Do Anything You Say

August 18, 2009

doanysay

Do Anything You Say.

Anatomy of a dud single: a patchwork lyric of place-filler phrases; a monotonous one-line chorus that wears on the nerves because it’s repeated so damn much; a would-be soul groove that, after a mildly inspiring start, seems to just skip in place; and some woeful backing vocals (I mean, you’re cutting a rock & roll single, guys—give it some zing: you sound like a bunch of conscripts). Pronounced dead on arrival the moment it was released.

“Do Anything You Say” is one of Bowie’s last soul-influenced compositions and one of his most inconsequential releases—it’s notable only for marking the full stop to a style Bowie never mastered and finally abandoned. (Pye was one of the major Northern Soul labels, so perhaps the label wanted Bowie to try his hand at something more uptempo and dance-oriented.)

The backing band is Bowie’s latest collection—The Buzz, consisting of John Hutchinson (lead guitarist, who would become one of Bowie’s closest collaborators in the late ’60s), Derek Fearnley (b), John Eager (d) and Derek Bayes (organ). They sound pretty much interchangeable with the ill-fated Lower Third and a frustrated Tony Hatch would replace them with session players for Bowie’s next single.

Recorded 7 March 1966 and released as Pye 17079 on 1 April 1966 (Pye Singles).


How Does the Grass Grow?

July 16, 2015

pj-harvey

How Does the Grass Grow?

The Next Day was conceived and recorded in secrecy and there’s little of the contemporary in it. Supposedly. “We’re not very impressed with today’s music,” Tony Visconti said, in his role as Voice of Bowie in 2013. “We weren’t listening to anything current. It all sounds like it was made by the same person….It could be the same production crew, it could be the same singer, everybody is Auto-Tuned to death and the songs are very flimsy.”

That said, one recent album casts a shadow on Next Day: PJ Harvey’s Let England Shake, released on Valentine’s Day 2011, and the heavyweight of its decade so far. At times Harvey goes up country and sends back gnomic reports, other times she sings in a city square. So her piano study White Chalk is countered by Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea, a millennial New York album that elegized a New York about to die. (Harvey learned she’d won the Mercury Prize for Stories on 9/11/01, while stuck in a locked-down Washington D.C., watching tanks rumble around near her hotel.)

Let England Shake was another “public” album. Written in 2007-2009 and recorded over five weeks in 2010, its spark came when Harvey learned the Iraq and Afghanistan wars had their official photographers and writers. She wondered if a war could have an official composer. To Drowned in Sound, she said: “My whole thinking around the writing of the record was very much around the idea of ‘if I was appointed the official “song correspondent”, how would I bring the stories home, how would I relay them to people.‘ “(See Wire’s “Reuters“: “sooner or later/the end will arrive…this is your correspondent, running out of tape…”).

With the Bush/Blair wars as her backdrop, Harvey used another generation’s wars for imagery, particularly World War One (one text was Maurice Shadbolt’s Voices of Gallipoli, which inspired two lyrics) and its shorthand: trenches, barbed wire, gas, broken trees, shells, fields of poppies and blood. “In a way, I wanted [my] voice to be quite unobtrusive but just to relay the story,” she said. “Almost like a witness, who is just narrating the stories and bringing them back from the place that they happened.”

pjh

A set of love songs between doomed young men and the island for which they’re dying, Let England Shake is choked in sediment, its songs patched with pieces of older songs. The chassis of the great Police break-up song “The Bed’s Too Big Without You” becomes the spine of “The Glorious Land,” where blood makes the grass grow. “The Words That Maketh Murder” winks at “George of the Jungle” (Bush of the Desert) and quotes “Summertime Blues” (Eddie Cochran’s United Nations joke seems sad here—for Cochran, the UN had meant authority, the faraway adult world, a place of prestige and power). “Istanbul, Not Constantinople” plays on xylophone during a lull in a battle. Said El Kurdi, recorded in 1920s Baghdad, wails as if he’s seen what’s coming; a British woman sings counterpoint 90 years later. More ghosts come and go—Niney the Observer‘s “Blood and Fire,” reveille trumpets, Russian folk songs, army chants, sea shanties, gabbled sounds of carnival nights and marching seasons.

Like Bowie, Harvey took her time in writing the album (though doing so in reverse,  first writing the lyrics, then coming up with songs) and she used her reliable small crew of musicians (John Parish and Mick Harvey, with whom she’d worked for decades). And possibly like Bowie, she’d first considered making the record in Berlin but wound up recording it down the street from her home. “[Berlin] was a city I was finding quite interesting at the time and wanted to work there,” she told The Quietus. “But I went over to Berlin and couldn’t find a place that felt right, and then, just coincidentally, the man who runs this church [in Dorset] as an arts centre approached me and said if I ever wanted to use it for rehearsing I could, because he liked my music and knew I lived nearby.”

Helmand

There are a few Next Day songs in the England Shake mode: songs crammed with old violence, history as haunting. The title track comes to mind, as does the bizarre “How Does the Grass Grow?” whose refrain is the closest Bowie’s come to the cracked sound of “The Laughing Gnome” in decades.

Where Let England Shake was small, portable and sufficient in sound, like an early response to Cameronian austerity (Harvey mainly used her two-man pit crew, each of whom could play any instrument and sing when needed), “How Does the Grass Grow?” is like an overfilled mailbox, with its array of feedback squalls, keyboard lines doubled by vocal dubs, mutters and laughs lurking in the margins of the mix, treated cymbal crashes, organ swells, a great two-note groan of a synth bass hook. The distortion applied to Bowie’s voice in the verses even suggests the bandpass-filtered vocals in Foster the People’s “Pumped Up Kicks” (a song also lurking in Bowie’s “Valentine’s Day”).

It likely began as a writing exercise in the Lodger vein, despite Visconti claiming the track “was very different, new-style Bowie.” Bowie started with a refrain from Jerry Lordan’s “Apache” (as performed by the Shadows), keeping the top melody while slightly altering the chords (so Lordan’s F-G-C/Am becomes F#6*-Ab-Bbm). Then he simply reversed the chord sequence to get his verse progression—Bbm-Ab-F#6. The key was a typical Bowie shadow-blend, a gloomy B-flat minor tonality with dreams of escape into D-flat major, giving the song a knotted-up tension that it can’t dispel even in the two guitar solos.

Bowie rewriting “Apache” recalls Iggy Pop’s claim that he and Bowie, on Lust for Life, had taken a bunch of old songs and messed around with them enough so that no one would recognize them anymore. Not quite the case here—Bowie left enough “Apache” in the mix to have to share co-composing credit with the Lordan estate.

The lyric’s some Eastern Europe of Bowie’s imagination: another of his war-bled Warsaws. The backdrop could be Bosnia or Hungary or Ukraine (the “official” Bowie words for the song appear to be “Balkan,” “burial” and “reverse”); the line about the village girls hail from a 1967 essay by Stalin’s daughter, Svetlana Alliluyeva, describing the Russian village of Zhukovka (“television antennas stick up from the gray, tumbledown roofs and the girls wear nylon blouses and sandals from Hungary. But the grass and birch forest have a sweet smell“). It’s life in the West’s broken mirror, with sandals from a country without a seashore, or wild boys riding cheap Latvian mopeds (the Riga-1 was the first model, ca. 1965, further grounding the song in the Sixties): kids making “a life out of nothing.”

These are minor details: the song mainly harps on sex and death (there’s a trysting place where “we struggled with our guns.”). Bowie sings like a fanatic wielding a megaphone, keeping to a small range of notes, his phrasing in the “Subterranean Homesick Blues” tradition of jamming in as many syllables as he can screw into a set of bars. The singer (a coward, “a white face in prison”) wants to reverse time so that “the girls would fill with blood”: the girls are slaughtered and he wishes he could somehow fill their veins full again, but it’s also a lurid menstrual image. Only the earth survives, its mud absorbing bones and blood and entrails. Blow a hole in the ground, and soon enough grass claims it; mow down a row of trees (which die like Spartans, standing firm in a line) and their corpses feed mosses.

The refrain “how does the grass grow? blood! blood! blood!” came from Bowie reading about military training camp chants. In Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket, a variation on the line is part of the chant that R. Lee Ermey leads his troops in (see also Johnny Rico’s 2007 Afghanistan memoir Blood Makes the Grass Grow Green.) “It’s about the way the soldiers are trained to kill other soldiers…part of a chant they’re taught as they plunge their bayonets into a dummy,” Visconti said.

Almost three minutes into this loud, claustrophobic track, the tempo slows and a D major bridge begins, the song shaking out of a bad dream. Bowie sings as “Bowie” for the first time, sounding mournful, if a bit removed. Though more ghosts appear—there are hints of “Shadow Man” and “Under Pressure” in the phrasing—there’s a feeling of stolen beauty, a hard-won peace (or at least that a cease-fire’s been called). Then it’s a staircase fall into another guitar solo, more “Apache” refrains and blood chants. Dancing out in A major, hanging on Gail Ann Dorsey’s circular bassline, “How Does the Grass Grow?” ends by unearthing yet another old song: “Boys Keep Swinging.” Remember how that one goes: You can wear a uniform. Other boys check out you out, at least before they take aim at you.

Recorded: (backing tracks) 3 May-ca. 15 May 2011, The Magic Shop, NYC; (vocals, overdubs) spring-fall 2012, Magic Shop; Human Worldwide, NYC. Released on 8 March 2013 on The Next Day.

*The F-sharp chord’s made an F#6 (F#-A#-C#-Eb) because Bowie’s hitting an Eb note when singing over the chord. (A detail noticed by Clifford Slapper, to whom I’m indebted for puzzling out the song and noting the “Boys Keep Swinging” reference). Augmenting chords is central to the track: Gerry Leonard extends B-flat minor chords in the refrains by playing F, G, Ab and G guitar notes that make the underlying Bbms  consecutively, Bbm, Bbm6, Bbm7 and Bbm6. See also the keyboards augmenting D major chords in the bridge (playing A-F#-G#). (Thanks again to Clifford for spotting these.)

Top: Polly Jean Harvey, MBE, 2011; band, church, Dorset; British soldiers in Helmand Province, Afghanistan, 2011 (Reuters).


Fall Dog Bombs the Moon

November 21, 2014

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Fall Dog Bombs the Moon.
Fall Dog Bombs the Moon (live, 2003).
Fall Dog Bombs the Moon (acoustic performance, AOL Sessions, 2003).
Fall Dog Bombs the Moon (live, 2003).
Fall Dog Bombs the Moon (live, 2004).

The sword…is unsheathed. The blade…stands ready.

Oliver North, Fox News, 18 March 2003.

Reality was a wartime album, written and cut during the United States’ invasion of Iraq in the spring of 2003. It was the record of a man living in a city whose attack had provided the justification for the war; it was the work of a British expatriate sickened by the war’s long, seemingly orchestrated media buildup.

Bowie told interviewers he’d turned to using an alternative news service called TruthOut. “A fabulous storehouse of information of what’s written in the alternative press, or the rest of the world’s press, that never really sees the light of day here,” he said to Ken Scrudato. Among the articles that had caught his eye were those about how the Halliburton subsidiary Kellogg, Brown & Root had won the assignment of restoring and operating Iraq’s oil fields post-invasion. KBR had a long, illustrious career in supplying and cleaning up after various US wars, and on occasion being accused (and sometimes convicted) of bribery, shoddy workmanship, expense padding and sexual abuse and intimidation of its employees.* Its parent Halliburton had, until July 2000 (four days before his nomination), been run by the current vice-president, Dick Cheney.

Cheney was a 21st Century version of Shakespeare’s Richard III, if lacking the wit or taste for theatrics. What distinguished Cheney from his former boss Richard Nixon was that Cheney disclosed none of Nixon’s paranoia or long-collected resentments. Nixon was a brilliant man who was desperate that you knew he was; his pettiness was superhuman. Cheney was unreadable, shameless, unperturbed, placid. He seemingly existed to claim power and once he had it, he brooked no checks on it and moved in his own world. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him; it didn’t matter. Carping about something like Halliburton was merely a sign that you weren’t serious. His public persona was calm, genial, a wry smile often on his face.

What tends to happen is that a thing like an issue or a policy manifests itself as a guide,” Bowie told Interview. “It becomes a character of some kind.” Bowie began with a Cheney-like caricature. “There’s this guy saying, ‘I’m goddam rich…throw anything you like at me, baby, because I’m goddam rich. It doesn’t bother me.’ It’s an ugly song sung by an ugly man.” He wrote the lyric in a half-hour.

falldog

“Fall Dog Bombs the Moon,” similar harmonically and rhythmically to “New Killer Star” in its verses (was one spun out of the other? derived from the same demo?), came together quickly as well: it’s the roughest-sounding of Reality tracks, with no keyboard dubs and its drums lacking reverb or even much presence in the mix. Bowie kept Tony Visconti’s original bassline (heard retorting to the guitar riff in breaks) from the studio demo and layered on guitars: his own scrappy rhythm playing, Earl Slick, Mark Plati and David Torn’s various overdubs, with various center- or right-mixed guitars vying to be the lead, and a harmonized solo for the outro. “Fall Dog” sounded like a collective memory of the past 20 years of “alternative” rock—a touch of “The Killing Moon” in the bassline, some Sonic Youth, Pixies and Yo La Tengo in its tangle of guitar tones, some late-period Lou Reed in the semi-spoken “what a dog” tags.

What was a “fall dog” anyhow? Some fans at the time took the line to be a thinly-veiled George W. Bush, a “fall dog” instead of a fall guy, while the “moon” could work as a reference to the Islamist star and crescent. “An exploding man” suggests a terrorist bomber, but also recall “The Motel,” with its climactic “re-exploding you” refrain (and the line follows “I’m goddam rich”—the dog’s so sated that he’s ready to blow). The lyrical perspective spins and weaves. An American soldier sees a girl in a marketplace with a bomb strapped to her. She runs towards him, he waits resignedly (“I don’t care much: I’ll win anyway“). A verse later he’s the exploding man (victim or bomber?).

Yet despite Bowie framing his song as a picture of some late capitalist monster (and sometimes it sounds as if he’s singing “full dog”), his phrasing undermined this reading. He keeps to a small vocal range, sounding wistful, not getting worked up, letting lines trail off. Or take the image of the Fall Dog itself, rich in rock ‘n’ roll history—is it a scamp like the Everly Brothers’ “Bird Dog” (possibly where Bowie took the “what a dog” tags from) or Bowie’s own “Diamond Dogs“? Or is it more like Iggy Pop’s dog—a man who yearns to submit?

The second verse—there’s always a moron, someone to hate—was taken as a comment on the United States’ endless need for a fresh enemy, but you could equally turn the line back on the antiwar protesters. Who was George W. Bush but a convenient “moron,” a comical authority figure taking the heat? Having a Bush or a Cheney in power gives the American citizen a day pass. I didn’t vote for this fool, and look what he’s done now! What a mess.

A line in Bowie’s earlier “Slow Burn” had called up a future: So small, in times such as these. It echoed in “Fall Dog”: These blackest of years…No shape, no depth, no underground. It’s life in the early 2000s, when even the villains lack stature.

Recorded: (backing tracks) January-February 2003,(lead guitars, vocals, overdubs) March-May 2003, Looking Glass Studios. Released 16 September 2003 on Reality.

* “We need to be fearful of companies that get so big that they can actually be directing policy…When the Iraq War started, Halliburton got a billion-dollar no-bid contract. Some of the stuff has been so shoddy and so sloppy that our soldiers are over there dying in the shower from electrocution. I mean, it shouldn’t be sloppy work; it shouldn’t be bad procurement process. But it really shouldn’t be that these people are so powerful that they direct even policy.” Sen. Rand Paul, April 2009.

Top: Cherie A. Thurlby, “Victory Sign in Iraq,” 28 April 2003.


Everyone Says ‘Hi’

August 15, 2014

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Everyone Says ‘Hi.’
Everyone Says ‘Hi’ (Metro Mix).
Everyone Says ‘Hi’ (live, 2002).
Everyone Says ‘Hi’ (Top of the Pops, 2002).
Everyone Says ‘Hi’ (Die Harald Schmidt Show, 2002).
Everyone Says ‘Hi.’ (Jonathan Ross, 2002).
Everyone Says ‘Hi’ (Parkinson, 2002).
Everyone Says ‘Hi’ (Last Call With Carson Daly, 2002).
Everyone Says ‘Hi’ (Hypershow, 2002).
Everyone Says ‘Hi’ (Quelli Che…Il Calcio, 2002.)
Everyone Says ‘Hi’ (Live with Regis and Kelly, 2002).
Everyone Says ‘Hi.’ (Claudia Brücken, 2012).

We all feel very alone, don’t we: often. Too often: that’s why we make such a thing about being with people [and] become social animals. It’s very scary to know that in those last moments we’ll be absolutely alone.

Bowie, TV interview, 2002.

We thought we lost you: it will all come back

New Pornographers, “Adventures In Solitude.”

Slotted early on as a single, “Everyone Says ‘Hi'” was partially outsourced to the London-based production team of Brian Rawling and Gary Miller (the architects of Cher’s “Believe“). At Looking Glass Studios in New York, Bowie and Tony Visconti recorded vocals, and Carlos Alomar marked his return to the fold with some guitar dubs, but much of the track was the work of London pros: bassist John Read, percussionist Sola Akingbola (Jamiroquai), cellist Philip Sheppard (who worked with Jeff Buckley, Scott Walker and Jarvis Cocker) and keyboardist Dave Clayton (ABC, Simply Red). (Miller also played some guitar; he and Rawling added synthesizer overdubs).

The result was a glittering bauble of a track, its main hook Sheppard’s electric cello line, its undercarriage a chugging acoustic guitar (and some unmistakable Alomar rhythm fills) and its mix garnished with whooshing loops, Akingbola’s chimes and rattles, synthesizers playing games of charades (now an accordion, now a whistle, now a bassoon) and some doo-wop backing vocals by Bowie and Visconti in the bridge. An apparent influence was Jeff Lynne, from the ELO-style dramatically-bowed celli to the lead guitar in the bridge, which has the feel of Lynne’s work “recreating” the Beatles in the mid-Nineties (esp. “Real Love“).

Sometimes when Bowie sang “Everyone Says ‘Hi'” live in 2002, he performed with a big cheery smile on his face, urging the crowd to raise their hands and become “swaybots,” to use a term coined by my dear friend Mike Slezak to describe the coached, arrhythmic American Idol audience. (Other times he was more somber.)

“Everyone Says ‘Hi'” fared poorly, barely cracking the Top 20 in the UK (the only country where it charted). To some, it was the work of an aging rocker losing the plot. Compared to the grand ferocity of “Slow Burn” (a single which, in some markets, “Everyone Says ‘Hi'” replaced), “Everyone Says ‘Hi'” felt a bit sappy, sentimental, indulgent. Some reviewers assumed it was just an old dad’s song, intended for Duncan Jones.

Yet it was as much a rumination on death, loss and lack of belief as the grand “Last Songs” of Heathen, and one far more human-scaled. We tend to face tragedy with platitudes, busy-work, weak jokes and “making do.” If “Everyone Says ‘Hi'” is a shallow-seeming response to death, it’s one more emotionally resonant, at least for me, than the epic register of “Sunday.” Take the broken way that Bowie sings Didn’t know the right thing…to say. It sounds hollow as he sings it—he knows it—he sings it anyway.

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Rosy won’t you please come home?
Your room’s clean and no one’s in it.

The Kinks, “Rosy, Won’t You Please Come Home.”

In an interview at the time, Bowie said the song’s impetus came from his memory of his father’s death in 1969: how his mind couldn’t accept that his father was dead. “I kind of thought that he’d just put his raincoat and his cap on and that he’d be back in a few weeks or something. And I felt like that for years.”

News of death comes, as it often does, in pieces and rumors, with the mind trying, and often unwilling, to accept it. The singer puts blame on others: he’s still holding out hope. “They said you moved away/Happened oh so quietly/…they say.” (Bowie had the departed “you” leave by ship rather than fly away: taking a ship seemed sadder, more of a one-way voyage). He’s left in regret, gets tongue-tied, makes a lame, dark joke (“hope it’s not too hot” where you are now).

It’s a song for anyone who’s drifted away; it’s an open letter to a depressed friend or lover (“you can always come home,” Bowie sings, calling back to Ray Davies’ sad “Rosy, Won’t You Please Come Home”*). Its last refrain could be the voice of our collected dead, calling back from the other side: your old dogs are there, your mother and father, even “the guy upstairs” whom you may get to meet one day. And when Claudia Brücken covered “Everyone Says ‘Hi'” in 2012, complete with Major Tom video, it was a song for the then-vanished David Bowie, a performer who’d gone away quietly, with no one noticing; it was a note that the world missed him, wished he’d send a letter to let us know how he was doing.

There’s a pippy energy to “Everyone Says ‘Hi'”: it’s not going to be a downer. Bowie does a few tricks (“a BIG trip” is a jolt up a seventh, then down a third) and jostles the song’s A minor key in the bridge, with its E-flat (“if the money”) and G# (…home”) chords. The coda alternates two major chords (F/G “girl next door”) with two minor ones (Dm/Em “guy upstairs”). The key line is “buy a little frame: something cheap.” It’s a joke, a bluff: the singer’s trying to play off how much the loss has hit him. It’s also a clue to the song itself: the sweet melody, the bright, fizzy mix, is the cheap frame.

“Everyone Says ‘Hi'” is modest and tinny, sweet and amenable—it sounds as if it’s meant to be piped over a shopping mall PA or played on a Virgin Airlines in-flight promo video—and heartbroken. We will do anything but accept the knowledge that everyone we love will go away and that we may never see them again, that everything ends (even The Uncle Floyd Show). By fate or coincidence, the single was released in Britain on the same day, 25 years earlier, that Marc Bolan died.

rw2002

Recorded: (vocal, guitar tracks) October-November 2001, Looking Glass Studios, NYC; (overdubs, mixing) ca. December 2001-January 2002, Sub Urban Studios, London. Released 10 June 2002 on Heathen and as a single (Columbia/ISO 673134 3, UK #20) that September (see the upcoming “Slow Burn” entry for more on the jumbled single releases for this album). The “METRO” remix was issued as a US 12″ promo in January 2003.

* Written about Ray Davies’ sister, who’d moved to Australia, there’s a troubling undercurrent to the song—Rosy could be dead or disappeared, the singer keeping her room empty and clean to avoid reality. Davies later wrote “Come Dancing” about his sister Rene, who had died of a heart attack one night after dancing—the song’s mix of cheeriness, anger and melancholy has a bit in common, tonally, with “Everyone Says ‘Hi’.”

Top: Sarah Glidden, “Beijing Airport,” 2001; Robin Williams, 2002.


I Got You Babe

August 17, 2010

Marianne Faithfull and David Bowie, I Got You Babe.

Television does not vary. The trivial is raised up to power in it. The powerful is lowered to the trivial.

The power behind it resembles the power of no-action, the powerful passive.

It is bewitching

Celebrities have an intimate life and a life in the grid of two hundred million. For them, there is no distance between the two grids in American life. Of all Americans, only they are complete.

George W.S. Trow, “Within the Context of No Context.”

Between 1973 and 1977, David Bowie waged an inadvertent guerrilla war against television, particularly American television. In these years, Bowie appeared on some of the most popular TV programs of the era and disrupted them. He may not even have meant to, for it wasn’t that Bowie was wild or outrageous when he showed up on Dinah!, or Cher, or Soul Train, or The Dick Cavett Show. If anything, he was gracious, charming, polite, and happy to flatter the host.

Yet Bowie’s emaciated coke-wraith appearance was disturbing purely as a visual, and even while sitting on a couch bantering with a host, or singing a medley of awful contemporary hits with Cher, Bowie came across as estranged, permanently distracted, standing at a remove from humanity, as if he was an extraterrestrial who had learned to speak English by watching television.

TV, with its rituals and its rhythms, was meant to reassure, to serve as the commons for millions of atomized people, but Bowie’s appearances upset the timing. Bowie, whether he wanted to or no, couldn’t fit properly into the frame, and his freakish appearance, the way he seemed tuned to a different key than everyone else on the screen, in turn distorted the “normal” TV celebrities. His oddness brought out their falseness. He made Cher inexplicable, he made Dinah Shore seem like a malevolent cartoon. Bowie broke the contract of celebrity, which is that famous, beautiful people exist in bright excess purely for our enjoyment. He was a celebrity who made no sense; he seemed like a visitation. Television was relieved when he finally left it alone.

If this era ended with the bizarre pairing of Bowie and Bing Crosby for a Christmas special in 1977, the project having reached the limit of absurdity, it began in October 1973 with Bowie’s 1980 Floor Show, a televised stage revue shot in London’s Marquee Club, meant to promote the just-released Pin Ups for NBC’s The Midnight Special.

The 1980 Floor Show lacked the cool and reserve of Bowie’s later TV appearances, as Bowie was still determining how to kill off Ziggy Stardust: the compromise was to do glam rock as avant-garde theater. (The performance is a mix of Bowie’s past and future—Mick Ronson’s still there, while the backing singers are the Astronettes, on whom Bowie tried out early sketches of Young Americans compositions.) Much of the Floor Show is intended to visually shock, with Bowie wearing a succession of bizarre outfits, from a fishnet body-stocking adorned with a pair of gold lamé hands grasping Bowie’s chest, to a Tristan Tzara-inspired leotard with a keyhole on Bowie’s torso. It ended with Bowie in ostrich plumes and Marianne Faithfull wearing a backless nun’s habit, singing “I Got You Babe.”

As Dave Marsh wrote of the original Sonny and Cher single, “both the voices on ‘I Got You Babe’ are young and dumb [but] what they’re saying boils down to this: Love redeems everything, no matter how ridiculous, moronic, or grotesque. Noisy and misshapen as those declarations may be, they’re also an essence of what rock & roll brought to pop music that hadn’t been there before:…a willingness to reach for effects and worry about decorum later, an understanding of where to find the sublime amidst the trivial.” Bowie and Faithfull live up to this, somehow crafting a touching, human performance out of the most outlandish of materials.

Top: Bowie and Faithfull, in love.

Here is the complete 1980 Floor Show, in televised order, as found in fragments: 1984/Dodo, Sorrow, Bulerias (the Spanish prog band Carmen), Everything’s Alright, Space Oddity, I Can’t Explain, As Tears Go By (Faithfull), Time, Wild Thing (The Troggs), The Jean Genie, Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide (not broadcast), 20th Century Blues (Faithfull), I Got You Babe.


Poll, Day 1: Somebody Up There Likes Us

December 15, 2015

bowie-624-1363820672

To begin, I thought we should honor the songs that, of the 351 songs that placed, only got one single vote.

It’s a motley of: a) Iggy Pop songs, b) Bowie bonus tracks, oddments and rarities, c) Tin Machine stuff, and d) songs sometimes mocked by Bowie fandom and critics (cough). But they all got a vote! Someone thinks enough of each one of these songs to have included them in a list of their top 30 favorite Bowie songs ever.

So, raise a glass to the single-vote songs. Have cheer, lonelyhearts: somebody up there likes you.

Amazing. Amlapura. Atomica. Baby Can Dance. Beat of Your Drum. A Better Future. Betty Wrong. Bleed Like a Craze, Dad. Chilly Down. Ching-a-Ling. Crack City. The Cynic. Dancing Out in Space. Day-In, Day-Out. Did You Ever Have a Dream. Do Anything You Say. Dodo. Don’t Bring Me Down. Don’t Look Down. Fall In Love With Me. Fill Your Heart. Future Legend.

Get Real. God Only Knows. Gunman. Here Today, Gone Tomorrow. If I’m Dreaming My Life. Isn’t It Evening (The Revolutionary). I’ve Been Waiting For You. Law (Earthling’s On Fire). Leon Takes Us Outside. Lightning Frightening. The Loneliest Guy. Love Song.

Maid of Bond Street. Man In the Middle. Mass Production. New York Telephone Conversation.* New York’s In Love. Real Cool World. Reflektor.** Running Gun Blues. (She Can) Do That.*** Shining Star (Makin’ My Love). Silver Treetop School for Boys. Success. Tiny Girls. Tired of My Life. Uncle Arthur. Waterloo Sunset. Where Have All the Good Times Gone? Wishful Beginnings. Without You I’m Nothing. Working Class Hero. You Can’t Talk. Zion.

And “Dancing in the Street” got two votes.

*Doesn’t qualify, but meant as a ‘protest’ vote against the cruelty of having to decide which Bowie song should get the #30 slot on a ballot. Hey, I understand.
** Doesn’t technically qualify, but if you love “Reflektor” enough for it to make your top Bowie 30, I’ll record it.
*** Regular readers will likely guess who this voter was.

Next: the almost-theres. Songs 100-51.

Top: a semi-retired gentleman salutes your picks. (“Crack City”? Nice!”)


Links: Chapters 1-3

March 24, 2015

Chapter 1: The Junior Visualizer (1964-1966)

bowie '65

“Liza Jane” (Toy)
“Louie Louie Go Home”
“I Pity The Fool”
“Take My Tip”
“That’s Where My Heart Is”
“I Want My Baby Back”
Bars of the County Jail”
“You’ve Got a Habit of Leaving”
(Toy)
“Baby Loves That Way”
(Toy)
“I’ll Follow You”
“Glad I’ve Got Nobody”
“Baby, That’s a Promise”
“Can’t Help Thinking About Me”
“And I Say to Myself”
“Do Anything You Say”
“Good Morning Girl”
“I Dig Everything”
(Toy)
“I’m Not Losing Sleep”

More: Britain on Film (Look at Life): “Fashion,” London on Film: “Suburbs,” “Why I Hate the Sixties” (2004); Richard Hoggart, The Uses of Literacy (conclusion); Devin McKinney on Colin MacInnes; Nick Bentley, “Translating English: Youth, Race and Nation in Colin MacInnes’s City of Spades and Absolute Beginners;” Bowie: Tonight interview, November 1964; The Beatles Anthology: 1963, 1964, 1965; “British Mods and Rockers” (BBC); scenes from Billy Liar;  Georgie Fame, “Yeh Yeh“; Glenn Gould, “The Search for Petula Clark“(1967); Bowie, radio interview, Marquee Club, 1966; Pye Studios.

Chapter 2: Gnome Man’s Land (1966-1968)

db1

“Rubber Band” (album remake)
“The London Boys”
(Toy)
“Over the Wall We Go”
“Uncle Arthur”
“She’s Got Medals”
“Join the Gang”
“Did You Ever Have a Dream”
“There Is a Happy Land”
“We Are Hungry Men”
“Sell Me a Coat
” (remake)
“Little Bombardier”
“Maid of Bond Street”
“Silly Boy Blue”
(Toy)
“Come and Buy My Toys”
“Please Mr. Gravedigger”
The Laughing Gnome
The Gospel According To Tony Day
When I Live My Dream
(remake)
Love You Till Tuesday
(single remake)

David-Bowie-1967

“Waiting For the Man”: (1967) (1970) (1972) (1976)
Little Toy Soldier
Pancho
Everything Is You
“Silver Tree Top School For Boys”:
(Slender Plenty) (Beatstalkers)
April’s Tooth of Gold
“Let Me Sleep Beside You”
(Toy)
“Karma Man”
(BBC, 1968)
“C’est La Vie”

“Even a Fool Learns to Love”
“In the Heat of the Morning” (Toy)
“London Bye Ta-Ta”
(1970 remake)
“When I’m Five” (BBC, 1968
) (demo, 1969)
“Social Kind of Girl”
“Ching-a-Ling”
“The Mask”

More: The Strange World of Gurney Slade (1960: Ep. 1, opening sequence); Anthony Newley, live, 1964; Alan Klein, “I Wanna Be a Beatnik“, 1964; Alan Sillitoe, The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner (esp. “Uncle Ernest,” “The Decline and Fall of Frankie Buller” and “The Disgrace of Jim Scarfedale”); There Is a Happy Land (1974 adaptation); Heinrich Harrer, “My Life in Forbidden Lhasa” (1955); Ophiel, The Art and Practice of Astral Projection (1961);  David Guy, “Christmas Humphreys”; The Prisoner, excerpt from “Fall Out” (1967); “Forgotten Heroes: Big Jim Sullivan“; The Mothers of Invention, Freak Out (1966); The Fugs, “Dirty Old Man,”(1966); Ken Nordine, “Word Jazz” (1957); The Image (Armstrong, 1967, excerpts).

Chapter 3: The Free States’ Refrain (1969)

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“Space Oddity” (demo) (original version) (1979 remake)
“Love Song”
“Life Is a Circus”
“Letter to Hermione”
(demo)
“An Occasional Dream”
(demo)
“Janine”
“Conversation Piece”
(Toy)
“Wild Eyed Boy From Freecloud” (B-side)
(LP remake)
“Don’t Sit Down”

“God Knows I’m Good”
“Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed”
“Cygnet Committee”
” (“Lover to the Dawn”, demo version)
“Memory of a Free Festival”
” (1970 remake)

More:  2001: A Space Odyssey (“Stargate” sequence); The Bee Gees, “New York Mining Disaster 1941“; Apollo 11, pre-flight conference, July 1969;  International Times (1969 archive); Scott Walker, live in Japan, 1970; Jean Itard, Victor de l’Aveyron (French) (English); Prof. John Merryman, France: May 1968; MC5, “Kick Out the Jams” live, Detroit, 1969; Rolling Stones, Hyde Park free concert, July 1969; George McKay, “The Free Festivals and Fairs of Albion” (in Senseless Acts of Beauty); Beckenham Free Festival, 1969.


A Press Bibliography, 1960-1970

March 23, 2015

David Bowie, 1965 image

There was no room in the book for this (bibliography was already rather enormous) but I thought it necessary to credit these pieces somewhere.

So here’s the front line of Bowie reporting. So many impressions, quotes, descriptions, etc. that make up much of any Bowie biography or critical study are owed to the work of ill-paid music journalists, who went to the shows and backstage, who talked to Bowie, his managers and his labels. Collectively these articles offer an invaluable resource: the eyes, ears and thoughts of Bowie’s contemporaries, untainted by revision. And it’s important to note that many of these writers were women—Penny Valentine, Lisa Robinson, Sheila More, Mary Harron, Ellen Willis, Kate Simpson, Lillian Roxon and more.

Below is a list of articles I found in my research (1971-1976 are on another page). I read the majority of them, but some I know only via references in other books and compilations. Kevin Cann’s essential Any Day Now is an enormous reference for documenting and sometimes reprinting 1960-1974 articles. Bowie Wonderworld has a decent number reprinted, as do (starting in 1972) Ziggy Stardust Companion and (starting in 1974) Golden Years.

If you know of any other contemporary Bowie articles not found in these lists, let me know and I’ll add them.

1960

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“David (13) Leads Sport Revolution,” Bromley & Kentish Times, 11 November 1960.

1962

“Nearly 4,000 at School Fete,” Bromley & Kentish Times, 22 June 1962.

1963

“Konrads to Cut a Disc,” Bromley & Kentish Times, 23 August 1963.
“A.C.B.,” “West Wickham Strikes Blow for the ‘Pops,” unknown paper, ca. 25 October 1963.

1964
djco

“Bloom Goes Into Pop,” Evening News, 4 June 1964.
“Liza Jane (review),” Bromley Times, 5 June 1964.
“Liza Jane (review), New Musical Express, 5 June 1964.
Thomas, Leslie, Evening News (column on DB and the King Bees), 5 June 1964.
Nightingale, Anne, “Liza Jane” (review), Evening Argus, 17 June 1964.
“D. Jones and Co,” Record Mirror, 20 June 1964.
Chatham Standard (article on Bowie joining Manish Boys), 18 August 1964.
Beat 64 (diary item on Bowie), September 1964.
“Hair Abounds!,” Beat 64, October 1964.
Beat 64, (article on Bowie and Manish Boys), November 1964.
Thomas, Leslie, “For Those Beyond the Fringe,” Evening News, 2 November 1964.
Chatham Standard (interview with Manish Boys’ Paul Rodriguez), 15 December 1964.

1965

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“Row Over Davie’s Hair,” Daily Mirror, 3 March 1965.
“All Set! As Davy Jones Has a Trim and a Set,” Evening News and Star, 8 March 1965.
“Gadzooks! It’s All Happening,” Radio Times, 8 March 1965.
“Home Grown (“I Pity the Fool” review),” Chatham Standard, March 1965.
Kent Messenger (article on breakup of Manish Boys), 21 May 1965.
“Bit Much,” Bowie letter to Melody Maker, 10 July 1965.
“Davie…,” photo caption (p: Roy Carson), Record Mirror, 14 August 1965.
“Davie Changes His Hairstyle and His Group,” Kentish Times, 20 August 1965.
“Thanet Group Should Reach Top 30,” Kent Messenger, ca. 20 August 1965.
“’You’ve Got a Habit of Leaving’ (review),” Record Mirror, 11 September 1965.
Fabulous (fashion photo shoot & caption), 2 October 1965.
Boyfriend, (fashion photo shoot), October 1965.

1966

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“Can’t Help Thinking About Me (review),” Record Retailer, 6 January 1966.
“Can’t Help Thinking About Me (review), NME, 14 January 1966.
“Pop Star Changes His Image,” Kentish Times, 14 January 1966.
“Hey Presto—There’s a New Name From Davie Jones’ Locker,” Music Echo, 22 January 1966.
Kentish Times (article on Bowie and Ralph Norton), 28 January 1966.
King, Jonathan, “Bowie’s Record Does Not Deserve to Die,” Music Echo, 13 February 1966.
“A Message to London from Dave,” Melody Maker, 26 February 1966.
“Pop Group’s Hopes Dashed,” (Phil Lancaster interview on Lower Third’s breakup), Walthamstow Independent, 11 March 1966.
Springfield, Dusty, “’Do Anything You Say’ (review),” Melody Maker, 2 April 1966.
Fabulous (Bowie mention), 16 April 1966.
“Crowning Moment” (article on Bowie at the Bromley May Queens), 6 May 1966.
“Big L Disc Night,” Kent Messenger, 26 August 1966.
“’Rubber Band’ (review),” Disc & Music Echo, 2 December 1966.
“Are These the ’67 Chartbusters?” Disc & Music Echo, 31 December 1966.

1967

newspaper-1

“’The Laughing Gnome’ (review),” NME, 15 April 1967.
David Bowie (LP review),” Record Retailer, 3 June 1967.
“Hear David Bowie—He’s Something New,” Disc & Music Echo, 10 June 1967.
David Bowie (LP review),” NME, 24 June 1967.
Jackie, 8 July 1967.
“Love You Till Tuesday (review),” Record Retailer, 15 July 1967.
Jones, Peter, “Love You Till Tuesday (review),” Record Mirror, July 1967.
Valentine, Penny, “Love You Till Tuesday (review),” Disc, July 1967.
Welch, Chris, “Blind Date With Syd Barrett (inc. ‘Love You Till Tuesday’ review),” Melody Maker, 22 July 1967.
Jackie (item on DB), 22 July 1967.
Osbourne, Christine, “On Our Wavelength,” Fabulous 208, 29 July 1967.
“Love You Till Tuesday (review),” Cashbox, 2 September 1967.
Deane, Barbara Marilyn, “Today I Feel So Happy,” Chelsea News (Bowie interview), 15 September 1967.

67fab

“Bowie Bows to Age,” Fabulous 208, 30 September 1967.
Hyland, Mike, “In the Groove,” Schenectady Gazette, 21 October 1967.
“The Lean and Dreamy David,” Fabulous 208, 25 November 1967.
“On the Air and On the Boards,” Bromley Advertiser, 21 December 1967.
Bromley Times (article on DB current activities), 22 December 1967.
Chapman, Don, “Miming Promise (review of ‘Pierrot in Turquoise’),” Oxford Mail, 29 December 1967.
Young, B.A., Financial Times (review of ‘Pierrot in Turquoise’), 29 December 1967.

1968

times11dec68restlessgen

“Pierrot in Turquoise (review),” The Stage, 1 January 1968.
“Eye Spy!,” Jackie, 3 February 1968.
Roberts, Peter, “Burlesque in Rhyme,” The Times, 8 March 1968.
Farjeon, Annabel, Evening Standard (‘Pierrot in Turquoise’ review), 8 March 1968.
“Bromley 21-Year-old Songwriter Goes On Stage,” Bromley Times, 8 March 1968.
“Pierrot in Turquoise (review)”, Stage and Television Today, 14 March 1968.
“Rex Set: Festival Hall, June 3,” International Times (review of T. Rex/DB show), 14-27 June 1968.
More, Sheila, “The Restless Generation: 2,” The Times, 11 December 1968.

1969

IT_1969-08-15_B-IT-Volume-1_Iss-62_0012

Evening News (article/photo on Love You Till Tuesday), 14 February 1969.
Croydon Advertiser (poss. DB article? unconfirmed), 21 February 1969.
Finnigan, Mary, “Announcement of Beckenham Arts Lab,” International Times, 23 May-5 June 1969.
Valentine, Penny, “David Bowie—Amazing Sound! (“Space Oddity” review),” Disc & Music Echo, 12 July 1969.
Welch, Chris, “Space Oddity (review),” Melody Maker, 12 July 1969.
Finnigan, Mary, “An Interview With David Bowie,” International Times, 15-21 August 1969.
Classen, Jojanneke, “Bowie’s Great Love is His Arts Lab,” Het Parool, 30 August 1969.
Welch, Chris, “Beckenham Arts Lab,” Melody Maker, ca. September 1969.
Welch, Chris, “A Mixture of Dali, 2001 and the Bee Gees,” Melody Maker, 11 October 1969.
Record Mirror (Bowie interview), 11 October 1969.
“Chart Control to David Bowie,” Disc & Music Echo, 11 October 1969.
Norman, Tony, “David Bowie Hopes to Take Over a Road!,” Top Pops, 25 October 1969.
Valentine, Penny, “David Bowie Says Most Things the Long Way Round!” (& “David Bowie: track by track”), Disc & Music Echo, 25 October 1969.
“This Is David Bowie (Space Oddity review)”, Music Now!, November 1969.
“Bowie TV Special, Solo Concert,” NME, ca. November 1969.
Coxhill, Gordon, “Don’t Dig Too Deep, Pleads Oddity David Bowie,” NME, 15 November 1969.

69bb

“Popsterren Over Popplaten [Pop Stars on Pop Records]” (Bowie reviews new singles), “David Bowie: Hit After 5 Years,” Muziek Expres, November 1969.
“Outsaspace, Outasight,” Fabulous 208, 27 November 1969.
Palmer, Tony, “Up to Date Minstrel,” The Observer, 7 December 1969.
Simpson, Kate, “David Bowie: His Thoughts and Ideas Revealed,” Music Now!, 20 December 1969.
“New Sound” (photo caption, DB and Stylophone), Billboard, 27 December 1969.
Fabulous 208, 27 December 1969 (Bowie and Angela Barnett on cover).

1970

nme70

Robbie, Sandie, “A Real Pop Oddity,” Mirabelle (DB as cover model), 31 January 1970.
Valentine, Penny, “A New Star Shoots Upwards and One Still Shines,” Disc, 14 February 1970.
Nightingale, Anne, Daily Sketch (column mentioning Bowie), 14 February 1970.
“He Likes Our Fish ‘N Chips!” Hull Times, ca. mid-February 1970.
“Bowie Group,” NME, 5 March 1970.
Johnson, Derek, “The Prettiest Star (review), NME, 7 March 1970.
Jones, Peter, “The Prettiest Star (review),” Record Mirror, 7 March 1970.
Valentine, Penny, “The Prettiest Star (review),” Disc & Music Echo, 7 March 1970.
Music Business Weekly, (Prettiest Star review), 7 March 1970.
Daily Mirror, (Prettiest Star review), 7 March 1970.
“David Bowie: A Real Cool Guy,” Mirabelle, 7 March 1970.
Petrie, Gavin, “Bowie’s Bow,” Disc and Music Echo, 12 March 1970.
“The Bridegroom Wore Satin…” (DB wedding), Bromley Times, 27 March 1970.
Telford, Raymond, “Hype and David Bowie’s Future,” Melody Maker, 28 March 1970.
Hughes, Tim and Trevor Richardson, “Bowie For a Song,” Jeremy, March 1970.
Tremlett, George, “Face to Face With David Bowie—My Lost Year,” Jackie, 10 May 1970.
Valentine, Penny, “David Bowie: Music and Life,” Sounds, ? 1970.


Hole In the Ground

February 17, 2014

am02

Hole In the Ground.

“Can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of course you can!” He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house…

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby.

Be like the sun
Never gone
Sleep long and fast
Let the past be the past

Broadcast, “Long Was the Year.”

am09

Aaargh, that Tony Newley stuff, how cringey. No, I haven’t much to say about that in its favor.

Bowie, Musician, 1990.

For a long time, Bowie’s Sixties had begun in 1969: he hadn’t existed prior to “Space Oddity.” Whatever came before that record was mere juvenilia. His Decca, Parlophone and Pye singles, his Deram album, “The Laughing Gnome,” the King Bees and Manish Boys and the Buzz and the Riot Squad, five years of candled ambition: all of it was buried, its obscurity encouraged.

It was also hard to find some of these records—they crept in and out of print, the tracks shuffled through decades’ worth of shabby collections. Bowie didn’t own the rights to the songs, and seemed indisposed to licensing them, so “The London Boys” was never on any career retrospective despite the song being a foundational work—“Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide” and Diamond Dogs, among a fleet of others, are inconceivable without it.

A few things aligned at last. His pre-Philips material was thoroughly compiled on two CD reissues: Rhino’s 1991 Early On and 1997’s Deram Anthology (Bowie was involved in producing the latter, which unfortunately meant two outtakes from David Bowie—“Bunny Thing” and “Pussy Cat”—were cut from the track list). And the Sixties affectations of high Britpop—Blur’s “Country House” wasn’t that far removed from “Join the Gang“— gave the oldest Bowie records a context: they had somehow become hip. It’s surprising one of Bowie’s Pye singles didn’t wind up on the Rushmore soundtrack. “Some of my recent albums have been picked up by the ’90s generation, but they don’t know the early stuff,” Bowie told GQ in 2000. “I think it’s a surprise when they hear them…and think ‘did he write that?‘”

It could’ve been a preemptive strike, covering himself before someone like Oasis did. Bowie, taping a VH1 Storytellers in August 1999, resurrected his first major composition, “Can’t Help Thinking About Me,” playing it for the first time since the Marquee Club days of 1966. While he introduced the song by ridiculing its lyric, it cooked on stage, thanks to Sterling Campbell’s drumming—it felt fresher than the ‘hours’ songs he was debuting. (Playing it allowed Mark Plati “to work out a lot of Who fantasies on stage, thank you very much.”) And in a few live dates later that year, Bowie revived “I Dig Everything.” (Mike Garson said they played “Karma Man” and “Conversation Piece” in rehearsals.)

So Bowie’s first web journal entry of the new century noted that he would re-record songs he’d released between 1964-1969, “not so much a Pin Ups II as an Up Date I.” As typical with Bowie, the idea quickly ballooned in scope. As with “What’s Really Happening?” the recording sessions for Up Date I would be broadcast via webcam. And he wouldn’t only remake his old singles, he’d revive songs which hadn’t even made the cut back then. He would draw from his legion of ghost songs, those that fans knew only as their titles: Ernie Johnson, “Black Hole Kids,” “It’s Gonna Rain Again” and, see below, “Hole In the Ground.”

sm04

“I know what happens when I play the classics,” he sneers a little impatiently. “So why would I want to do it again? Other than for financial remuneration, which I frankly don’t need.”

Bowie, Q interview, 1997.

In February 2000, Bowie and Iman told the press that she was pregnant. He would be a father again at 53. He also said he would play the Glastonbury Festival for the first time since 1971 (when he’d also been a new father). Soon afterward he hired Earl Slick, who hadn’t played with him since the Serious Moonlight tour, as his new lead guitarist: a sharp swerve from the now-confirmed-departed Reeves Gabrels.

As Iman was due in August, Bowie planned a burst of activity for June and early July: a handful of NYC live shows that would double as rehearsals for the Glastonbury gig and for what he was now calling “the Sixties album,” which he planned to cut immediately upon his return to New York. “I hate to waste the energy of a show-honed band,” he told Time Out. “I’ve pulled together a selection of songs from a somewhat unusual reservoir and booked time in a studio. I still get really elated by the spontaneous event and cannot wait to sit in a claustrophobic space with seven other energetic people and sing till my tits drop off.” Plati would go to work mixing Bowie’s 1968-1972 BBC sessions (yet another reclamation: Bowie at the Beeb would be issued in September) and then would pivot to mixing “the Sixties album” in the fall.

During rehearsals, Bowie worked his band (the Hours touring unit plus Slick) through his abandoned catalog, reviving all but two of his 1964-1966 singles (“I Pity the Fool” was superfluous, “Do Anything You Say” perhaps too dire a composition to salvage) and the cream of the Deram years (sadly, not the Gnome). He didn’t want the band to be reverent; he wanted them to crack their way into the songs, pull them out of their shells. “We weren’t out to duplicate the original tracks at all,” Plati said.

As a prelude, Bowie fully gave himself over to his past, with setlists meant to make old Bowie fans weep. The first Roseland gig, a three-hour extravagance that blew out Bowie’s voice, opened with the four-shot of “Wild Is the Wind,” “Life on Mars?” “Golden Years” and “Changes,” most of which he’d hadn’t played in a decade. He unearthed rarely-played classics (“Absolute Beginners,” not performed since 1987) and debuted “This Is Not America” on stage; at the June 19 gig, he played “London Boys” for the first time in nearly 35 years. It also gave Gail Ann Dorsey a rare chance to play clarinet.

He flew to the UK, where he sang “Starman” on television for the first time since the Heath ministry (why not? it was getting to the point where you expected him to appear in Ziggy Stardust makeup); two days later, he headlined Glastonbury.

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I haven’t been here for 30 years and I’m having a fucking great time!

Bowie, quoted by the NME at Glastonbury.

In the year of its birth, 1971, Glastonbury was among the free festivals starting to crop up around Britain. Fitting for a show held in the shadow of Glastonbury Tor, its pyramid-shaped stage was constructed on a ley-line. It was free admission for the 12,000 or so hippies who’d made their way out to Somerset. Bowie played a set at dawn: just him, his 12-string acoustic and a piano. For the wakening crowd, he offered, for the first time, the breadth of Hunky Dory, from “Quicksand” to “Kooks.”

Glastonbury was in retrospect one of Bowie’s most critical live performances: the sunny reception he got was the best experience he’d had in years. He’d stopped solo live performance after his acoustic/mime shows had bombed in 1969. In the summer of 1971, Bowie was still unsure whether he wanted to be a performer at all. Given the songs he was now racking up, he thought he could be primarily a songwriter, like his friend Lesley Duncan. But that morning in Glastonbury confirmed him as a stageman: Ziggy Stardust would play his first show half a year later.

In 2000, Glastonbury was charging £87 tickets and drawing crowds of 100,000. Its recent headliners had included Blur, Oasis, Primal Scream, Pulp and Prodigy. Bowie came back as some lost king regnant of British music, wearing what looked like an eccentric bishop’s vestments, his hair in flowing golden locks; he gently proceeded to make everyone else on the bill (his co-headliners were Travis and the Chemical Brothers) look second-rate. He led off with “Wild Is the Wind,” exorcised “Station to Station” with Slick in tow: for an encore he did “Ziggy Stardust,” “‘Heroes’,” “Let’s Dance” and a stonking “I’m Afraid of Americans.” The papers went mad: “a masterclass of superstardom” (the Mirror), “an object lesson in How to Be a Rock Star”(the Times); “a level beyond and above everyone else at this festival” (NME).

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BBC executive producer Mark Cooper, who was recording the festival, was frustrated that Bowie’s management let him only broadcast six songs from the set (presumably because they were considering releasing the Glastonbury show as a live CD). “It was painful” to cut away from Bowie, he told Paul Trynka. “An artist can be reborn with a performance like that, get another 10 years in their career…I think [denying the full broadcast] was a mistake. Because this was the moment.”

But what was the moment? Was there something sad in all of this ecstatic reclamation, this genial reconquest, with Bowie even wearing his hair at Hunky Dory length? You could regard it as some traveling grand self-entombment. In the year 2000, which he’d feared and talked up and prophesied for much of his life, Bowie wound up playing the nostalgist. A stunningly capable one, sure, but still, he was someone who’d greeted the new millennium by playing songs from 1966 again.

That said, he was in line with one mood of the time. The hooks of the old century were still barbed in the new one: it was as if the culture still couldn’t shake the Sixties’ idea of the future, a future that, of course, hadn’t come true, but one which still seemed more of a “real” future than the one we were now living in. There were still ghosts everywhere. Take the through-line of “Sixties” droning organ across a swath of 2000 records: Broadcast’s “Come On Let’s Go,” Yo La Tengo’s “Let’s Save Tony Orlando’s House,” Blonde Redhead’s “This Is Not,” Ladytron’s “Another Breakfast with You,” Clinic’s “Distortions,” Radiohead’s “Morning Bell.” (If you wanted the sound of a new future, you had to listen to Aaliyah or OutKast.)

So what did Bowie intend with his own “Sixties record”? He’d let in the past again: what was he going to do with it?

stella02

The album soon got the working title of Toy (likely from “Baby Loves That Way” and/or “London Boys”). Its basic tracks were cut in about nine days in early July 2000 at Sear Sound, whose 2,500-square-foot studio boasted two isolation booths: one set aside for vocals, the other housing Mike Garson’s collection of keyboards, including a Fender Rhodes (which he hadn’t played since Young Americans) and a Hammond B3 organ. Earl Slick soon had a sense of déjà vu. A walk around the place made him realize that he was in the old Hit Factory, where he’d cut Double Fantasy with John Lennon twenty years earlier. “It really freaked him out,” Plati recalled.

True to his plans, Bowie had flown in his band days after the Glastonbury concert and essentially had them plug in and rip through the songs. (He’d ditched the webcast idea.) In roughly a week they cut 13 tracks, complete with full Bowie vocals. The engineer Pete Keppler recalled Bowie “belting his brains out while the band was just roaring away behind him,” while Plati hadn’t seen Bowie so excited since the first Earthling sessions (another album cut right after a tour to feed off a band’s energy). Bowie was economical beyond his usual habits: he’d cut a first-take lead vocal, then overdub himself on the second take, then add further harmonies for every further take (Plati: “his final vocal would be finished by the time the band had gotten it right!”). Bowie and Plati even managed to hustle in Tony Visconti to score a 14-piece string section for a few tracks.

What Bowie had at the end of the Sear Sound sessions almost certainly included these 11 revivals—a link to the Toy track, if extant, is found in the original entry (* = not circulating, but reportedly recorded):

“Liza Jane”
“You’ve Got a Habit of Leaving”
“Baby Loves That Way”
“Can’t Help Thinking About Me”*
“I Dig Everything”
“The London Boys”
“Silly Boy Blue”
“Let Me Sleep Beside You”
“Karma Man”*
“In the Heat of the Morning”
“Conversation Piece”

There was also a track known as “Secret 1” (allegedly Dorsey’s favorite) which Nicholas Pegg rightly (IMO) surmises was likely the revived “Shadow Man.” My guess for the other completed track is another ghost song.

bbc02

‘Hole in the Ground’ was written by David, Herbie Flowers on bass, Tim Renwick on guitar and Terry Cox on drums. Also David was playing guitar on it. What year was it?…1971, I think. Apart from David, I think I have the only copy in existence.

George Underwood, May 2006 interview with The Voyeur.

It was fitting that George Underwood got caught up in Bowie’s Sixties revival, if indirectly. Underwood was one of Bowie’s oldest friends: he’d played with him in the King Bees; his girlfriend had inspired Bowie’s “Janine”; he’d accompanied Bowie on his first US tour (where he may have kicked off “Jean Genie” by playing Yardbirds songs on the bus). Most of all, Underwood was partially responsible for Bowie’s look (starting, of course, by hitting Bowie in the eye as a teenager and so leaving Bowie’s pupil permanently dilated): he drew the back cover of Space Oddity and designed the covers of albums from Hunky Dory to Low.

Underwood is the control in an experiment in which Bowie’s the radical element: his life can seem an alternate edition of Bowie’s. Considered as handsome, charismatic and talented as his bandmate in the King Bees, Underwood also cut an unsuccessful single or two in the mid-Sixties. But by the end of the decade, he’d become the artist that Bowie would occasionally play at being, founding the Main Artery Studio in 1971. And sometime in the Seventies, Underwood bailed out of the professional music game for good (one story is that a bad acid trip led to a nervous breakdown).

Bowie wrote “Hole in the Ground” for Underwood around 1970. It was his part of his bid to help Underwood make it as a singer—he also wrote “Song for Bob Dylan” and “We Should Be on By Now” (the ur-“Time”) for him—but it was also a feint to benefit his own career. In 1971, Bowie couldn’t release songs under his own name for a time due to his manager’s label/publisher negotiations, so he put out his new compositions under aliases (see the Arnold Corns) or used his friends as masks (see Mickey King’s “Rupert the Riley” or Dana Gillespie’s “Andy Warhol”).

As the original “Hole in the Ground” has never leaked, it’s impossible to know how much of it was altered for the Toy remake. Mike Garson described the Toy version as a jam that the band developed in the studio. If I had to guess, I’d say little fundamentally was changed. The lyric’s in line with Bowie’s lesser works of 1970-1971 (its title may homage Bernard Cribbins): it’s a depressive love ballad with some apocalyptic portents (the hole in the ground mirrors of the “crack in the sky” in “Oh! You Pretty Things”). Some of its vocal phrasing, and the acoustic guitar strum patterns in the verse, call back to “Janine,” and the song shares with “Janine” a slacking-off in lieu of an ending, with its chorus repeated long enough to double as a coda.

Its revival was performed well—Garson’s keyboards gave fresh backdrops to the verses and refrains, and Campbell and Dorsey (who homages Herbie Flowers’ bassline on “Walk on the Wild Side”* and gets in a nice sloping bass fill or two) shone in particular—but its reappearance mainly argued that Bowie had been right in deep-sixing “Hole In the Ground” back in 1970. Time hadn’t improved the song, only made it somewhat novel.

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So Bowie had the basics for a new record, one that would capstone a year he’d dedicated to his youth. After taking some time off to be a father, all he’d have to do is a cut few overdubs, mix the tracks and send Toy on its way. Then onto something new with Visconti. Toy would take its seat in the canon, and the past would be the past again… [to be continued]

* Of course the intriguing question is whether Flowers had originally come up with that bassline for “Hole in the Ground” and later recycled it for Lou Reed.

Sources: For this, and the upcoming run of entries, Dan LeRoy’s The Greatest Music Never Sold, which devotes a chapter to Toy, was invaluable. Also, Teenage Wildlife and Bowie Wonderworld, as each was founded in the late Nineties, serve as “real time” documentation of Bowie during this time: interviews, setlists, BowieNet comments, journal entries and chats, etc. Having spent some frustrating months trying to verify details from the shakily-remembered and legend-prone Diamond Dogs era, it’s a blessing to have such an amount of concrete information available.

Top to bottom: Bowie’s life in pictures, 2000.


Chapter Eight: Family Albums (1992-1993)

December 26, 2018

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Epigraph   DB to Robert Palmer (the other one), Penthouse, November 1983.

334  Real Cool World    38 Fresh: Black Tie White Noise is among the more opaque Bowie albums, in terms of when and where it was cut and who played on it. Several of its performers, such as the saxophonist Dan Wilensky, were uncredited; its creation was lengthy and convoluted, involving multiple studios, engineers, etc. (Reeves Gabrels recalled to me that at the Hit Factory sessions he worked on in 1992, Nile Rodgers wasn’t there). It’s unclear which Black Tie songs began at 38 Fresh in Los Angeles, a studio Bowie first started using at the end of the Tin Machine period. 38’s engineer Dale Schalow (who has confirmed “Jump They Say” started there) has written an article for the David Bowie Glamour fanzine that unfortunately came out after this book was completed—I look forward to reading it; Songs from the Cool World: a pretty hip soundtrack for DB to be associated with in this era. Tracks included Future Sound of London’s “Papua New Guinea,” My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult’s “Sex on Wheelz,” and some early Moby tracks; first release: as with many Black Tie tracks, there’s a host of edits and remixes. For “Cool World” there is: a) the 3:47 edit used for the video; b) the 4:14 soundtrack cut, used in the closing credits of Cool World—this version appeared on the 2003 2-CD reissue of Black Tie; c) Satoshi Tomiie’s five remixes, including “Cool Dub Thing” Nos. 1 and 2, the “Cool Thing” 12″ club mix and “Cool Dub Overture,” which were on the 12″ and CD single; d) an instrumental version on the B-side of the original 7″ single; funny, works with him…never go home again…always a lot of pressure: to Spitz, 354-355; hybrid of Eurocentric soul: to Dominic Wells, Q, January 1995.

335  You’ve Been Around   A remix of “Around” by Jack Dangers (of Meat Beat Manifesto) appeared on the 12″ “Black Tie White Noise” single; a longer edit of this remix is on the 2003 reissue of the album; live: performed once in 1989, at Tin Machine’s first gig in New York.

336  had the chance to mix Reevesno harmonic reference: Black Tie White Noise promotional video; Gabrels: While he’d also cut a solo for “I Feel Free,” it was wiped once Bowie recruited Mick Ronson for that track. His work on “Nite Flights” wasn’t credited in the album liner notes.

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337  The Wedding/ Wedding Song   St. James Episcopal Church: Commonly known as “the American Church” in Florence. The church’s first rector was Pierce Connelly, who later abandoned his wife and children to become a Catholic priest, only subsequently to change his mind, become an Episcopalian and then sue his wife, who’d become a nun in the meantime, for “restitution of conjugal rights” (from Alta Macadam’s Americans in Florence.) Sinclair Lewis described weekly services there in his World So Wide as being an hour when the assembled US expats “are betrayed into being American again…[though with] their flippant unfaith to their lean and bitter mother, America, there is yet more faith than in their zest for Europe, their opulent mistress”; I was totally confused: Times of London, 29 August 1992; troubled by our inability…being moved by it?: “Perfume, Defence and David Bowie’s Wedding,” a lecture that Eno gave at Sadlers Wells Theatre on 20 July 1992; had to happen at a church in Florence: Hello!, 13 June 1992.

338  hated Wagner: Hello!, 13 June 1992; important for me to find something: The David Bowie Story, 1993; all icing with a couple on top: to Steve Sutherland, NME, 20 March 1993.   Pallas Athena    first release: The original club 12″ single (MEAT 1) had the Don’t Stop Praying Remixes #1 and #2 and the Gone Midnight Mix (the album version, unsurprisingly, was first heard on the album). These mixes also appeared, respectively, on the B-side of “Jump They Say,” on the 2003 reissue of Black Tie, and on the 2003 reissue of Sound + Vision. Along with the album mix, they were released as a digital EP in 2010. A live version of “Pallas Athena,” recorded at Club Paradiso in Amsterdam on 10 June 1997, was issued on the Tao Jones Index 12″ and the “Seven Years in Tibet” single that same August (it also appeared on the revised Sound + Vision). 

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339   Arista fat on earnings: they dropped £10,000 to hold a “rave” promotional party in the summer of 1993, one of no doubt many extravagances; I had to try to make him cool: Watson to CO, 2012. Watson was a true Bowie fanatic (among his bona fides: attending all six Wembley shows in 1976). At the meeting, Arista sat him next to Bowie. While the rest of the table nodded along and deferentially complimented the mixes they were hearing, Watson was actually listening, and at one point leaned over to Bowie and said, “is that something from ‘Heroes’ there?” Bowie reached over and snapped off the tape. The room fell silent. Watson feared for his professional life. Then Bowie smiled, put his arm around Watson and said: “This guy’s got ears!” “I went from persona non grata to top boy,” Watson told me. “We got the gig”; mutually beneficial for his name: Larry Flick’s “Dance Trax” column, Billboard, 6 February 1993; unshakeable belief in God: to David Sinclair, Rolling Stone, 10 June 1993; cornerstone of my existence…own God: Hello!, 13 June 1992.

340   don’t know what it’s about: NME, 20 March 1993.    Lucy Can’t Dance  a CD “bonus track” on the original release, across most markets.  Star Wars 2…couldn’t all suck!…already accepting my Grammy: to Buckley, 416-417.

341  Madonna: as “Lucille Can’t Dance” hasn’t leaked, it’s impossible to know how much of the lyric was there in 1988. It may also be a nod to The Linguini Incident, as Lucy was the name of Bowie’s co-star Rosanna Arquette’s character; ex-husband: Tin Machine’s “Pretty Thing” winks at then-current tabloid stories about Madonna and Sean Penn —Madonna years later publicly denied these claims were true. Bowie made things worse by joking about “hanging out with Sean, and he told us a few things, you know what I mean?” in a 1989 interview; conventional in the extreme: ca. 1991 US TV interview (I did a transcript of it, which is no longer found on YouTube, but this line is also quoted in Pafford and Paytress’ BowieStyle, so I didn’t hallucinate it). He also told the Daily Mirror (18 October 1991) that “I wouldn’t know a Michael Jackson or Madonna record if I heard one”; anything in my video: i-d, July 1987; top-drawer plate spinner: Radio One Madonna special, 1998.    Don’t Let Me Down and Down   planned as the third single from Black Tie until the bankruptcy filing of Savage Records in late 1993. Bowie’s Indonesian vocal (preferable to the English one) appeared on Indonesian pressings of the album and later on the 2003 reissue of Black Tie.

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342   diary-like way: Black Tie promo video, 1993; Tahra: information on her life is still scant in the Western press, but I found biographical details in Le Monde’s review of Yamen Yamen, “Le premier album de Tahra, la belle Mauritanienne” (10 May 1989), and El Madios Ben Chérif’s “Tahra Mint Hembara : L’artiste-amazone,” Noor Info,‎ 5 April 2012. She’s been described as a model, a “princess,” and a friend of Iman by various Bowie resources but I couldn’t verify any of this and much of it seems dubious; “black” and “white” scales: As per 2009’s World Music: Africa, Europe and the Middle East, these modes derive from Arabic music and are always played in a precise order: karr, fagu, lakhal, labyad, lebtayt. These correspond to the concepts of “black” and “white” (the first two, and the last three, respectively), and also to the stages of a life, with lebtayt symbolizing the afterlife. The “ways” are al-bayda (white), al-kahla (black), and l’-gnaydia (mixed, or “spotted”). “Black” is considered more masculine and direct, “white” more feminine and refined. On Yamen Yamen, the song has an A-flat tonality—the verses and solo section move between an F minor eleventh and an Ab major seventh chord  (vi11-Imaj7) while the refrain moves from dominant (E-flat) through Ab and Fm11 to close on a D-flat major 7th (V-I-vi11-IVmaj7); pidgin English lyric: Black Tie promo video, 1993.

343  Looking for Lester    uncredited musicians:  While the trumpeters aren’t credited on the album, there’s a photograph of Bowie and three of them in the studio in the sheet music book. Dan Wilensky cut one saxophone performance that Bowie’s credited with on Black Tie but reportedly couldn’t recall which; America’s classical music: Basically, the “Ken Burns” story of jazz, in which the music loses its way, becoming too academic/ avant garde/ pop-oriented/ what-have-you after 1967 or so, until its rescue by neo-traditionalists like Wynton Marsalis. This scenario is thankfully on the wane, with younger performers like Kamasi Washington easily moving between influences in various genres and not confined to “fusion” or “traditional” modes—Nate Chinen’s Playing Changes documents this generational change, which very much includes the Donny McCaslin quartet; roll the tape…madly out of tunebasket of sounds: Graham Reid interview with DB, 1993; choruses: generally close with a transition progression meant to ready the listener to return to D major (Gmaj7-F#m7-Cmaj7-Bm7).; follow him around with a microphone: Record Collector, May 1993.

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344  Black Tie White Noise  The album’s second single, it had an exhausting set of remixes, detailed in depth on the Illustrated DB Discography site. Among the mixes were the “3rd Floor” mix, first issued on a promo CD for US radio and later on the Black Tie reissue; the “club mix,” the Extended Remix and the Here Come da Jazz mixes (the latter uses Bowie’s “crankin’ out” coda chant as its central hook, be warned) were on the UK 12″ promo (BLACK 1); beginnings of a revolution: David Bowie Story, 1993; far too keen as white liberals…don’t want our advice: NME, 20 March 1993.

345   denial in America…museum of Black America: NME, 25 November 1995; change is no easy thing…positive outcome….often quite punishing for both of us: Record Collector, May 1993; Sure!: a regular chart presence at the turn of the Nineties, with one top 10 hit (“Nite and Day”) and a few R&B #1s (“Off on Your Own,” “Right Now”). Appearing on “Black Tie” didn’t do much for him, to put it mildly: he didn’t release another LP or single until 2009.

346  all bad poetry: often misquoted as “all bad poetry is sincere.” In Wilde’s essay The Critic as Artist, 1891.    Miracle Goodnight   Arista’s third single from the album. Remixes include the 12″ 2 Chord Philly Mix, the Blunted 2, Make Believe Mix, and Dance Dub (all on the 12″ single) and the Maserati Blunted Dub (on the CD single). The Make Believe Mix later appeared on the Black Tie 2-CD reissue. There’s a surprisingly decent mashup out there of Thom Yorke’s “Black Swan” with the Maserati Blunted Dub remix; opening riff: it’s three dyads, or two-note chords: G-B, A-C, A#-C#; a falling phrase (a B-D dyad) answered by a G note; and a repetition of three G notes. It’s opened on Rodgers’ guitar, but mainly played by two synthesizers parked far left and right in the mix. They begin each reiteration in sync, but as the left-mixed synth gets an additional repeat of the tail-end hook (three repeats of the three G notes to the other synth’s two), this creates an echoing effect. There are also two basses parked on the ends of the spectrum, both of which hit on the downbeat then trail off across each bar. The riff is constant throughout the song except for the two solos; bridegroom reveries: Bowie calls her a “yellow dime”: a sun (morning star) that’s also a perfect 10; Handel’s Queen of Sheba: more in mood than melody, as Bowie’s sets of 16th notes jump upward where Handel’s regally descend.

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347  I Know It’s Gonna Happen   Shit-kicking skinhead in a pack: to Paul Nolan, Hot Press, June 2008; pop moment: to Brian Boyd, Irish Times, 20 November 1999.

348  spoofing one of my earlier songs…weepy and silly: Record Collector, May 1993; Ronson having a laugh: as per Mark Levin to Uncut; we are your support group: quoted in David Bret, Morrissey: Scandal and Passion, 236; 11 rows deep: Melody Maker, 25 November 1995.

349   have to worship at the temple of David: The Importance of Being Morrissey, (Channel 4), 2003; only relevant by accident: GQ, 15 October 2012; last we heard of him: BowieNet chat, 1999.    Jump They Say   Again, a big heap of remixes. The UK 12″ single included the Hard Hands, Leftfield and Dub Oddity mixes (the latter, also by Leftfield is on the 2-CD Black Tie reissue); the Rock Mix (orig. on the Savage CD single, “Rock Mix” = banal guitar) and the Brothers in Rhythm 12″ mix are also on that reissue.

350  no going back: New Zealand TV interview, ca. September 1982; my own hang-ups: David Bowie Story, 1993; two-chord progression: much of the song alternates between B-flat and C major, the chords shifting every other bar. The refrain progression (Dm7-F-Gm7-C5) offers a vague resolution, establishing the song in C, with Bb borrowed from F major as a substitute IV chord and so portending a key change to F that never happens. You could also make a case that the song’s been in F major the whole time, with the dueling Bb and C chords the IV and V chords of F; too many of my mother’s tendencies: “Evelyn McHale, Photojournalism as Iconography.” There’s another Bowie half-sibling: his half-sister Annette, born in 1943 (she was his father Haywood’s daughter), whose story ends far happier. As Bowie wrote in the introduction to I Am Iman (7): “When I was seven or thereabouts, my half-sister, Annette, left England for good. She had fallen in love with an Egyptian and was to travel to his village to marry him. She would write. My father may have received news but if so those letters were not shared. I never heard another thing from or about her…[when] Annette had arrived in Egypt, she had converted to Islam, which had meant undergoing a name change. Being the first Western Christian girl to ever visit let alone live in her husband’s village, the most appropriate name for her was obvious. If you care to listen I will tell you that I, David Robert Jones, a Protestant Caucasian boy from South London in jolly old England, have a wife and a sister, both called Iman.” Is Annette (Iman) née Jones still alive? Still in Egypt? A last familial mystery.

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351  Nite Flights  according to Martyn Watson, the “Moodswings Back to Basics” remix was mislabeled and remains misidentified on current releases.  Noel Scott Engel: biographical and career information on Scott Walker from a heap of sources. Anthony Reynolds’ Walker Brothers biography, The Impossible Dream, is essential, as is the Rob Young-edited No Regrets, a 2012 anthology of critical writing on Walker’s music; the documentary 30 Century Man; and Walker’s various interviews for the NME, The Wire, the Guardian and other publications. I’m also indebted to Walker-related conversations I’ve had over the years with the producer and writer Andy Zax.

352   Any recognizable reality: No Regrets, 32; years of bad faith…pay off bills: to Alexis Petridis, The Guardian, 4 May 2006; Heroes…Eno character: Impossible Dream, 318.

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355  Like a Rolling Stone  Mellencamp: In a 2008 interview with Classic Rock, Mellencamp said “I’d thrown [“Jack and Diane”] on the junk heap. Ronson came down and played on three or four tracks…All of a sudden, for ‘Jack and Diane’, Mick said “Johnny, you should put baby rattles on there.” I thought, “What the fuck does ‘put baby rattles on the record’ mean?” So he put the percussion on there and then he sang the part “let it rock, let it roll” as a choir-ish-type thing, which had never occurred to me. And that is the part everybody remembers on the song. It was Ronson’s idea.”    The Buddha of Suburbia  the first track on the CD single is a blend of the original track and the Kravitz “rock mix.” The album wasn’t released in the US until October 1995. The BBC’s Buddha of Suburbia aired over four weeks in November 1993, so technically the title song’s debut was its first episode; commercial presence: Savage laid off its entire staff barely a month after Black Tie‘s release, which wasn’t great for the album’s US promotion. Savage would sue Bowie, claiming that after spending $2 million in advances and video promotion expenses, BMG/Arista, Bowie’s UK/European label, had “unilaterally terminated” its distribution agreement with Savage and had refused to pay $1 million it allegedly owed. The case was dismissed and in July 1998, the New York Court of Appeals refused Savage’s request to reinstate its lawsuit. “This drives a stake through the heart of this ridiculous case,” Bowie’s lawyer Paul LiCalsi said at the time (AP, 3 July 1998).

356  make some money out of it: Jones, 379; never existed: 1994 Bowie memo, shown as part of the David Bowie Is exhibit; dangerous or attractive elements: original Buddha liner notes, 1993.

357  it’s a miracle…how all this happened: to Trynka, Starman, 7; gloom and immovable society: Seconds, August/September 1995; straightforward narrative to the past: Buddha liner notes; emotional contact…opening up a lot of other spaces: to J.D. Considine, Baltimore Sun, 6 April 1993.

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358  South Horizon  lead instrumentation…intercut arbitrarily: Buddha liner notes.

359   spaces between notes: Garson described his performance in detail to Clifford Slapper in the latter’s Piano Man.    The Mysteries  misprinted as “The Mysterie” on the most recent US CD issue of Buddha; converging on this little room: Kureishi, Buddha, 62; my entire world…out the front hall: Interview, May 1990; sanctity of the suburban bedroom: Pitchfork, 2 May 2018.

360   thematic information against it: Buddha liner notes. Dead Against It    house with five thousand rooms: Kureishi, Buddha, 126.

362  Sex and the Church  wedding thing: DB “Hollywood Online” web chat, 1 July 1994.

364  Ian Fish, U.K. Heir    As a listener you’re happy with a lot less: “A Conversation With Brian Eno About Ambient Music,” Pitchfork, 16 February 2017; something of a refrain: I owe a debt to “Magnus Genioso,” the public face of the Mad Genius collective, for their insights into this track and for helping me to hear it with sharper ears.

365  Strangers When We Meet   A different mix of the Buddha “Strangers” is on a Dutch promotional cassette—notable differences are the lack of the “Gimme Some Lovin’” hook and a greater emphasis on the synth drums. The Outside “Strangers” was released in November 1995 as RCA/BMG 74321 32940 2 (c/w “Man Who Sold the World,” UK #39). Tom Frish: this appears to have been his only musician credit—searching for variants like “Frisch” or “Fish” on Discogs didn’t turn up anything.

366 It wasn’t built on honesty…we were worlds apart: Daily Mirror, 19 August 1991; resonance on the road: Gabrels, email to Nicholas Greco, 23 February 2000, quoted in the latter’s master’s thesis, David Bowie’s 1. Outside: The Creation of a Liminoid Space as a Metaphor for Pre-Millennial Society, subsequently published as David Bowie in Darkness.