I first heard this album. I picked it up in May, along with Misfits (1978), and I really feel like those two albums are brothers, in the same sense that George Harrison once said, "Rubber Soul and Revolver could be 'Volume 1' and 'Volume 2'." Granted, these two albums have different tones to them. Misfits is a little more playful lyrically, more whimsical. Sleepwalker is a darker album...in today's context, with death metal and everything, it's about as dark as Times Square at midnight, but the songs are largely unhappy.
What I love about The Kinks - besides everything, of course - is that you can't pin them down as having a particular sound. Since they were in such a constant state of flux creatively, there aren't any transitional albums, either. No Beatles For Sale-like album that shows where they've been and where they're headed. None of that. Instead, each album seems to catch Ray, Dave, and the boys in different musical settings. Hell, even Preservation Act One and Preservation Act Two are markedly different stylistically.
The one precursor I have for all this is a simple one:
THIS ALBUM SHOULD BE LISTENED TO AT NIGHT.
Some albums just have connotations to them, and it all goes back to when it was that I first got into it in a big way. For me, Rubber Soul is a very autumnal album. Tonight's The Night is a winter album. This is a late-night summer drive, with a full moon out, maybe even some lightning, out in the middle of nowhere.
Putting this album in context within The Kinks' career, this was their first disc after all the rock operas and concept albums that began with Arthur back in 1969. Depending on who you ask, this is either a perplex, inaccessible period in the band's story or some of the greatest music the group ever did. I fall into the latter, but I don't wish to disparage Sleepwalker in any sense. They came off the whole rock opera thing with a tightly-packed album containing what I think Ray does best: character sketches.
I'm sure I'll repeat this several more times when I talk about the songs, but I'd love to sit down with him and find out what inspired the stories on this album. It's surprising to read that such fairly oblique jabs like "A Well-Respected Man" and "Dedicated Follower Of Fashion" stemmed from incidents where someone pissed Ray off, very specific events. At the same time, however, he truly is an expert storyteller, and some songs just come from the top of his head.
In a way, each song is like a little movie all on its own, a 3 to 5-minute summary of what could unfold as a great novella. Additionally, every song on the album is at least partially in the first person. Ray seemed to be returning to a more introverted literary persona, rather than the deliciously bawdy showman we encountered on Everybody's In Showbiz or his Mr. Flash get-up on Preservation Act Two.
This is a terrific album, and one I always point to as proof that, unlike what most publications would have you believe, The Kinks were still producing art worth a damn long after "Lola."
TRACK LISTING:
01. Life On The Road [9.5]
02. Mr. Big Man [9.5]
03. Sleepwalker [10]
04. Brother [8]
05. Juke Box Music [10]
06. Sleepless Night [9]
07. Stormy Sky [10]
08. Full Moon [11]
09. Life Goes On [9]
The songs hyperlinked above are from the band's appearance on 'The Old Grey Whistle Test' in April 1977. The user who posted the (extraordinarily high-quality) videos doesn't have them available for embedding.
THE SONGS:
01. Life On The Road [9.5]
It starts off nondescriptly enough, maybe even a little too quiet as far as the mix goes. Still, Ray daydreams of venturing to London over a delicate organ/piano arrangement. Right at the one-minute mark, it turns into an upbeat rock song. It's at the perfect tempo, capturing the excitement detailed by the narrator.
The strange thing is, this is a subject Ray has tackled before, on Lola Versus Powerman & The Moneygoround and on Everybody's In Showbiz; what makes it so strange is that it doesn't seem stale. He's approaching it from a different angle. On Lola it's a band rising to fame, on Showbiz it's about what happens once a band has achieved fame, but here it's about a kid hitting the streets and seeing the seedy underbelly of the world: "I didn't know then that the dives and the dens / Would be so vulgar and wicked and wild...", his failed encounters with "stuck-up city ladies" yields him nothing more than a cold, he naively gets seduced by a gay muscleman while "hanging out with the punks."
His quest for success gives him holes in his socks and bloodshot eyes. At the end of the song he yearns for home, hoping to "Say goodbye to a world that's too real / Goodbye to a world that's forgotten how to feel," confessing it's taking its toll on him, he sometimes hates it, but it's all he's ever known. When he sings the chorus - "But I'm livin' the life that I chose" - he has such a sense of resignation that it's like a reluctant sigh, something he tells himself in the mirror every morning, before launching back into the chorus at full-speed.
The song's musical energy is a nice displacement to what is a fairly downtrodden tale, one I'm sure Ray had witnessed after 15 years in "the business."
02. Mr. Big Man [9.5]
This one HAS to be based on someone in Ray's life. It isn't Tom Robinson, though we'll talk about him a little later.
In the YouTube comments, someone claims it's about John Lennon. While John did act like an ass towards The Kinks at the 1964 NME Poll Winners' concert, this is 13 years later, never mind smack in the middle of John's "house-husband" phase. I doubt it...but it could be about anyone who let fame get to their head.
Anyway, this is a pretty grim song, about a former friend whose lust for money and power has made him a crooked, intimidating figure in the business world, although in the final verse, Ray suggests a far more sinister path: "Your enemies and foes / Are all stacked-up in rows / Eliminated one by one."
There's a lot of passion in the music, and a palpable sense of hurt and anger in Ray's vocals. This album and Schoolboys In Disgrace have some of Ray's best performances as a singer. He's quite underrated in that regard.
03. Sleepwalker [10]
That is some damn funky drumming from Mick Avory on the intro. Good, catchy riff, too.
This was the big single from the album, and their first hit in some time. It almost reminds me of "Lola," in that both songs have a slightly twisted lyric wrapped up in a catchy-as-Hell rock song. The stuff about sleepwalking seems fairly harmless until he starts talking about "Better close your window tight / I might come in for a bite," or at the end, when he says "I'll even come to your home / If you're ever alone." I read somewhere that an extra verse was cut out of the song with an overt sexual reference. I can't find any record of what the extra lines were, but I'd love to know. Whatever it was, I have no doubt that it was removed with the idea of the song being the album's single in mind.
And how about Dave's dueling guitar solos? Listen to that with headphones for the full effect.
Because I like this song so damn much, here it is again, and in an entirely different mix:
04. Brother [8]
This could have been the single, but Ray resisted and held out for "Sleepwalker." I can see why. I used to dislike this song, I thought it was too schmaltzy. But, as is the case with a lot of Kinks songs, a close reading of the lyrics shows something much different than the music suggests.
"You're my brother / Though I didn't know you yesterday"
This isn't a celebration of Ray and Dave's relationship - which is an amusing, at times sweet, love/hate sibling affair - it's about how the world is going to Hell, with people "...breaking off relationships / And leavin' on sailin' ships / For far and distant shores." There is an odd sense of impending doom in this song, something we'll return to later on the album, as if everyone seems to be fleeing from some sort of cataclysmic event. While I'm glad this wasn't the single - it's too repetitive, I think - it is a good song.
05. Juke Box Music [10]
This is a masterpiece. Never mind the lyrics - for now - but musically, the way the song builds up to an intro, with a guitar solo that sounds like it was plucked from the clouds...and whatever sort of synthesizer John Gosling was playing sounds fantastic. Sounds like the Stringman synth Frank Sampedro plays on Neil Young's "Like A Hurricane." Those short bursts of guitar solos at the end of the choruses is a pretty, melodic bit of playing. And again, Ray sounds great; so does Dave on the last chorus.
Then there's the lyrics. It's a character study of a woman at a dance club who pumps quarters into the jukebox to simply listen to the music she loves, like an addiction. She doesn't dance, she doesn't interact with anyone else, just listens to the music. Ray assures us, the listener, that "It's only jukebox music!" After that stellar guitar break in the middle, the lyrics get personal, compounded by it being Ray and Dave singing these lyrics, seemingly to each other:
"It's all because of that music
That we're slowly drifting apart
But it's only there to dance to
So you shouldn't take it to heart"
Maybe it's because there's so much meaning in Ray's lyrics, maybe it's because Ray stands with George Harrison and Frank Zappa as one of the great idols of my youth, but there's such irony in Ray Davies telling us that his music is only there to dance to. Perhaps it's a comment on the direction they were taking, opting for a more commercial sound upon signing to Arista Records in 1976.
It's one of the best examples of Ray Davies the storyteller, and I love how he brings it full-circle to briefly reflect on his relationship with Dave. Classic Kinks.
06. Sleepless Night [9]
Looking through all these videos, I have to paraphrase something Glenn Gass said about The Beatles in 1966: The Kinks circa 1977 look so cool. When I was younger, I thought Dave was the shit. I still do.
Dave takes the lead vocals on this song (although Ray gets two lines in the bridge), and he sounds great. There's something about the timbre of his voice that I just love. When I first heard The White Stripes, I thought, "Wow, this guy sounds like Dave Davies!"
Anyway, the song is a great showcase for some backing vocal harmonies, organ, and Dave's guitar. I'm a big sucker of this, although other musicians I know think it's a cheap trick, but I love when a drummer switches to playing in double-time. That happens at the beginning of the song, it lumbers for a second, but then Mick kicks it into high gear and away it goes.
It's a funny story, although if it were a situation happening to me, I wouldn't be laughing. The song's hero is kept awake by his neighbors having loud sex. That's already a pretty bad situation, but then in the bridge comes the critical line:
"Once I was her lover
It was so good to be
Now she's got somebody else and I can't sleep
Nothing hurts people more than other people do
But what can you do?"
Good song.
07. Stormy Sky [10]
Amazing!
This is a tender love song, for the most part. There's two of those great Davies twists, little lines that throw the song's balance, if one is focusing on the lyrics: "Perhaps it's a sign of what we're headed for" and "There's nowhere we can hide," both suggesting apocalyptic doom, much like in "Brother."
The group is running on all cylinders, too: Ray goes from a sotto near-whisper at the beginning to a full-voiced bellow at the end. Fantastic. The band plays with a great deal of temperament, all building up to the 2:45 marker, where the song stops for just a second and Dave ushers in the song's coda with a great high riff. It ends perfectly, slowing down to a halt, almost like the end of a violent storm.
08. Full Moon [11]
But we're not out of the woods just yet. This is one of Ray's best songs, period, and the easy winner of best song from the album. It's almost like the spiritual invert of "Stormy Sky." Where the previous is a dark, stormy night shared by two lovers, this clear night with a bright full moon shining down is one of solitary torment.
Everything about this song is perfect, the way Ray asks, "Haven't you noticed a kind of madness in my eyes?", confessing to all these character flaws and quirky mannerisms as being the result of a full moon. The melody is simply beautiful, and the band does the song justice; like the last song, there's a sense of reserve until the coda. The piano break near the end brings in the big finale, where Ray is singing like his career depends on it. It's a beautiful point when the backing vocals hearken back to "Johnny Thunder" from The Village Green Preservation Society (at the 3:22 mark), it still floors me.
Songs like this are the only reason I need to defend my choice of The Kinks as my favorite band of all time.
09. Life Goes On [9]
I used to hate this song, and let's face it, "Full Moon" is an incredibly difficult act to follow. I also used to hate any song that openly acknowledged one's own mortality. Now, though, the line "And one day when you are gone / You know that life will still go on" sits fairly well with me.
Some great Ray one-liners here, "Life goes on / It happens every day," "Get that frown off your head / 'Cause you're a long time dead," and "No matter how hard I try / It seems I'm too young to die." I really like that bridge where he talks about his own suicide attempt, how he planned to gas himself to death, but hadn't paid his bills so his supply was cut off. As I've gotten older I've developed more of an appreciation for such bare-faced morbid humor.
And on that note, I have to say, where else could we go after a song like "Full Moon" but to a meditation on life and death?
Subtotal: 95.5% A
Replayability Factor: 3
I can listen to this album anytime, anyplace, anywhere.
Consistency Factor: 2
For a band with such a long career, it's easy to pick the immediate classics. I don't think too many people will disagree with me if I say your first Kinks album should be Village Green, Something Else, or Arthur. But as far as second-level Kinks listening goes, I put Sleepwalker very high up as a sign that they still had it.
External Factors: 2
It's a great example of Ray's songwriting reaching new heights as far as storytelling and painting pictures of people, whether sympathetic ("Juke Box Music") or less so ("Mr. Big Man"). There's a lot about sanity, things taking a toll on one's psyche, so it's lyrically one of the more harrowing Kinks releases. It just happens to be wrapped in a deceptively gorgeous musical package.
TOTAL: 102.5% A+
And now, since there is a single to cover plus some outtakes that I think are worth mentioning, let's go into the bonus round.
SINGLES:
01. Father Christmas [11]
This is my favorite Christmas song of all-time. It's hilarious, and it gives a good glimpse into what the holiday is really about for the Western world: greed. It's also punk, through and through.
Also, does that video not look like the best party ever? I'd hang out with them.
02. Prince Of The Punks [10]
And speaking of punks, this is the best diss song since "Positively 4th Street," an almighty "fuck you" to Ray's former protege Tom Robinson, who apparently decided to go into punk music because it was the "thing" at the time. Even without any knowledge of what/who the song is really about, it's a pretty pointed barb about the guy we all know who tries too hard.
All I know is I would never want Ray Davies pissed off at me.
OUTTAKES:
01. The Poseur [10]
This was originally going to be the title cut for the album. I don't quite know why it got trimmed, it's a really good song, a bit different in style from the rest of the disc, but in a good way. I mean, you can DANCE to this! Pretty unique song, nothing else quite like it in the canon.
02. On The Outside [9]
While I like this song, I can definitely see why it wasn't on the finished album. It might have been better-suited for Misfits or a Ray Davies solo release. It isn't bad at all, maybe a little too much on the side of easy-listening. Still, the song was dusted off in 1994, polished with some new tracks, and released on an EP featuring a newly-recorded version of "Waterloo Sunset," the aptly-named Waterloo Sunset '94. The version here is from 1977.
03. Elevator Man [10]
Oh, my God, this song.
I'm so proud that I have a copy of this tune. Assuming my friend Dave Emlen at the greatest Kinks site in the universe posts this review on the "News & Rumors" feed, this will hopefully mean a batch of Kinks fans are hearing this ditty for the first time. It's a funky little rocker, about an elevator operator who sees all sorts of people.
I like it.
On that note, if you bother to click through on the YouTube link for "Elevator Man," you'll notice it was posted by one Sleepwalker1977.
That's me. That's how much I love this album. My old email address is Sleepwalker_1977 [at] hotmail.com, so yeah...Sleepwalker is an album I enjoy very much. It's super-dorky, but what can I say? I'm a dork.
Good to be back. Hope to see you again soon.
Alex
Showing posts with label 1977. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1977. Show all posts
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
David Bowie - "Heroes" (1977)
Somewhere in between the preparation for my review of The Who's A Quick One and now my fiance Shelley and I came up with the idea of the artistic spectrum of style versus substance. There isn't much science to it, in fact it's highly subjective (hey! just like this blog!) and based off of a very cliched phrase.
Whatever.
Anyway, the question of "who/what next" for this blog came up. Two (already?) weeks ago, I had my heart dead-set on doing Re-Ac-Tor (1981) by Neil Young, mainly because I couldn't fathom why the reviews I've read are so damned indifferent towards it. However, I also promised myself to cover all bases before I began re-treading on certain artists. Yes, there will be plenty of Kinks. There will be a good amount of Zappa (85 albums and counting? The guy's been more prolific in death than Tupac!), Beatles, Stones, Neil, Dylan...but then I thought of David Bowie.
Bowie is one of those artists I've always liked, yet I've never been absolutely obsessed with. On this made-up spectrum, he's always struck me as someone with plenty of style...but what about substance? I'd never really thought about it. I realized I'd never given much thought to his lyrics. And even when I did, it was his glam stuff, which is either telling a story - The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars (1972) and Diamond Dogs (1974) - rather meaningless, deliberately cut-up lyrics on Aladdin Sane (1973), or someone else's tunes on Pin-Ups (1973).
Then again, I never really went through a David Bowie "phase." I tended to pick his stuff up sporadically. (Kind of like how I've been meaning to pick up Lou Reed's Transformer album for almost seven years.) In 2003, I picked up Aladdin Sane and Diamond Dogs, a year before I'd copied Ziggy Stardust from my local library and put it on a CD-R alongside Electric Warrior by T. Rex, in late 2004 I bought Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) (1980) on a whim along with Black And Blue by The Rolling Stones (ugh.), and in early 2005 I bought Low and "Heroes" together. Near the end of that year I'd come into a bit of extra money and bought eleven CD's, including The Man Who Sold The World (1970), Hunky Dory (1971), Pin-Ups (1973), and Lodger (1979).
Is this normal for you, the reader? Because when I got into The Kinks, I GOT INTO The Kinks. I saved my lunch money, ventured to 13th Floor Music, and did my business about once or twice a month. Same with Zappa: I trudged on, buying all his budget releases (the ones with the "Cheap Thrills" sticker, priced at $11 where most of his stuff was $17) until...I don't really know. I guess fatigue? I got into American punk music in a big way, then Cheap Trick...
Enough of this nostalgic codswallop.
Something had to be the key to his success beyond his ability to project a series of iconic images. There had to be some reason Charles Shaar Murray, a UK music critic whose judgment I trust - a LOT - is as big a Bowie fan as he is Zappa or The Kinks, right?
After kicking around what was little more than a four-year old mental image (image? Let's go with aural footprint...), I did what I should have done: I re-listened to him. Don't get me wrong, I still find Pin-Ups to be laughably bad for the most part, though a really tight EP could have been culled from it. (One song that would make my cut would be his treatment of a Kinks gem called "Where Have All The Good Times Gone?") I still turn seasick green every single time I hear that plasticine close-miked sax on the awful title track from Young Americans (1975). And dear God, don't get me started on that video for "Dancing In The Street."
But then I hear him on a good day, as with this album - the second of two he did in 1977, a year of great albums all across the board unless you were Ringo or Keef - I feel like an idiot for ever doubting his capability of greatness. Is he a god among men? No, that's why I put that little qualifier at the end there. After his "Berlin Trilogy" of Low, "Heroes", and Lodger - some making an extension with Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) - that was pretty much it, until Earthling in 1997, helped in no small part by Trent Reznor and the fifty-eight different remixes of "I'm Afraid Of Americans" he put out.
Of course, every artist has hit the skids. At least once. If they didn't, they either died (you seriously want me to name names? Jimi, Janis, Duane, Buddy, Sid...), broke up (The Beatles), or were able to triumph over their struggle to make a great album (less common, but The Kinks, with the case of the Lola album and its leading single's success saving their career). In his course on The Beatles, at least twice (before the Get Back sessions and before the lawsuit fest that was the break-up of the band) Glenn Gass would joke, "...and after that they all moved to an island somewhere and are still making great music!" Then he would realistically counter that with, "Look, we should be grateful they broke up when they did. It had to happen, and sure, certain things may have sped it up [Apple, Allen Klein, Yoko], but could you imagine The Beatles' disco album?"
He has a point. Neil Young revived his career in the late 1970's with this very notion - "It's better to burn out / Than it is to rust" - but they'd run their course. As a collective, they weren't able to agree on much, except maybe wanting to lynch Paul. Other than their immediate solo releases, I don't feel any of them recaptured their former glory (and even then, I have to say All Things Must Pass is a rockist's Viagra, bloated, overproduced, and what was up with the third disc?). Bowie has gone in and out of vogue a few times. Given his later start, and his intermittent hiatuses from recording (it's been six years since his last album, Reality), he doesn't quite have the borderline unapproachable juggernaut discography of Neil, Dylan, or Zappa.
Yet he's just as legendary, and rightfully so. He's rock and roll's great chameleon, visually and stylistically. Sure, Zappa bounced around rock, jazz, and classical like it was a game of Pong, and Dylan's gone through more phases than the Soviet government, but Bowie kept it accessible, appealing, and endlessly fascinating. Glam Bowie, for me, is hit and miss. I love side B of Ziggy Stardust plus "Starman" and "Five Years," but Aladdin Sane doesn't do too much for me. At all. Pin-Ups is a very bumpy covers album. His "I Can't Explain" is brittle and slow, his vocals on "Friday On My Mind" waif-like, but his version of "See Emily Play" thumps along with the kind of swagger the rest of the album tries for, but fails.
It's not a requirement, but I really do feel one has to approach glam with - there's no way to say this politely - part of their brain shut off. What I mean is that it's fun, campy, often funny...but don't expect Dylanesque portraits, Daviesian commentary, or Zappaesque humor. It's fun to listen to and play along with, but the real draw, as for its cultural relevance, was the outright willingness to do a piss-take on gender roles. Mick Jagger was, at one point in time, considered macho - this was before the studded velour jumpsuit he donned on their 1973 tour - and guys like Robert Plant, Roger Daltrey, Rod Stewart, and on down the line were the beautiful faces of the men of rock and roll.
Then came this weirdo with a permanently dilated pupil, a shocking red mullet, no eyebrows, and...he - or she? - is kinda cute. Or handsome. Cute? This mysterious person is wearing makeup...
Alice Cooper wore makeup, too, but he went for the schlock horror look after a glam image for his first three albums (none of which garnered attention commercially, though they are pretty good). Even then, there's no doubt - in spite of the name - that Alice Cooper was a dude. Pretty manly-looking fellow.
But this scrawny little humanoid with the makeup and the mullet? And what's this business of singing about being an alien? Is he/she/it an alien?
I don't mean to belabor the point. You get it, I hope. It was all Bowie's concoction, that it would garner a bunch of interest if he donned this mysterious persona and said he was gay at a time where it really was shocking, in spite of what the religious right may suggest these days. But it was an artistic phase. He grew out of it, with the terrific Diamond Dogs (1974) marking the midpoint in his shift from glam-rock to soul/funk. This marked what's called his Thin White Duke phase.
Though I can say I hate what I've heard off Young Americans, which gave him a hit with "Fame," a song co-written with John Lennon (and as far as I'm concerned, the only reason it got attention), I did enjoy Station To Station (1976). The soul (technically blue-eyed Philly soul, merging two of my least-favorite musical sounds together) of Young Americans was *sniff* heavily dusted with *sniff* some sort of *rubs nose frantically* magic white powder, giving *nose begins to bleed* a mysterious, darker, avant-garde edge to the music. It was actually the influence of German acts like Kraftwerk, NEU!, Can, and Faust, though I'm sure doings lines of Bolivian marching powder helped to bolster the almost sterile - in a good way, not a Dark Side Of The Moon way - sound of Station To Station.
Living off of cocaine and red peppers - and little else - Bowie got skinny, moody, and super paranoid. Convinced occultists wanted to perform rituals on his excrement, he collected his piss in mason jars, which he stored in the refrigerator. He famously declared England should have a dictator. He rather infamously got his picture taken while standing in the backseat of a Mercedes giving a Hitler salute outside Victoria Station.
Not the best time in his personal life. He may have had his big United States breakthrough (commercially, though he had his Stateside admirers since Ziggy), but if he'd kept it up he would have gone the way of so many.
It came to a head one day, when as he delicately put it in a not-at-all-disgusting way, "I went to blow my nose and half me brains came out." He, musician pal Brian Eno (ex-Roxy Music), and producer Tony Visconti (who deserves to be in the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame, but no, we'd rather lobby for Brian Epstein coaxing The Beatles into Pierre Cardin suits) went to Europe to record the three albums now called his "Berlin Trilogy," consisting of Low, "Heroes", and Lodger. I consider these to be Bowie at his best and his most experimental (anytime you've got Brian Eno on board, it will be so-and-so at their most experimental, and that's a great thing). One of the truly great trilogies of rock and roll, right up there with electric Dylan, Neil's trip to the ditch, The Kinks' "British" albums from the late 1960's, you name it.
Though the introspective therapy would come with Scary Monsters, the album after Lodger, Bowie is certainly shaking the specter of drugs off his back. Parts of Low and all of "Heroes" were recorded at Hansa Studio in Berlin, which just happens to be adjacent to the Berlin Wall. The tension of the location - and the politics of the region - seemed to manifest itself in the music. Side A of Low consists (almost) entirely of lyrical pieces, all relatively short...and side B is four of the gloomiest instrumentals I'd heard until I discovered there was an entire genre based off of this sound. (Meaning, naturally, in the 30 years since then there's only been gloomier, creepier sounding shit, and it's brilliant - I recommend Veil Of Secrecy for some great, dark ambient music.)
"Heroes" isn't unlike Low, though the differences are obvious. Both still have the same lyrical/instrumental divide, though the second album closes with a lyrical track (while the first album begins with an instrumental). It may be less dark - though "Sense Of Doubt" shows it wasn't all flushed out of the system - but I think it's the artier of the pair. The musical palate is broad, especially on side B. Given everything else that came out in 1977, including this album's older brother Low, it was pretty bold for the New Musical Express to give this record "Album Of The Year."
Do I agree with that honor? Eh...not quite, but it's pretty stiff competition with Cheap Trick's first (and best) album, the rise of UK punk, debuts from Peter Gabriel and Talking Heads, oh, yeah, and The Kinks returning from Preservation land and putting out their first non-conceptual or thematic or operatic album in (literally) a decade. (Sure, they're my favorite band, but I won't deny their occasional inaccessibility! See also: Zappa, Frank.)
These albums showed Bowie was more than just an image. There was always a bit of substance beneath that style, he just seemed too busy reinterpreting the Christ myth on Ziggy Stardust, Orwell on Diamond Dogs, or using a lyrical technique pioneered by William S. Burroughs on Aladdin Sane. There's plenty of references to the Bible and the Occult on Station To Station, but here on the Berlin albums it's obvious for everyone to see.
The weirdo with the dilated pupil shed all exterior personae and gave us the weirdo with the dilated pupil, the artist. I can forget about his crap-tastic duet with Mick Jagger on "Dancing In The Street." I can forgive him for Labyrinth. At his best, he's more than just a performer. He's a composer, the writer of one of the greatest rock anthems ever, and - after a closer examination - a terrific poet.
Style over substance, my shiny metal ass.
01. Beauty And The Beast [10]
An excellent opening track, with a tense build-up of an intro. The resulting release of tension doesn't lose a drop of momentum. Its lyrics, about Bowie's split personality as a result of his drug use, are matched by the savagery of Robert Fripp's scorching guitar leads. The robotic drums do fills only when absolutely necessary...an amazing track.
02. Joe The Lion [7]
I like the dueling lead guitar parts throughout the song...but it's only listenable on headphones. Otherwise it sounds like you're listening to two songs at the same time. Musically, I would say this song meanders a little too much. Very danceable beat, but what's with the spoken intro in the middle? The lyrics are apparently about Chris Burden - hence the "nail me to a car" line - the performance artist who was nailed to a Volkswagen in 1971 and for another display was shot in the arm. With a gun.
This one is just a little too sloppy, not one of the best here. Of course, there is a Bowie fan out there who will bite my head off for putting this one down...it just isn't memorable to me.
03. "Heroes" [11]
And all is well. A truly perfect song, with three different synthesizers chugging and puttering along to create the foggy, train-station like atmosphere, some wonderful lead guitar, and Bowie giving the vocal performance of his career. His voice was recorded from three different microphones, one up close - heard in the first part of the song - the second twenty feet away - added in with the reprise of "I, I will be king" - and the third fifty feet away, heard on the remainder of the song. This is a masterpiece production-wise, and one of the great rock anthems of the 1970's. Never mind its place as the story of lovers meeting at the Berlin Wall, that chorus of "We can be heroes / Just for one day" means something, even today. I'm surprised this song hasn't been given more airtime politically.
My fourth favorite Bowie song, behind "Suffragette City," "1984," and "Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps.)"
04. Sons Of The Silent Age [8.5]
The dichotomy of this song is a pain in the ass. On the one hand, there's those gorgeous verses, the beautiful harmonies in the chorus...but then there's the cheesy crooning on the chorus, and the anticipated key change that comes right as the song winds down. It pains me to give this one an eight, but it's so lopsided - to my ears - that it should probably actually earn a five were it not for the sheer beauty of the verses. Take note of the drumming, with the sizzling rolls on the hi-hats at the start of the verses, then the sixteen-beat pattern, emphasizing the slow tempo (perfectly) of the song.
Who am I kidding? The chorus is a minor setback for a song that could have been a ten. Extra half-point because I can do this sort of thing.
05. Blackout [9]
I knew the first four tracks of this album by way of, in this order, *gasp* an illegal Internet download, disc three of the Sound + Vision boxed set I picked up for four dollars at a CD store, and the 2002 Best Of Bowie compilation. Until I re-listened to this album for its review, "Blackout" was sort of an afterthought to me, the closer of side A, off in its own dark corner, as the "other" song on the lyrical half.
It's aged better than two of its comrades. With its stomping tempo, the manic vocals and the return of the wild guitar we heard on "Beauty And The Beast" and "Joe The Lion" - with a vengeance - this song sounds like it could go off at any second. But that's the idea.
06. V-2 Schneider [8]
The instrumental half of the album kicks off with this song, with its catchy bass line, marching drums, and a tuneful (and off-beat) sax part. When the drums switch to a standard 8-beat pattern, the off-tempo sax is made apparent to us. The influence of Kraftwerk is at its most obvious on this song, with the "Schneider" of the song's title a tribute to the band's co-founder Florian Schneider. Nice heavy guitar at around 2:40 in the song...but then it's over. It sounds like there should be more, like it's the first movement of an avant-Krautrock modernist piece. Oh, well.
07. Sense Of Doubt [10]
The darkness so obvious throughout Low returns on this song. Bowie biographer David Buckley describes it as "an eerie synth line like a scrap of sound from a silent expressionist-era soundtrack," which is perfect. I can picture this song accompanied by the visuals of The Strange Cabinet Of Dr. Caligari, or something by F.W. Murnau. It's gloomy, chilling...and perfect.
As the b-side of the "Beauty And The Beast" single, Roy Carr and Charles Shaar Murray joked that it "must have been good fun on pub jukeboxes." Funny enough, I've heard a similar quip from my father regarding "Don't Worry Kyoko (Mummy's Only Looking For Her Hand In The Snow)" as the b-side of "Cold Turkey."
08. Moss Garden [9.5]
Beautifully atmospheric, this song is given an extra swathe of color with the use of a Japanese instrument, the koto. Surrealistically Oriental-esque, this song segues out of "Sense Of Doubt" like a transition in a dream, where suddenly everything is gentle and peaceful. Listen closely for the sustained synthesizer notes, sounding to me like a flowing stream, and the occasional chirping synth-bird. A great song, the influence of Brian Eno at its strongest - it's perfect ambient music, something you could do yoga to - and it eventually segues into the next song, like a brief meditation, and we're back in the gritty reality of the world with track 9...
09. Neuköln [9.5]
Imagine the first few minutes of "Echoes," specifically the piano tinkles from Rick Wright, but with Ian Underwood of The Mothers Of Invention honking away on his sax. That's this song in a nutshell, a neo-noir piece inspired by a street in Berlin. The solo parts from the synth, sax, and guitar all sound so lonely, like they're being played by buskers alone under the blinking neon lights of Berlin...a terrific song.
10. The Secret Life Of Arabia [9]
Though this song has lyrics, and it's got a danceable tempo, it sounds nothing like the material on side A. No maniacal guitar leads from Hell courtesy of Mr. Fripp, no choruses of echoes, phasing, flanges, etc. It's still adorned with a bit of production, though, its lonesome acoustic/percussion intro made to sound like it's being played in the middle of a desert night. Beautiful song, and a great way to close out, though a little too short. Again, though, maybe that's the idea, a way of snapping us out of the trance of side B.
Subtotal: 91.5% A-
Replayability Factor: 2
I have to be in a mood, yes, but I can have side B of the record on in the background at any time. Side A is a bit too wild for dinner music. How schizophrenic do you like your music to be? For me, I don't mind, but each half of the album is like hearing music from Venus and music from Mars.
Consistency Factor: 2
Pursue glam Bowie first, I say, as a way of getting acquainted with his voice. Get Ziggy, get Diamond Dogs...but then get this one and get Low. If possible, get them both at the same time. This album is definitely the leader of the pack in the "out there, to be purchased once you've gotten familiar with his 'classic' works" category.
External Factors: 1
The point is a plus and a minus to the album: the roles of Tony Visconti and Brian Eno. Would these albums have been possible without Eno's arrangements or Visconti's production? There's plenty of places to look in Bowie's discography that suggest that no, they would not have been what they were. He did his best work with a collaborator, one who helped define the sound and keep Bowie close to Earth, whether it's Visconti, Ziggy sidekick Mick Ronson, Eno, Carlos Alomar, or Iggy Pop.
Total: 96.5% A
Whatever.
Anyway, the question of "who/what next" for this blog came up. Two (already?) weeks ago, I had my heart dead-set on doing Re-Ac-Tor (1981) by Neil Young, mainly because I couldn't fathom why the reviews I've read are so damned indifferent towards it. However, I also promised myself to cover all bases before I began re-treading on certain artists. Yes, there will be plenty of Kinks. There will be a good amount of Zappa (85 albums and counting? The guy's been more prolific in death than Tupac!), Beatles, Stones, Neil, Dylan...but then I thought of David Bowie.
Bowie is one of those artists I've always liked, yet I've never been absolutely obsessed with. On this made-up spectrum, he's always struck me as someone with plenty of style...but what about substance? I'd never really thought about it. I realized I'd never given much thought to his lyrics. And even when I did, it was his glam stuff, which is either telling a story - The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars (1972) and Diamond Dogs (1974) - rather meaningless, deliberately cut-up lyrics on Aladdin Sane (1973), or someone else's tunes on Pin-Ups (1973).
Then again, I never really went through a David Bowie "phase." I tended to pick his stuff up sporadically. (Kind of like how I've been meaning to pick up Lou Reed's Transformer album for almost seven years.) In 2003, I picked up Aladdin Sane and Diamond Dogs, a year before I'd copied Ziggy Stardust from my local library and put it on a CD-R alongside Electric Warrior by T. Rex, in late 2004 I bought Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) (1980) on a whim along with Black And Blue by The Rolling Stones (ugh.), and in early 2005 I bought Low and "Heroes" together. Near the end of that year I'd come into a bit of extra money and bought eleven CD's, including The Man Who Sold The World (1970), Hunky Dory (1971), Pin-Ups (1973), and Lodger (1979).
Is this normal for you, the reader? Because when I got into The Kinks, I GOT INTO The Kinks. I saved my lunch money, ventured to 13th Floor Music, and did my business about once or twice a month. Same with Zappa: I trudged on, buying all his budget releases (the ones with the "Cheap Thrills" sticker, priced at $11 where most of his stuff was $17) until...I don't really know. I guess fatigue? I got into American punk music in a big way, then Cheap Trick...
Enough of this nostalgic codswallop.
Something had to be the key to his success beyond his ability to project a series of iconic images. There had to be some reason Charles Shaar Murray, a UK music critic whose judgment I trust - a LOT - is as big a Bowie fan as he is Zappa or The Kinks, right?
After kicking around what was little more than a four-year old mental image (image? Let's go with aural footprint...), I did what I should have done: I re-listened to him. Don't get me wrong, I still find Pin-Ups to be laughably bad for the most part, though a really tight EP could have been culled from it. (One song that would make my cut would be his treatment of a Kinks gem called "Where Have All The Good Times Gone?") I still turn seasick green every single time I hear that plasticine close-miked sax on the awful title track from Young Americans (1975). And dear God, don't get me started on that video for "Dancing In The Street."
But then I hear him on a good day, as with this album - the second of two he did in 1977, a year of great albums all across the board unless you were Ringo or Keef - I feel like an idiot for ever doubting his capability of greatness. Is he a god among men? No, that's why I put that little qualifier at the end there. After his "Berlin Trilogy" of Low, "Heroes", and Lodger - some making an extension with Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) - that was pretty much it, until Earthling in 1997, helped in no small part by Trent Reznor and the fifty-eight different remixes of "I'm Afraid Of Americans" he put out.
Of course, every artist has hit the skids. At least once. If they didn't, they either died (you seriously want me to name names? Jimi, Janis, Duane, Buddy, Sid...), broke up (The Beatles), or were able to triumph over their struggle to make a great album (less common, but The Kinks, with the case of the Lola album and its leading single's success saving their career). In his course on The Beatles, at least twice (before the Get Back sessions and before the lawsuit fest that was the break-up of the band) Glenn Gass would joke, "...and after that they all moved to an island somewhere and are still making great music!" Then he would realistically counter that with, "Look, we should be grateful they broke up when they did. It had to happen, and sure, certain things may have sped it up [Apple, Allen Klein, Yoko], but could you imagine The Beatles' disco album?"
He has a point. Neil Young revived his career in the late 1970's with this very notion - "It's better to burn out / Than it is to rust" - but they'd run their course. As a collective, they weren't able to agree on much, except maybe wanting to lynch Paul. Other than their immediate solo releases, I don't feel any of them recaptured their former glory (and even then, I have to say All Things Must Pass is a rockist's Viagra, bloated, overproduced, and what was up with the third disc?). Bowie has gone in and out of vogue a few times. Given his later start, and his intermittent hiatuses from recording (it's been six years since his last album, Reality), he doesn't quite have the borderline unapproachable juggernaut discography of Neil, Dylan, or Zappa.
Yet he's just as legendary, and rightfully so. He's rock and roll's great chameleon, visually and stylistically. Sure, Zappa bounced around rock, jazz, and classical like it was a game of Pong, and Dylan's gone through more phases than the Soviet government, but Bowie kept it accessible, appealing, and endlessly fascinating. Glam Bowie, for me, is hit and miss. I love side B of Ziggy Stardust plus "Starman" and "Five Years," but Aladdin Sane doesn't do too much for me. At all. Pin-Ups is a very bumpy covers album. His "I Can't Explain" is brittle and slow, his vocals on "Friday On My Mind" waif-like, but his version of "See Emily Play" thumps along with the kind of swagger the rest of the album tries for, but fails.
It's not a requirement, but I really do feel one has to approach glam with - there's no way to say this politely - part of their brain shut off. What I mean is that it's fun, campy, often funny...but don't expect Dylanesque portraits, Daviesian commentary, or Zappaesque humor. It's fun to listen to and play along with, but the real draw, as for its cultural relevance, was the outright willingness to do a piss-take on gender roles. Mick Jagger was, at one point in time, considered macho - this was before the studded velour jumpsuit he donned on their 1973 tour - and guys like Robert Plant, Roger Daltrey, Rod Stewart, and on down the line were the beautiful faces of the men of rock and roll.
Then came this weirdo with a permanently dilated pupil, a shocking red mullet, no eyebrows, and...he - or she? - is kinda cute. Or handsome. Cute? This mysterious person is wearing makeup...
Alice Cooper wore makeup, too, but he went for the schlock horror look after a glam image for his first three albums (none of which garnered attention commercially, though they are pretty good). Even then, there's no doubt - in spite of the name - that Alice Cooper was a dude. Pretty manly-looking fellow.
But this scrawny little humanoid with the makeup and the mullet? And what's this business of singing about being an alien? Is he/she/it an alien?
I don't mean to belabor the point. You get it, I hope. It was all Bowie's concoction, that it would garner a bunch of interest if he donned this mysterious persona and said he was gay at a time where it really was shocking, in spite of what the religious right may suggest these days. But it was an artistic phase. He grew out of it, with the terrific Diamond Dogs (1974) marking the midpoint in his shift from glam-rock to soul/funk. This marked what's called his Thin White Duke phase.
Though I can say I hate what I've heard off Young Americans, which gave him a hit with "Fame," a song co-written with John Lennon (and as far as I'm concerned, the only reason it got attention), I did enjoy Station To Station (1976). The soul (technically blue-eyed Philly soul, merging two of my least-favorite musical sounds together) of Young Americans was *sniff* heavily dusted with *sniff* some sort of *rubs nose frantically* magic white powder, giving *nose begins to bleed* a mysterious, darker, avant-garde edge to the music. It was actually the influence of German acts like Kraftwerk, NEU!, Can, and Faust, though I'm sure doings lines of Bolivian marching powder helped to bolster the almost sterile - in a good way, not a Dark Side Of The Moon way - sound of Station To Station.
Living off of cocaine and red peppers - and little else - Bowie got skinny, moody, and super paranoid. Convinced occultists wanted to perform rituals on his excrement, he collected his piss in mason jars, which he stored in the refrigerator. He famously declared England should have a dictator. He rather infamously got his picture taken while standing in the backseat of a Mercedes giving a Hitler salute outside Victoria Station.
Not the best time in his personal life. He may have had his big United States breakthrough (commercially, though he had his Stateside admirers since Ziggy), but if he'd kept it up he would have gone the way of so many.
It came to a head one day, when as he delicately put it in a not-at-all-disgusting way, "I went to blow my nose and half me brains came out." He, musician pal Brian Eno (ex-Roxy Music), and producer Tony Visconti (who deserves to be in the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame, but no, we'd rather lobby for Brian Epstein coaxing The Beatles into Pierre Cardin suits) went to Europe to record the three albums now called his "Berlin Trilogy," consisting of Low, "Heroes", and Lodger. I consider these to be Bowie at his best and his most experimental (anytime you've got Brian Eno on board, it will be so-and-so at their most experimental, and that's a great thing). One of the truly great trilogies of rock and roll, right up there with electric Dylan, Neil's trip to the ditch, The Kinks' "British" albums from the late 1960's, you name it.
Though the introspective therapy would come with Scary Monsters, the album after Lodger, Bowie is certainly shaking the specter of drugs off his back. Parts of Low and all of "Heroes" were recorded at Hansa Studio in Berlin, which just happens to be adjacent to the Berlin Wall. The tension of the location - and the politics of the region - seemed to manifest itself in the music. Side A of Low consists (almost) entirely of lyrical pieces, all relatively short...and side B is four of the gloomiest instrumentals I'd heard until I discovered there was an entire genre based off of this sound. (Meaning, naturally, in the 30 years since then there's only been gloomier, creepier sounding shit, and it's brilliant - I recommend Veil Of Secrecy for some great, dark ambient music.)
"Heroes" isn't unlike Low, though the differences are obvious. Both still have the same lyrical/instrumental divide, though the second album closes with a lyrical track (while the first album begins with an instrumental). It may be less dark - though "Sense Of Doubt" shows it wasn't all flushed out of the system - but I think it's the artier of the pair. The musical palate is broad, especially on side B. Given everything else that came out in 1977, including this album's older brother Low, it was pretty bold for the New Musical Express to give this record "Album Of The Year."
Do I agree with that honor? Eh...not quite, but it's pretty stiff competition with Cheap Trick's first (and best) album, the rise of UK punk, debuts from Peter Gabriel and Talking Heads, oh, yeah, and The Kinks returning from Preservation land and putting out their first non-conceptual or thematic or operatic album in (literally) a decade. (Sure, they're my favorite band, but I won't deny their occasional inaccessibility! See also: Zappa, Frank.)
These albums showed Bowie was more than just an image. There was always a bit of substance beneath that style, he just seemed too busy reinterpreting the Christ myth on Ziggy Stardust, Orwell on Diamond Dogs, or using a lyrical technique pioneered by William S. Burroughs on Aladdin Sane. There's plenty of references to the Bible and the Occult on Station To Station, but here on the Berlin albums it's obvious for everyone to see.
The weirdo with the dilated pupil shed all exterior personae and gave us the weirdo with the dilated pupil, the artist. I can forget about his crap-tastic duet with Mick Jagger on "Dancing In The Street." I can forgive him for Labyrinth. At his best, he's more than just a performer. He's a composer, the writer of one of the greatest rock anthems ever, and - after a closer examination - a terrific poet.
Style over substance, my shiny metal ass.
01. Beauty And The Beast [10]
An excellent opening track, with a tense build-up of an intro. The resulting release of tension doesn't lose a drop of momentum. Its lyrics, about Bowie's split personality as a result of his drug use, are matched by the savagery of Robert Fripp's scorching guitar leads. The robotic drums do fills only when absolutely necessary...an amazing track.
02. Joe The Lion [7]
I like the dueling lead guitar parts throughout the song...but it's only listenable on headphones. Otherwise it sounds like you're listening to two songs at the same time. Musically, I would say this song meanders a little too much. Very danceable beat, but what's with the spoken intro in the middle? The lyrics are apparently about Chris Burden - hence the "nail me to a car" line - the performance artist who was nailed to a Volkswagen in 1971 and for another display was shot in the arm. With a gun.
This one is just a little too sloppy, not one of the best here. Of course, there is a Bowie fan out there who will bite my head off for putting this one down...it just isn't memorable to me.
03. "Heroes" [11]
And all is well. A truly perfect song, with three different synthesizers chugging and puttering along to create the foggy, train-station like atmosphere, some wonderful lead guitar, and Bowie giving the vocal performance of his career. His voice was recorded from three different microphones, one up close - heard in the first part of the song - the second twenty feet away - added in with the reprise of "I, I will be king" - and the third fifty feet away, heard on the remainder of the song. This is a masterpiece production-wise, and one of the great rock anthems of the 1970's. Never mind its place as the story of lovers meeting at the Berlin Wall, that chorus of "We can be heroes / Just for one day" means something, even today. I'm surprised this song hasn't been given more airtime politically.
My fourth favorite Bowie song, behind "Suffragette City," "1984," and "Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps.)"
04. Sons Of The Silent Age [8.5]
The dichotomy of this song is a pain in the ass. On the one hand, there's those gorgeous verses, the beautiful harmonies in the chorus...but then there's the cheesy crooning on the chorus, and the anticipated key change that comes right as the song winds down. It pains me to give this one an eight, but it's so lopsided - to my ears - that it should probably actually earn a five were it not for the sheer beauty of the verses. Take note of the drumming, with the sizzling rolls on the hi-hats at the start of the verses, then the sixteen-beat pattern, emphasizing the slow tempo (perfectly) of the song.
Who am I kidding? The chorus is a minor setback for a song that could have been a ten. Extra half-point because I can do this sort of thing.
05. Blackout [9]
I knew the first four tracks of this album by way of, in this order, *gasp* an illegal Internet download, disc three of the Sound + Vision boxed set I picked up for four dollars at a CD store, and the 2002 Best Of Bowie compilation. Until I re-listened to this album for its review, "Blackout" was sort of an afterthought to me, the closer of side A, off in its own dark corner, as the "other" song on the lyrical half.
It's aged better than two of its comrades. With its stomping tempo, the manic vocals and the return of the wild guitar we heard on "Beauty And The Beast" and "Joe The Lion" - with a vengeance - this song sounds like it could go off at any second. But that's the idea.
06. V-2 Schneider [8]
The instrumental half of the album kicks off with this song, with its catchy bass line, marching drums, and a tuneful (and off-beat) sax part. When the drums switch to a standard 8-beat pattern, the off-tempo sax is made apparent to us. The influence of Kraftwerk is at its most obvious on this song, with the "Schneider" of the song's title a tribute to the band's co-founder Florian Schneider. Nice heavy guitar at around 2:40 in the song...but then it's over. It sounds like there should be more, like it's the first movement of an avant-Krautrock modernist piece. Oh, well.
07. Sense Of Doubt [10]
The darkness so obvious throughout Low returns on this song. Bowie biographer David Buckley describes it as "an eerie synth line like a scrap of sound from a silent expressionist-era soundtrack," which is perfect. I can picture this song accompanied by the visuals of The Strange Cabinet Of Dr. Caligari, or something by F.W. Murnau. It's gloomy, chilling...and perfect.
As the b-side of the "Beauty And The Beast" single, Roy Carr and Charles Shaar Murray joked that it "must have been good fun on pub jukeboxes." Funny enough, I've heard a similar quip from my father regarding "Don't Worry Kyoko (Mummy's Only Looking For Her Hand In The Snow)" as the b-side of "Cold Turkey."
08. Moss Garden [9.5]
Beautifully atmospheric, this song is given an extra swathe of color with the use of a Japanese instrument, the koto. Surrealistically Oriental-esque, this song segues out of "Sense Of Doubt" like a transition in a dream, where suddenly everything is gentle and peaceful. Listen closely for the sustained synthesizer notes, sounding to me like a flowing stream, and the occasional chirping synth-bird. A great song, the influence of Brian Eno at its strongest - it's perfect ambient music, something you could do yoga to - and it eventually segues into the next song, like a brief meditation, and we're back in the gritty reality of the world with track 9...
09. Neuköln [9.5]
Imagine the first few minutes of "Echoes," specifically the piano tinkles from Rick Wright, but with Ian Underwood of The Mothers Of Invention honking away on his sax. That's this song in a nutshell, a neo-noir piece inspired by a street in Berlin. The solo parts from the synth, sax, and guitar all sound so lonely, like they're being played by buskers alone under the blinking neon lights of Berlin...a terrific song.
10. The Secret Life Of Arabia [9]
Though this song has lyrics, and it's got a danceable tempo, it sounds nothing like the material on side A. No maniacal guitar leads from Hell courtesy of Mr. Fripp, no choruses of echoes, phasing, flanges, etc. It's still adorned with a bit of production, though, its lonesome acoustic/percussion intro made to sound like it's being played in the middle of a desert night. Beautiful song, and a great way to close out, though a little too short. Again, though, maybe that's the idea, a way of snapping us out of the trance of side B.
Subtotal: 91.5% A-
Replayability Factor: 2
I have to be in a mood, yes, but I can have side B of the record on in the background at any time. Side A is a bit too wild for dinner music. How schizophrenic do you like your music to be? For me, I don't mind, but each half of the album is like hearing music from Venus and music from Mars.
Consistency Factor: 2
Pursue glam Bowie first, I say, as a way of getting acquainted with his voice. Get Ziggy, get Diamond Dogs...but then get this one and get Low. If possible, get them both at the same time. This album is definitely the leader of the pack in the "out there, to be purchased once you've gotten familiar with his 'classic' works" category.
External Factors: 1
The point is a plus and a minus to the album: the roles of Tony Visconti and Brian Eno. Would these albums have been possible without Eno's arrangements or Visconti's production? There's plenty of places to look in Bowie's discography that suggest that no, they would not have been what they were. He did his best work with a collaborator, one who helped define the sound and keep Bowie close to Earth, whether it's Visconti, Ziggy sidekick Mick Ronson, Eno, Carlos Alomar, or Iggy Pop.
Total: 96.5% A
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