2016 has been the year of Bowie for me, as I tirelessly revisit well-loved classics and dig deep into the back catalogue in search of hidden gems I've missed over the years. What I've discovered is a body of work utterly unique which offers rewards without end to the adventurous listener. Over the years, my "essential Bowie" mix grew from a 3-disc set with approximately 50 tracks to a 5-disc set with approximately 80. At this point, the sky's the limit!
What I will delight in doing over the next weeks and months is reviewing each of Bowie's 27 studio albums, attempting to draw together a comprehensive list of B-sides as well as the original album content. This project will culminate in my latest attempt at compiling the "Ultimate Essential Bowie" playlist.
"David Bowie" (Deram, 1967)
The debut album that dare not speak its name, which is unfortunate because its name is the name of the man who created it! In various ways, the self-titled debut pursued and haunted Bowie for the duration of his illustrious career. I have read it referred to as the "crazy old woman" in the attic of Bowie's discography, which seems apt! She's there, and the rest of the children feel an obligation to make sure she's fed and comfortable, but there's no way they are letting her out in the light of day!
The bad reputation of this album isn't quite deserved, if for no other reason than this was the sound of a soon-to-be-legendary artist inventing himself. Bowie (along with an arranger) crafted the entire album, having reportedly learned the art of songcraft from a book, and there's a definite sense of exploration and freshness to the experiments contained within, even if they don't all resonate at the level of later work. There was perhaps no other artist of his caliber who was so impacted by his audience - the man of many faces putting on mask after mask until he found one that resonated with the largest possible group of people. Once he found it (and he soon would) it became the cornerstone of everything else. The debut has no cornerstone, but is a dizzying array of masks, all very English and "twee," and all with echoes of things to come. It is the sound of a restless 20-year old man attempting to spark a zeitgeist and not quite getting there.
Historical trivia: the album was released on the same day as The Beatles Sgt. Pepper's, so we can chalk its mediocre performance up to lofty competition. How's that for an apologist stance?
The album begins with the perky "Uncle Arthur," about a greedy, immature shop keeper who lives with his mother, "loves his money," and "follows Batman." This arrangement is mutually beneficial, it seems, as when Arthur becomes romantically involved with a woman who will compete for mum's affections, the older woman doesn't take the news very well. Arthur runs off with his new bride, but soon falls into a state of utter confusion - while his wife is undeniably lovely, "cooking leaves her in a maze," so Arthur runs back to mother and is content.
It's hard, knowing the reputation of this album and these songs, not to seek validation for these tracks by listening for echoes of later works in Bowie's canon. "Uncle Arthur" is slight but quite funny, and already finds Bowie poking a bedazzled stick at the mundane expectations of modern life. For some reason, the track reminded me a bit of "Kooks," from Hunky Dory, another track about domestic concerns, albeit from the opposite angle.
For the longest time, I heard "Sell Me a Coat" as "Sell Me a Goat," so found the chorus of "Sell me a goat with buttons of silver. Sell me a goat that's red or gold..." very disconcerting. Lovely vocal - the voice was in full form even at this young age.
"Rubber Band" features a tuba as a lead instrument - why not? It's one of the delightful features of this album - that "aww shucks" willingness to experiment. The track reminds me a bit of Cat Stevens "Matthew and Son," and The Who's "Silas Stingy," both contemporary releases. It's a quirky, but catchy piece of baroque chamber pop perfectly suited to its era. The topic is silly, but no sillier than odes to incense and peppermints.
"Love You till Tuesday," sounds like music from a commercial for air travel. In the best possible way. The melody has shades of "Better Future," a track from 2002's Heathen. Explores themes of the restless sexuality that would spring to the forefront of his work in the years hence.
"There is a Happy Land" is easy-listening lounge music - a slightly hipper Herb Alpert, but with groan (or giggle) inducing lyrics about a special place populated only by children. A place where adults are not allowed to contaminate the innocence. A fine subject, but the ham-fisted handling leaves something to be desired. References to "sissy" boys playing with girls touches on major themes of gender identity. The end of the track reminds me a bit of "The Bewlay Brothers" from Hunky Dory.
"We are Hungry Men" speaks to working-class woes in much the same way "Changes" speaks to hippie disillusionment. The theatrical touches are a bit off-putting - the whole things come across like The Beatles "Taxman" on helium. One of the less-successful tracks on the album, in my opinion.
Side one ends with the utopian vision of "When I Live My Dream," an excellent vocal from Bowie. Feels like a weird combination of later manifesto tracks like "Life on Mars," and the Broadway schmaltz of "The Impossible Dream," the featured track from the Don Quixote musical "Man of La Mancha." Bowie confidently declares that all the haters can laugh at him all they'd like, as he'll be happy living out his dream. A great piece of foreshadowing of what was to come!
Side Two begins with the polka-infused "Little Bombardier," another sympathetic tale of weirdos and outcasts - a classic Bowie trope he mined successfully throughout his entire career, although this one is particularly strange. The sad story of a young veteran hollowed out from the horrors of war who finds it impossible to assimilate back into society until a chance meeting with two children brightens his outlook. He takes solace and finds hope in the innocence of the young people, buying them candy and gifts and delighting in their joy. Predictably, his actions catch the attention of the townspeople, who misconstrue his intentions, confront him, and force him to leave the town in a haze of shame and sadness. All set to a jaunty tune reminiscent of a German beer hall!
"Silly Boy Blue" comes across like a more diffuse, diaphanous example of the pointed character pieces The Who were so adept at during this period. It builds up to a rather rousing singalong "la-la-la" chorus and gradually grows to a suitably bombastic orchestra-pop conclusion. Some of Bowie's trademark vocal idiosyncrasies are in full flower on this track. The track also reminds me of another one of Bowie's classic tricks - loading an arrangement of a very slight song with so much inflated sense of import that you leave it feeling like it was better than it was.
"Come and Buy My Toys" features a surprisingly dense and effective finger-picked guitar line underpinning another hokey batch of lyrics featuring "monkeys made of gingerbread," "rich men dressed in hose," and "smiling girls and little boys." Almost comes across as a dizzying parody of the "back to the earth" medieval hippy-drippy hokum of bands like The Incredible String Band.
"Join the Gang" is a manic bit of mysticism, featuring a thudding drum beat underpinning a swirling mass of sitar and Indian music stereotypes which gives way to Elvis-in-Vegas style piano honkytonk and drifts into a direct lift of the bass line of Spencer Davis Group's "Gimme Some Lovin," before returning to honky tonk, drug references, and ending in a breakdown of white noise. Another time capsule piece that reminded me a bit of "A Simple Desultory Philippic" from Simon & Garfunkel's 1965 album Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme as it turns a winking eye at the hip culture of the day.
"She's Got Medals" is about a butch lady bartender named Mary who changed her name to Tommy, and joined the Army somehow passing the medical. Perhaps the most overt ode to nontraditional gender-identity on the album. Also one of the most "four-on-the-floor" straight-up rockers on the album, which makes it stand out just because it doesn't sound like a creaky relic. Could fit in with "Queen Bitch," from Hunky Dory and "Suffragette City" from Ziggy Stardust.
"Maid of Bond Street" is a stuttering, wordy tale of a lonely girl who rises out of her lot in life to take a chance on a love affair, only to be hurt and left cold when the man deserts her. The moral? "Maids of Bond Street shouldn't have love affairs!" It's brief - there's that.
Finally, the atmospheric (and little else), "Please Mr. Gravedigger" rounds out the album. Starting with a montage of spooky sounds that manages to sound like the opener of Black Sabbath's debut, the opener of John Lennon's debut solo album, and a campy spook-house soundtrack all at once, the track continues in this vein, like a poetic segment from a children's television show, more spoken-word poetry than discernible melody. Bowie's character in this track is a hoot, sneezing and snuffling his way through a cold, rainy morning, as he digs a hole for "Mr. GD." In an album that has flirted precariously with novelty-song status throughout, "Please Mr. Gravedigger" is the only track the solidly devolves to the level. Forgettable puff to end an odd album.
A number of supplemental tracks and B-Sides represent this era in Bowie's career. Noteworthy tracks include:
"The Laughing Gnome" - one of my favorite Bowie stories involved a request-only concert he did in the early 2000's. At least, that was the idea for the show. People would request their favorite tracks, and Bowie would perform whatever got the most requests. That angle had to be scrapped, however, after a British radio station mounted a very successful campaign of sabotage to have their listeners request "The Laughing Gnome," a ridiculous B-Side from the Deram era. "Ha ha ha, hee hee hee, I'm the laughing gnome, and you can't catch me!" Complete with chipmunk-level vocal effects for the gnome, this track is sublimely inane, and in the right mindset, completely hysterical! It's too bad this track didn't blow up. It would have been interesting where Bowie would have gone in this direction.
"Let Me Sleep Beside You" - this track reminds me of the Rolling Stones "Let's Spend the Night Together," and is a pretty solid come-on from a staid era. Macho Bowie propositioning a young woman, encouraging to let her hair down and walk hand in hand with him.
"London Bye Ta-Ta" - notable as the track Bowie rerecorded as an intended follow-up single to "Space Oddity." It's a solid track and stands out from the supplemental tracks of the era, but not in the same league as the eventual selection for the single, "The Prettiest Star." This original Deram recording is solid, but the rerecording is definitive, if for no other reason than it is freed a bit from the quaint tone of most of the Deram material.
"In the Heat of the Morning" - this comes across as a first draft of the devastating "Lady Grinning Soul" from Aladdin Sane. A lovely love song with some quintessential Bowie imagery and shifts to minor keys, and a snappy little guitar hook throughout. Definitely a standout track from the Deram B-sides and non-album tracks.
"When I'm Five" - a strange, autobiographical track. If taken literally, very strange indeed, but if taken metaphorically, could speak to a universal fear of growing up. But that's probably being too apologetic - it's a weird, weird track, and certainly representative of the skeletons in the closet of Bowie's discography. Perversely enjoyable.
"Ching-a-Ling" - musically foreshadows some of Bowie's later tricks, mostly in the unusual chord shifts and dark elements.
"David Bowie" isn't terrible. It's very strange, disjointed, and lacking clear vision, but I would venture to say it only has developed such a poor reputation based on the quality of work that came after it. I won't argue that the true big bang of Bowie's entire catalog is "Space Oddity," but there are pieces and hints of works to come (even "Space Oddity") on Bowie's Deram debut. His personality, sympathy for outcasts, and musical adventurousness are in full display, even if the resulting music is woefully of its time.
That would be the most solid criticism I'd level at "David Bowie" - for an artist who became synonymous with defining taste, the Deram debut falls solidly in the follow category. And there is precious little from the psychedelic era that truly made the jump into timelessness. Bowie was very young, very hungry for success, and was still finding his sea legs songwriting-wise. For an artist that eventually inspired so much serious critical appraisal, it can be easy to read too much into these tracks, when they are often very funny and paper thin, and likely designed that way on purpose.
Essential Tracks: none. Honestly, the best tracks appealed to me because they reminded me of future tracks - in every case, more effective, fleshed out pieces that are essential.
For Further Listening: "Uncle Arthur," "Rubber Band," "When I Live My Dream," "Come and Buy My Toys," "She's Got Medals," "In the Heat of the Morning," "Ching-a-Ling"
