The Man Who Fell To Earth

I read the news today, oh boy! At least, on Monday, I put the breakfast news on the telly and felt numbed by the announcement that David Bowie had died. I’m not exactly sure why this shocked me so much but it did. I had a look over this blog and noticed the posting I wrote three years ago at the time of his last album release. At that time I had seen the news and wondered if he had died after a decade of very little public activity and, in a way, I don’t think I would have been as surprised then at his passing. This time I had been listening, intently, to his new album, Blackstar, and had considered posting my thoughts about it last weekend but wanted to have time to properly appreciate it. I’ve had the CD playing in the car all week. In fact, when I last pushed it into the dashboard on 8th January he was still alive.

As for Blackstar, the lyrical content now makes much more sense given events over the few days. The CD notes consist of black ink on black paper so it is very difficult to make anything out but the clues were really there all along – particularly considering the stark video he made for Lazarus which I can’t bring myself to watch again. The album, as with the other projects that he was working on, are presenting his death as a work of art. In parts this makes for an occasionally harrowing but strangely inspirational experience and, as I discovered after Amazon initially presented the streaming tracks in the wrong order, this is a musical experience that works best as a whole. That’s not to say that the individual elements are not as good. I was very taken with the title track, Lazarus, Girl Loves Me and particularly the closing track I Can't Give Everything Away which is both melancholic and yet uplifting at the same time. In fact it was only the second track, 'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore, that I found remotely jarring but in the context of the entire album it works fine.

The odd thing with Blackstar is that I found myself constantly back-referencing old songs and thinking that a particular track sounded very similar to a previous work only to then listen to what I thought was its doppelganger and discover that any resemblance was merely illusory. What I have noticed, though, is that many of the tracks would have fitted in perfectly on earlier albums. For example, Girl Loves Me with its futuristic Nadsat argot would have worked superbly in the middle of the Diamond Dogs album. There are hints and teases like this throughout the album but it makes for a fitting tribute to a remarkable career. Even so, comments from Tony Visconti indicated that as late as last week Bowie had plans for further work. One assumes that the end came faster than anyone, Bowie included, could have predicted.

The outpouring of emotion on Monday rather surprised me. I would regard myself as a second wave Bowie fan. I was aware of his songs but didn’t really appreciate them until later but what surprised me was that the age of many of those interviewed on the news and those laying floral tributes seem to cross generational boundaries. In fact, many of them must have first encountered Bowie’s songs either when he was on his extended post-2003 sabbatical or certainly when he was a lower profile artist. He really seems to have touched the nation but this did get me wondering as to when I first became a Bowie fan.

Many people have great recollections about what their first single or album was. I’m never quite sure but one thing I do know is what the first CD I bought was. I already had a fairly extensive collection of vinyl albums and many recordings dubiously taped off the radio or from friends (to this day I am still trying to source some of the originals on CD). However, in 1990 I was saving the pennies from my job working at BT to buy myself a CD player. Come payday, I duly went down to the local branch of Richer Sounds and bought myself a CD deck (which actually lasted for some 20 years) but having made what was a major purchase at the time I actually didn’t have anything to play on it. I made the decision to forgo Friday night’s drinking session and headed on down to HMV. On display, at the front of the shop, was the compilation album Changesbowie which I took home and listened to solidly over the entire weekend. I was both blown away by the quality of the sound (particularly the opening Space Oddity now devoid of the crackles of my ancient vinyl) and also rather irritated at the selection of songs with many early classics missing and a messed around version of the Fame single with John Lennon. To have an opinion about what goes on a compilation album rather indicates that I was something of a fan by then.

Casting my mind back, the single that really got me into Bowie in a big way was Fashion. There were Bowie songs that I knew and liked before that: Space Oddity, Oh! You Pretty Things and Rebel, Rebel amongst them; but Fashion appealed to me with its heavy funk-rock riff and unusual, distorted guitar solo. The lyrics, however, really struck a chord with me: here was a style icon poking fun at the sheer senseless, herd-mentality of the fashion industry. It was how I felt, how I still feel, and somehow Bowie was a kindred spirit because, after all, we are all a bit weird really. I think my next purchase was a compilation album of some sort  which opened up an array of his previous work – often not particularly to my taste to begin with but which somehow seeps into the consciousness over time. Other albums were a revelation: Hunky Dory was not a commercial success on its original release but it is an amazing collection in itself – the craft of creating the perfect pop song taken to a high art. Low was an album that I played constantly whilst revising for exams – somehow its ethereal electronica seeping into the surroundings and creating an alien soundscape in the confines of one’s bedroom. Over time his extensive catalogue opened up a labyrinth of musical possibilities.

I’ve been slowly completing my collection of Bowie albums on CD. As an artist who seemed to appreciate the digital format it is worth doing (he remastered his entire catalogue in 24-bit) but I still have quite a few surprising gaps. I have most of the 1970s covered but have yet to get Aladdin Sane or Young Americans in a digital format. I also have very little from the 1980s other than a “Best Of Bowie 1980/87” collection which covers the excellent singles from that period - many of which were not on his main album releases. Over time I do plan get the full set although I do wonder if we will now see a flurry of demos and unreleased tracks emerging. I hope his family protect this legacy and appointing someone like Tony Visconti to curate it would be a good move.

There seem to have been an awful lot of deaths recently of artists who have connected to their audiences very closely. First Lemmy and now Alan Rickman who was everyone’s favourite villain (I remember when Robin Hood came out that the only criticism that anyone made of his performance is that we all wanted the Sheriff of Nottingham to win). As I mused on Lemmy’s death, this is what we have to expect now and whilst it is sad to see the passing of such loved performers it is better to concentrate on the artistic legacy that they leave behind. Bowie’s final works may have been fighting against his inevitable mortality to the very last but he has left a cycle of work that can last eternally.