I didn’t remember
liking Diamond Dogs
all that much at the first
listen, but today it’s fresh
and weird and good.
I’d have to study the lyrics
pretty carefully to
understand the Orwell
references beyond the
titles, “We Are The Dead,”
“1984,” and “Big Brother,”
but I’m not going to
do that; I rather just let
the record wash behind
me as I tool around the
house and boogie. He may
have put some significant
thought in that direction,
but maybe not. On this album,
but especially on the next,
Young Americans and The Gouster,
we’re hearing more sax,
more big background vocals,
more British soul singing,
and Bowie suddenly bringing
on the funk. “Fascination”
gives co-writing credit to Luther
Vandross. A transformation is
taking place, again, from glam
rocker to the Thin White Duke,
a problematic persona that
would nevertheless produce
some of Bowie’s biggest tunes,
“Young Americans,” “Fame,”
and ultimately, from Station to Station,
“Golden Years.” If I understand
it correctly, Bowie was pretty
fucked up during this period.
While I would never argue
that drinking and drugging
do anything to improve an
artist’s work, there are cases,
clearly, where the destructive
habits didn’t prevent great
work from being done despite
the fact. As a kid, “Fame” may
have been the first Bowie tune
since “Space Oddity” to really
prick up my ears. I loved it,
reflexively; something about that
funky music spoke to this white boy
before I understood what funk was, and
while I persistently misunderstood
the line, “got to get a raincheck on,”
as, “gotta get a rental car.”
Things must have been wild while
recording Station to Station.
Bowie’s no prog rocker, necessarily,
although the opening track
belies that assessment;
here’s a full album with six songs.
They’re weird and wonderful,
sonically better than anything
preceding, but I’m listening to
the 2010 remix. Too lazy to A/B
the versions, I’ll assume that this
one sounded great from the get-go.
“Golden Years” is, to me, a wonder
of a song, a perfect song, worth
the entire price of admission,
He’s whistling, for Christ’s sake,
as if he invented it. Layering himself
in those wa wa wa’s. This tune,
along with “TVC15,” pure greatness.
I don’t know why
I’m not playing this record
in total every day of my life. So
coked up as he apparently was,
Bowie claimed that he remembered
nothing from these sessions.
Again, far from making a pro-drug
statement, my mind is blown by
this revelation. What’s the takeaway?
He’s made a masterpiece that
he doesn’t remember making,
and that’s excruciatingly sad.
But on the other hand
he recorded a masterpiece,
and that, for all of us, is a miracle.
Notes on the vinyl editions: Who Can I Be Now: 1974-1976, Parlaphone Records, 2016, box set, 180 gram black vinyl. Albums from the box I listened to in their entirety: Diamond Dogs, Young Americans, The Gouster (an unreleased album, extra tracks, as I understand it, from the Young Americans sessions, and Station To Station (2010 Mix). Just a hint about how obsessive (or committed) I am to this project, I listened to all four of these albums in a single day.
If you’re late to the party, I’m attempting to listen to (almost) every record in my collection from A to Z, writing a little poem-like-thing about each artist, but finding, especially with an artist like Bowie, that there’s too much listening to be covered by one poem-like-thing. This is the second in a series of what will probably be FIVE poem-like-things.
michael jarmer 