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| David Bowie (1967) captures the singer at his nerdiest. |
NOTE: For the month of September, I have decided to listen to every official studio album by English singer David Bowie (1947-2016) and record my thoughts about each of them.
I went through a brief but rather intense David Bowie phase when I was a teenager. As a high school freshman, having never purchased so much as a single by the Thin White Duke, I mysteriously used my birthday money to buy the elaborate four-disc box set Sound + Vision (1989). I can still remember the baffled cashier at the mall saying, "You must be a big David Bowie fan," and not knowing what to say back to him. Honestly, I think I'd heard about the career-spanning Bowie collection on MTV's Week in Rock. The box set was considered pretty innovative at the time because the fourth disc was actually capable of playing video: specifically the 1980 music video for Bowie's "Ashes to Ashes." That was quite the technical feat in 1989.
I spent many hours listening to Sound + Vision, more or less enjoying what I was hearing but never quite comprehending it. I found that, by shining a flashlight through the clear plastic cover, I could project a giant picture of an unsmiling, alien-like David Bowie on the ceiling of my bedroom. (I'm not sure if that was the intention of the makers of the album or not.) That gave me nearly as much entertainment as the music itself. A few songs stood out to 14-year-old me—"Space Oddity," "Moonage Daydream," "Changes"—but most of it went soaring over my acne-scarred head. After a while, I unloaded the four-disc set at a local used record store. What a dope I was.
I've long felt I missed the boat on David Bowie. I know he's a major figure in the history of rock, with millions of devoted fans and countless accolades. I gave up on him too quickly, just because his arty, angular songs didn't immediately hit me like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones did when I was in high school. And so, to correct the mistakes of the past, I have decided to devote the entire month of September to the music of the late David Robert Jones. What I plan to do is listen to each of his solo studio albums—no compilations, rarities, side projects, movie soundtracks, posthumous releases, or live albums—and keep a journal of my reactions. Think of this as a science experiment in which we subject a lab rat (me) to external stimuli (the music of David Bowie).
Before we even embark upon this monthlong journey, I want to make a few things clear. I am neither a Bowie fan nor a Bowie detractor. I am merely someone who is Bowie-curious. This series of articles is not meant to be a history of the man or a serious critical appraisal of his music. It's simply an informal journal based on my spontaneous reactions to his albums. That's the adventure I want to take. And where better to start than at the beginning?
The album: David Bowie (Dream Records, 1967)
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| Neither sexy nor cool. But fun. |
My thoughts: David Bowie proves himself to be many things on his debut album. He is witty, creative, tuneful, clever, innovative, charmingly quirky, and almost impossibly English. Two things he is not: sexy and cool. God, he was such a nerd in 1967! It's hard to believe he was only 20 when this thing came out, because his dry, powdery voice makes him sound much older. On the upbeat numbers, he sounds like a sinister children's show host; on the ballads, he sounds like Grizabella from Cats. "Love You Till Tuesday" is the closest thing to a typical '60s pop song on the album, but even here, he sounds more like a chaperone than one of the kids at the dance.
None of this is meant as a complaint. In fact, the more I listened to David Bowie, the more I ended up liking it. This album was famously not a hit when it came out, but I can't really imagine it connecting with the pop audience of 1967. For one thing, David had not found his groove yet, and I mean that very literally. When I think of the singer's most popular music, I think of songs deeply rooted in American rock and soul. But here, he's as British as beans for breakfast. I kept hearing traces of The Bonzo Dog Band and Anthony Newley. "Uncle Arthur" could literally be on a Bonzos album with no changes. "Please Mr. Gravedigger" would have fit in comfortably on The Dr. Demento Show. (Indeed, the Doctor played an early Bowie track called "The Laughing Gnome" on his show from time to time.)
There's a slightly unsettling "renaissance fair" vibe to much of this album. If you like Punch and Judy shows, court jesters, and dancing around a maypole, David Bowie is the album for you. I think this LP would have been a big hit on Summerisle, the spooky island from The Wicker Man (1973). Unfortunately, Summerisle is fictional, and David Bowie had to sell records in the real world, so he changed course. I don't know if Bowie would have ever broken through in the rock world with material like this, but if he'd pursued a career writing stage musicals (as he once dreamed of doing), he might have given Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice a run for their money.
Up next: Space Oddity (1969)