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[sort-of-ok-reviews]

Space Oddity (A.K.A David Bowie, Man of Words/Man Of Music) – 1969

One song. Often, that’s all it takes to separate the starving artist from the cultural icon. And while some may fail to bloom under the shadow that one song casts, others can adapt, overcome, and become more than just a top 5 track on the UK singles chart. However, this does not mean the struggle to become known for more than just a single is any less difficult. And for a period, David Bowie squirmed under the weight of Space Oddity, a track that would come to define a iconic aspect of his ever-changing public persona: the allure of the extra-terrestrial. 

Space Oddity’s success can largely be accredited to two factors: the perfect storm of events, and Bowie’s ability to read the cultural climate. Several stoned screenings of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey coloured the artist’s imagination with shades of isolation and the bold unknown, and with the single being released in the same month of the iconic Apollo 11 mission, it’s success as a perceived novelty record was all but assured (Hell, the track was even used as background music by the BBC during their coverage of the launch.). A new deal was then struck with Mercury and Philips Records, so that they could strike while the iron was hot; A new album that would capitalize on the success of the celestial single.

 And I mean, it did have name power on its side! (When it wasn’t using one of several false US identities.) When first scouring through the Bowie catalogue post spiritual awakening via Ziggy, I was drawn to this album: This is where that Major Tom song came from! and a dissociative yet disgusted gaze from our curly locked artist smack dab in the middle of the cover intrigued me even more. And as a high school student with a growing appreciation for the folksier side of 60’s psychedelia, seeing how my favourite artist tackled the genre with a...looser approach provided a decidedly unique album experience. But enough pre-amble, let’s get into it shall we? 

So, What’s It Like? 

Despite Space Oddity’s psychedelic rock leanings, the album that surrounds it instead opts for a folksy flavour, with smatterings of blues here and there. It could be considered that Bowie has swapped the Newley influence for a Bob Dylan one, as tracks like Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed make it hard to not make comparisons. However, I would argue that this may be one of the album’s biggest strengths. The soundscapes present on Space Oddity are considerably more unified than on the previous record, presenting a coherent album experience where one track flows near seamlessly into the other. Almost every track offers a lighter, stripped back approach to its instrumentation that does wonders in boosting Bowie’s credibility as a figure aligned with contemporary culture, rather than adjacent to it. The more focused application of electric guitar across several tracks should also be credited for this, providing a bit more edge to an otherwise softer pop persona. This stripped back instrumentation also produces a considerably more intimate affair, supported by uncharacteristically vulnerable lyricism from Bowie: think of the frankly honest anguish over heartbreak in Letter to Hermione, the exhausted aggression against cliché in Cygnet Committee. It is here, that Bowie’s lyricism lightly strays from character studies, and eyes social commentary through a lens of disillusionment. After all, Bowie’s late arrival to the free love movement positioned him as an outlier, not fully convinced by the passive idealism of its frontrunners. From a retrospective sense, the album potentially offers a pastiche of 60’s counterculture as the dying embers of free love began to flicker out at the dawn of the new decade: a passionate, yet self-aware embrace of what was hot from someone who never fully bought into it. Imitation would become an integral part of Bowie’s DNA, potentially suggesting this record was integral in the development of Bowie’s chameleon like approach to pop.

 However, this stance comes from the perspective of an obsessive geek who may be reading into a 53-year-old album just a tad too much. Occasionally, the somewhat rushed production surfaces through tracks with meandering, slightly half-baked ideas: while pleasant sounding, An Occasional Dream lacks a succinct purpose on the record other than to be folksy and dripping with a faux psychedelic sentimentality that could almost be mistaken with the debut album’s design philosophies. And Janine, while offering a uniquely macabre lyrical focus for folk (Hot Girl is MURDERER?) Instrumentally does little to stand out from an album that already has a heavy guitar focus; It becomes slightly lost in a soup of 60’s nostalgia, even though the decade is yet to finish. And despite its legendary status, Space Oddity does suffer somewhat ironically in terms of fitting the more grounded themes of the record designed around it.. While sonically more unified, Space Oddity’s most prevalent problem seems to arise in whether it wants to embrace the culture that influences it, of offer a tongue and cheek response to it. Perhaps it didn’t quite have enough time to answer. 

What’s Worth Listening To? 

Space Oddity: The importance of this song can never be overstated. The story of Major Tom’s mission gone wrong has become household mythology, and it remains as one of the most popular space themed singles to this day (Take THAT, Rocketman.) I think this can be attributed to the harmony between its future facing sound design, and clear lyrical focus; themes of isolation come clear through the superb bass work, and that stylophone expertly conveys the epic and somewhat tragic scale of the narrative through its imitation of orchestral strings. Bowie’s vocal delivery should also be credited, crafting an emotion halfway between fear and ambivalence. A masterwork.

 Letter to Hermione: A moment of vulnerability on the record creates one of Bowie’s more honest tracks. Having broken up with Hermione Farthingale, this song means to convey Bowie’s mourning over the lost relationship. With the only instrumental feature being layers of acoustic guitar, it creates an wonderfully intimate experience where the raw emotion in Bowie’s vocal performance is allowed to take centre stage. A truly underrated song. 

Cygnet Committee: Despite an overly ambitious length for its content (9 minutes, oy vey…) Cygnet Committee offers a sweeping, epic perspective on the hypocrisies of the hippie counterculture. Bowie’s lyricism is at its strongest here, setting a tone of exhaustion and desperation against the passive sense of idealism that defined the culture. The last two minutes of the song I would argue as the highlight of the track, the rising emotion in Bowie’s voice (HE WANTS TO LIVE, DAMN YOU) combined with the upward scale of the guitar create for a truly triumphant call for freedom.

 Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud: This track would occasionally see some use on the later day Ziggy tours, and it is not hard to see why: A more fleshed out orchestral sound on this track gives it a grand scale, and the lyrical focus of a societal outcast rebelling and succeeding against the grain offers flashes of a proto-glam philosophy. I have a particular soft spot for this track, the harp and trumpet used in this track are incredible, and the lyric of “You’ll lose me though I’m always really free.” Always sets the soul ablaze. One of the strongest cuts from the brief hippy fixation. 

God Knows I’m Good: Weird little characters? We’ve still got them! This song focuses on a kindly old woman fearfully stealing some tinned food, justifying her theft by claiming that, funnily enough, God knows she’s good. An interesting exploration of morality vs spirituality in a modern context, this track gives also gives strong Dylan vibes through the acoustic fixation.

 Memory of a Free Festival: Smatterings of Hey Jude and Free Love romanticism make up this final track in which Bowie recalls the idyllic and near-perfect occurrences of one summer afternoon at a Beckenham Arts Lab festival. The track almost has a humorous quality when the truth of the day is revealed (apparently, Bowie had something of a temper tantrum on the day from “materialistic arseholes” selling posters and hamburgers.) But let it be said that the truth never got in the way of a good song writing opportunity. The song’s mellow, stoner-lite atmosphere is deeply enjoyable, and maintained by the soothing notes of a chord organ, and the chorus chanting nearing the end really invokes the sense of community that is likely intended. Always one for theatrics, I suggest the song represents the closing of what the 60’s represented to Bowie, and the promise of what the 70’s may bring. Tall Venusians invokes a type of space age fantasy, after all.

 Final Thoughts? 

Overall, Space Oddity is an immense improvement over Bowie’s first record and works well as a transitionary point between the cultural artefact period of his career, and the golden run of records that arguably began with the immediately successive album. As a music history nerd, Bowie’s take on the folk centric psychedelia that dominated the late 60’s remains fascinating in its passionate artificiality and shows stronger hints that a unique voice was being developed amidst the chameleon-esque soundscapes of the Beatles, The Stones, and Bob Dylan. Ultimately, this is a good record that slightly suffers from a rushed production period, and from the shadow that the title track casts over it. The record listening crowd can be a fickle beast to tame, and it was clear the mainstream public's expectations of Bowie were all over the place. This is evident from the album’s mixed critical reception that still stands to this day. However, this view ultimately diminishes the quality of song writing that is present on this record. While occasionally unsure of its tone or stance, the branching out to societal commentary alongside character studies firmly places Bowie as a strong lyricist not to be scoffed at, and the instrumentation present here sets the stage for a much more contemporary, albeit embryonic David Bowie. If you’re a fan of the genre this album parades, there is something to get out of it. However, it may take more than one listen to fully appreciate it, but I would say that this a record that well rewards your patience with repeat listens. I'd also heavily recommend listening to the 2019 mix of this album: The production value really allows for the instrumentation to sound more lush, and the addition of fan favorite B-Side Conversation Piece is simply marvelous.  Give it a spin and decide for yourself.

 “Kind of iffy, in that musically it never really had a direction.... I don’t think that I as the artist, had a focus about where it should go.” David Bowie on Space Oddity, 2000.

Score: 7/10

[sort-of-ok-reviews]

David Bowie (1967)

What even is a David Bowie? This is the question that his 1967 self-titled debut attempts to resolve with an answer that is, at least from my perspective, a multi-faceted hodge podge of contrasting genres. Is he another poet of the booming British psychedelia scene? The next Anthony Newley to rejuvenate the well-worn traditions of British dance hall? Some third well written descriptor that I can pat myself on the back with? The answer is decidedly undecided, as I cannot stress this is enough: Any attempt to define what David Bowie was defeats what David Bowie is. However, the efforts of one ‘Davie (Davy?) Jones’ in the early 1960’s can be defined as evolution as a means of survival. For our young David, he appeared to be in a new blues outfit almost every week: The King Bees, The Lower Third, The Manish Boys, all of these resulted in the same results of invisible singles and dead ends. This was until 1966, where a change in record label to new sub label Deram resulted in a contractually obligated album. Now separate from the expectations of fellow mods with aspirations of musicianship, this album provided Bowie with a chance to explore his more theatrically inclined influences and shape the scaffolding of his early lyricism. My first experience with this album was also one of obligation. In my early years as a self-proclaimed “loyal Bowie consumer”, I felt a sense of duty to listen to all his discography, as if my appreciation for only a few select albums invalidated my status as a fan. And after experiencing the dizzying heights of Ziggy Stardust and the Berlin trilogy, this record certainly…surprised me. With a more sincere approach to the kitschy stylings of London’s contemporary cultural scene, it certainly makes it hard for the scene kids to champion this record as a transcendental moment for music’s tapestry. Treated as a niche piece of laughable history by most Bowie fans, I ask what relevance this record has in a context removed from the dance hall that spawned it. Let’s find out, shall we? So, What’s It Like? Up until recently, I had perceived this album only from the perspective of its contrasts. This is an understandable perspective to take, as its clashing of genre can make for a dissociative experience for the first-time listener. For example, the baroque stylings of Maid of Bond Street being immediately followed by the gothic and rather unsettling Please Mr. Gravedigger offers a type of mood whiplash that cannot be overstated enough. From a modern perspective, this could almost be perceived as comedic, near satirical (I mean, In an album full of pop sensibility, why NOT end it with the singer you’ve been selling us on for half an hour talking to the dead corpse of a gravedigger he’s in the process of burying?) yet the faux sense of earnest London charm carefully cultivated in tracks like Love You Till Tuesday and When I Live My Dream dissuades this notion fairly quickly, and suggests an underlying issue in the track sequencing. If anything, this is more of a symptom of what an album was at this point. While records such as the Beach Boy’s Pet Sounds and the Beatles’ Sgt Pepper offered sketches of the LP as a conceptual piece of artwork, albums were still largely viewed as a type of ‘future single depository’ where the importance of the induvial song outweighed its contribution to the composition of an album. When compared to the future-facing LPs later down the line, this debut seems considerably antiquated in its design, especially highlighted in several audible qualities: Bowie’s wavering voice is seemingly trapped between a poor man’s Newley impression and an amalgam of ‘soulful’ pop cliché, and the combination of canned orchestra and stock radio sound effects on some tracks can leave a lot to be desired (Join the Gang, I’m looking at YOU). Yet there is a lot about the album that presents traces of a unified vision. Lyrically, the earnest cheek of dance hall is surprisingly complimentary to the childish naivete present in much of Britain’s early psychedelia. The happy medium of this patchwork aesthetic is met through a lyrical focus that will be key to Bowie’s process well into the 70’s: Stories about weird little characters. Nicholas Pegg perhaps described it best when he wrote of the album’s “…rouges gallery of lonely misfits and social inadequacies.” For example, the childish yet formulaic occurrences of Uncle Arthur are not that far removed from those of the Beatles’ own Nowhere Man. Strung out Mods, Lesbian Soldiers, Right Wing Cannibals, and even children: Each get a chance to sing their piece and ultimately show premotions of Bowie’s detachment from the self when crafting his art, forming the primordial DNA of admittedly more successful projects. And when the instrumentation fits, it well and truly fits: The triumphant and freeing lyricism of Silly Boy Blue is beautifully accentuated by the almost folksy flavour of orchestration, and There Is a Happy Land’s more stripped back approach invokes a moment of earned sentimentality. There is success here, and that cannot be ignored: yet time has passed around us, and perhaps it is not the type of success some have come to expect from the Bowie ‘Brand.’

*What’s Worth Listening To?* Rubber Band: Perhaps the most quintessentially ‘theatrical’ track on the album, this track’s protagonist laments a lost love and yearns for a youth that is taunted by the tune the band plays. The narrative focus results in a more trombone and drum centric instrumentation that helps the track to stand out in comparison to the album’s more orchestral leanings. Has a kind of Elanor Rigby aftertaste. Love You till Tuesday: A wonderfully insipid track that offers a ‘playful’ take on a pining romance. This is perhaps where Bowie channels Newley the strongest on this record, namely through a vocal performance that can only really be heard to believe. CAUTION: Make sure you have a high tolerance for cheese before listening. There Is a Happy Land: As mentioned, this track scores a surprisingly sentimental victory through its earnest portrait of childhood nostalgia. Perhaps I am a sucker for this specific literary theme, but it is well supported by a gentle and soothing vocal delivery from Bowie and a lovely dichotomy between keys and acoustic guitar. Perhaps one of my favourite tracks from the Deram Period. We Are Hungry Men: Overpopulation results in the song’s protagonist suggesting mass cannibalism as a viable solution, and he expects to be praised for this. Apocalyptic visions and protagonists with God complexes? This theme is a surprise tool that’ll help us later. Despite the more generic instrumentation (The trumpets seem oddly out of place for me?) This song is arguably the most proto-Bowie, thematically at the very least. Silly Boy Blue: Baroque Pop styled Psychedelia could’ve been such a great fit for Bowie, and this track offers us a teasing glace at what could have been. The lyrics dabble in ideas of Buddhism, and the rare spotlight of bass and layered harmonies give it a decidedly ethereal, yet contemporary feel. Easily the best of this period, hands down. Please Mr. Gravedigger: moody and atmospheric, this track is a wonderfully eerie conclusion to this otherwise poppy record. Bowie’s nasally and isolated vocal delivery carries most of the unsettling feeling the track generates, supported by the light rain and rolling thunder heard in the background. With a macabre lyrical focus, this track highlights that experimentation has always been apart of the Bowie experience. The Laughing Gnome: More of a single, but this may be the only chance I get to bring it to the attention of the public. Just do yourself a favor and listen to this track: The less information you have going into this track, the better. Final Thoughts? Well overshadowed by his following albums, David Bowie remains as a somewhat obscure oddity, presenting sketches of Bowies that could have been. And while the swerving tones from track to track can be disorienting to the retrospective consumer, on face value this record presents an ambitious youth looking to make any kind of headway into the music industry (An attitude that admittedly persists well into the next few albums.) When I first wrote on this album, I described it as a “CV in album form” calculated by Bowie’s management at the time. Upon revisit I posit that it's almost a companion piece to Bowie the performer rather than a produced piece of art. However, I see a considerable amount more of Bowie himself in this record than I did initially. There is clear passion here, in that same way how a lot of us hold on to some of our dorkier obsessions: That Newley Impression seems like a teen trying to mimic an admired figure, in retrospect. While ultimately suffering from the mainstream trappings of album production of the period, there are some inventive ideas on display here that I don’t have the heart to outwardly despise. Not a record I go out of my way to listen, but it certainly has its charms. After all, it's almost an ode to the slightly unfocused youthful exuberance we all place into our first creative projects: and while we may cringe at what we once were, it still led us to where we are now. Give it a listen if you are curious to see where it all began!

“Aarrghh, that Tony Newley stuff, how cringey. No, I haven’t much to say about that in its favour. Lyrically I guess it was striving to be something, the short storyteller. Musically it’s quite bizarre. I don’t know where I was at. It seemed to have its roots all over the place, in rock and vaudeville and music hall and I don’t know what. I didn’t know if I was Max Miller of Elvis Presley.” – David Bowie, 1990. Score: 6/10