CANR
WORK TITLE: Blackstar
WORK NOTES: 2017 Grammy
PSEUDONYM(S): Jones, David Robert
BIRTHDATE: 1/8/1947-1/10/2016
WEBSITE:
CITY:
STATE:
COUNTRY:
NATIONALITY: British
LAST VOLUME: CANR 104
https://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/12/arts/music/david-bowie-dies-at-69.html * http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/david-bowies-grammy-wins-show-that-even-after-death-his-artistic-legacy-lives-on-3285868.html
RESEARCHER NOTES:
2017 Grammy
PERSONAL
Born January 8, 1947, in London, England; died of cancer, January 10, 2016; son of Haywood Stenton (in public relations) and Margaret Mary (Burns) Jones; married Mary Angela Barnett (a model), March 20, 1970 (divorced, 1980); married Iman Abdulmajid (a model, actress, and cosmetics entrepreneur), April 24, 1992; children: (first marriage) Duncan Zowie Haywood Jones, (second marriage) Alexandria Zahra Jones.
EDUCATION:Educated in England; studied saxophone under Ronnie Ross; studied mime under Lindsay Kemp.
ADDRESS
CAREER
Songwriter and performer. Member of various musical groups, including “Davie Jones with the King Bees,” “The Manish Boys,” “Davy Jones and the Lower Third,” and “Feathers,” c. 1964-68, and “Tin Machine,” c. 1989-92. Actor in motion pictures, including The Man Who Fell to Earth, 1976, Just a Gigolo, 1979, The Hunger, 1983, Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence, 1983, Absolute Beginners, 1986, Labyrinth, 1986, The Last Temptation of Christ, 1988, Fire Walk with Me, 1992, and Basquiat, 1996; actor in television plays, including Baal, 1981; and actor in stage productions, including The Elephant Man, 1980. Producer of recordings; narrator of Peter and the Wolf by Sergei Prokofiev, RCA, 1978. Music and art critic for such publications as Q and Modern Painters, beginning c. 1994; exhibiting visual artist, beginning c. 1994; book publisher; and Internet entrepreneur.
AWARDS:Grammy Award for Best Rock Song, 2017, for “Blackstar.”
WRITINGS
Also author of songs on greatest hits compilations, including ChangesBowie, Rykodisc, 1990, and rarities collections, including Sound + Vision, Rykodisc, 1990; contributor to soundtrack albums, including Labyrinth, EMI, 1986, and Christiane F., Virgin, 2001; co-author of albums with Iggy Pop: The Idiot, RCA, 1977; Lust for Life, RCA, 1977; and Blah Blah Blah, A&M, 1986. Coauthor of albums with Tin Machine including Tin Machine, EMI, 1989; Tin Machine II, London, 1991; and Oy Vey, Baby, Victory, 1992.
SIDELIGHTS
David Bowie is considered one of rock music’s most prophetic and unusual talents. Since the 1960s he has combined ideas from the social fringe and the artistic avant-garde with the visceral appeal of popular music and multimedia spectacle to achieve cult stature and eventually superstardom. He was a forerunner of both glitter rock and disco, and his collaborations with Brian Eno placed him squarely in the rock avant-grade.
Also defining Bowie’s career was a Warholian disregard for the boundary between art and commerce. Throughout the 1970s, with challenging material that earned him celebrity and sales, Bowie straddled the line. A 1980s detour into mainstream fare made many feel he’d fallen over the line into sheer commercialism. But by the end of the 1990s, with a small industry of financial ventures and online services based on his back catalogue and a restored reputation for his newer work, he once more bestrode the line like a pop-culture colossus. Observer journalist Sean O’Hagan marked the start of the performer’s fifth decade in entertainment by terming him the “quintessential twenty-first-century pop icon.”
Bowie, born David Robert Jones, was born in 1947 amidst middle-class London surroundings which gave little indication or encouragement of the advances he would later make. While his high school education set him toward a vocation in commercial art, he was also introduced to the literary and musical subcultures of Beat-generation London by his older half-brother Terry. While still in school David embarked on an itinerant music career, eventually changing his name to Bowie to avoid confusion with Monkees lead singer Davy Jones. Not long after Terry had sparked Bowie’s choice of profession, Bowie saw him institutionalized for the mental illness common in their family. The event haunted Bowie, and was a likely influence on his career-long exploration of altered states of personality and perception.
In his youth and early career Bowie dabbled in diverse artforms and influences, thereby establishing a wealth of perspectives for his mature phase, though none of them lasted very long at the time. He came close to taking his vows as a Buddhist monk, and seriously studied mime, at one point actually opening for rock band Tyrannosaurus Rex in that capacity, with a wordless one-man play about the Chinese invasion of Tibet. He worked as an advertising illustrator and ran a community arts center, appeared in an ice cream commercial and an independent film, and experimented with both straight and gay lifestyles. He marketed himself as an R&B saxophonist, a mod rocker, and a music-hall-inspired mainstream entertainer, first in a string of undistinguished bands and then as a solo act. He would also incarnate as a hippie folksinger and a principal in the psychedelic performance troupe Feathers before emerging as an innovative and controversial mass-media personality in what must have seemed to many an overnight ascent.
Up to 1969 about all Bowie had to show for this creative turmoil was a handful of mildly ambitious if often derivative singles and an obscure album of musical comedy-inspired originals. Bowie did conceive and star in arguably the first long-form music video ever made, Love You till Tuesday, but an uncomprehending market kept it without an outlet, and it remained unreleased for decades. His first genuine success came with a 1969 single, “Space Oddity.” Impressed with Stanley Kubrick’s film 2001: A Space Odyssey, Bowie penned his song about a golden-boy astronaut, Major Tom, who breaks contact with earth and continues journeying through the universe instead of returning home to his wife.
“Space Oddity”‘s drop-out ethic and cautionary spin on mainstream society’s celebration of the space program resonated with both hippie hopes of transcendence and machine-age moods of disillusionment. However Bowie’s next two albums would find him struggling to coalesce a distinct identity musically, even as he advanced his abilities as a lyricist. 1969’s Man of Words, Man of Music (later known as Space Oddity) alternated between solo acoustic-guitar balladry, folk-rock, and the kind of orchestrated pop for which his previous manager had groomed him.
Bowie’s third LP, The Man Who Sold the World, was lumbering heavy metal with lounge and synth-rock leanings and was released in 1970. Violence and lust were its themes; tracks like “Running Gun Blues” and “She Shook Me Cold” portrayed cynical characters for whom brutality is pleasurable and sex parasitic. The cover photography for The Man Who Sold the World probably had as great an effect on Bowie’s career as did any of the music from that album. Bowie was shown heavily made-up, wearing an evening dress and jewelry and reclining on a sofa in a pose he called “a parody of Gabriel Rossetti.” This penchant for cross-dressing would become the focus of intense media scrutiny for the performer over the next few years.
Bowie’s songwriting fully came of age on 1971’s Hunky Dory, an album that matched confected pop melodies with dissident sentiments and apocalyptic scenarios. Thematically, songs such as “Quicksand” and “Bewlay Brothers” are stark, introspective laments about surviving in a society where nonconformity is either ridiculed or condemned. The work was considered quite avant-garde for American tastes at the time: John Mendelsohn, writing in Rolling Stone, noted that on the record, “Bowie’s music offers an experience that is as intriguing as it is chilling, but only to the listener sufficiently together to withstand its schizophrenia.” At the time, according to George Tremblett in his David Bowie: Living on the Brink, Bowie declared his intentions, stating that rock music needed to be “tarted up, made into a prostitute, a parody of itself.”
In 1972 Bowie saw the commercial currents gathering into a wave of popularity for the glitter-rock or “glam” movement, and he jumped on. The genre, defined by circus-like flamboyance, sexual ambiguity, and sing-songy tunes subverted by hard-rock arrangements, had a showmanship and skepticism that appealed to a hedonistic yet still discontented post-’60s generation, becoming wise to the manipulations of media spectacle. In this spirit Bowie adopted an imaginary superstar persona which turned him into an actual one, even as the album he built around the character told a story which served as a landmark exposé of celebrity egomania.
The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust, the tale of a great and tragic rock-star casualty, was hailed as Bowie’s first masterpiece, and commented upon its own medium in a manner more common in the conceptual art world than in the pop business of the day. Bowie assumed the “Ziggy” character in concert, and even in interviews. “I began to wonder what it would be like to be a rock and roll star,” he said, “so I wrote a script.” The script was derived from an actual incident involving Vince Taylor, an American rock performer whom Bowie had befriended during the mid-1960s. “He was slowly going crazy,” Bowie noted. “Finally, he fired his band and went onstage one night in a white sheet. He told the audience to rejoice, that he was Jesus. They put him away.”
Both Ziggy’s fictional band and Bowie’s real one were called the Spiders from Mars. Bowie mounted a multimedia assault, with album, spectacular concerts, and an abortive film. His manager tightly controlled press access, orchestrated fan hysteria, and bedecked Bowie in the trappings of superstar affluence long before he had achieved it in reality; in this way Bowie both lampooned and mastered the Warholian art of manufactured celebrity. His arrival for the first leg of his tour was a typically dramatic one: he disembarked in New York from an ocean liner, the Queen Elizabeth II.
Bowie, as Ziggy, became a media sensation in North America. Newsweek, the New York Times, and other periodicals offered treatises that attempted to explain his appeal. A review in the New Yorker of his Carnegie Hall show enthused that it was “as transcendent as rock and roll gets.” The Ziggy persona was designed to lampoon the commercialization of the glitter rock era of the early 1970s. But as Time writer Jay Cocks explained, “Bowie was after something more than a shock and a trend. He wanted a confrontation with the innate theatricality of rock. In 1972, when he first hit the stage as Ziggy, decked out in makeup, dye job and psychedelic costume, the rock world was ready. Too much karma, too much good vibes, too much hippy dippy: audiences wanted decadence with a difference. Bowie was there.”
Rock legend holds that Bowie came to the brink of a delusional loss of his own identity within the character. Earnest folk and classic-rock fans–who already considered Bowie’s flamboyance to be camouflage for deficient musicianship–seized on his supposed crack-up as a cautionary parable of Faustian fame. But Bowie had already moved on, setting his sights back on the medium of theater in planning two stage productions. One was based on Ziggy, whose persona would resurface in Bowie’s oeuvre in ways subtle and conspicuous throughout his career, and the other on George Orwell’s novel 1984.
The Ziggy show was shelved, and the 1984 project vetoed by Orwell’s estate, so Bowie returned to the recording studio to convert the latter into Diamond Dogs (1974). An oblique response to the repression he witnessed on a trip to the Soviet Union and the growing cynicism and belligerence of the West, the album alternated between bleak adaptations of Orwell’s dystopian vision, and strangely festive portrayals of a post-apocalyptic society populated by feral fashionplates decked out in the trappings of the fallen civilization.
Bowie continued to earn both scorn and laudatory words from various camps in the rock establishment. For his next surprise, Bowie mounted a Young Americans tour before there was a Young Americans album; once it was released he promoted it exclusively through appearances on TV variety shows–in the process clearly anticipating the music video era and furthering his campaign to establish himself in the other media which intrigued him. In November of 1975, Bowie became one of the first white performers to appear on the landmark dance show, Soul Train. One track from Young Americans, “Fame,” co-written with guitarist Carlos Alomar and John Lennon, was his most successful single to date; eight years later Time‘s contributor Jay Cocks noted that it “has a good claim to being the first breakthrough disco song.”
In 1976, Bowie accepted his first major film role as the star of The Man Who Fell to Earth. While confirming his dramatic credentials, it paradoxically provoked his high-profile return to the recording studio and the concert stage. When an expected soundtrack album to the film fell through, Bowie rushed to maintain his footing in multiple entertainment industries by quickly recording and touring Station to Station (1976). The album and tour solidified his pop songcraft while expanding the influences he synthesized into it, and fortified his commercial success while escalating his pre-Young Americans critique of mass culture. In the studio, Bowie meshed top funk musicians with his own imperious cabaret croon, for an alternately icy and incendiary type of lounge-soul that echoed into the “new romantic” genre of arch dance-pop in the ’80s and the ironic cocktail-music revival of the ’90s. In concert, he assumed the persona of “The Thin White Duke,” a Eurocentric aristocrat prone to fascist iconography in props, dress, and gesture. Bowie again extended the character offstage, making troubling far-right remarks to the press, and spent many years repenting for a phase he attributed to drug-fueled dementia.
Nonetheless, Bowie’s de rigueur rock-star drug use was reaching fearsome proportions, epitomized by his comment years later that he “can’t remember 1975.” After a legendary intervention by two unidentified friends, he abandoned the decadent Los Angeles lifestyle for relative anonymity and solitude in West Berlin. The personal excesses proved easier to abandon than the chemical ones; though publicity portrayed him as clean and sober from then on, Bowie now confirms that his addictions persisted into the early ’90s. Still, he regained his focus, bringing forth what many critics and fans consider the most important work of his career. He collaborated on two historic albums with punk precursor Iggy Pop, The Idiot and Lust for Life, both released in 1977. But for his own albums, Bowie teamed with conceptual rock trailblazer Brian Eno on what came to be famous as the “Berlin Trilogy.” A pioneer of the synthesizer, Eno was best known for sweeping, atmospheric instrumentals that set the blueprint for both “new age” mood music and the “ambient” genre of ’90s “electronica.” He also specialized in fragmentary, eccentric pop vignettes that reflected the shortening attention spans of a media-saturated era. Bowie adopted both forms for Low and “Heroes” (both 1977), giving many listeners and future musicians their first exposure to Eno’s innovations and adding intermittent, disjointed lyrics which would influence the chic alienation of later “new wave” acts.
Returning to Berlin and Eno, Bowie completed Lodger (1979), which incorporates the polyglot of ethnic influences hinted at on Heroes into a series of quirky pop tunes with African, Turkish, Jamaican, and other influences in a presentiment of the “world music” boom. Still interested in an acting career, Bowie played the lead role in the demanding Broadway play The Elephant Man in 1980 to near-unanimous critical approval. Maintaining his presence and preserving his options in both highbrow and vernacular arenas, Bowie simultaneously released Scary Monsters, a masterful album of cacophonous but catchy post-punk that sold surprisingly well and set a standard for the following decade of alternative music.
These two accomplishments formed a finale for this phase of Bowie’s career. Said to be distraught over the murder of his friend John Lennon and determined to take a larger role in the upbringing of his young son (Zowie, a.k.a. Joe Jones), Bowie retreated from the spotlight for three years. He stepped back into it briefly in 1981 and 1982 for a handful of rock and high-art place-holders–on the one hand, the theme song to the film Cat People and the hit duet with Queen, “Under Pressure”; on the other, a starring role in the BBC production of Bertolt Brecht’s first play, Baal, the grim tale of an amoral wartime troubadour, which was accompanied by a soundtrack EP that featured some of the most haunting vocal performances of Bowie’s career.
When Bowie returned to the music scene, it was in his least recognizable guise yet. 1983’s Let’s Dance commenced a six-year period that was Bowie’s most commercially successful but least favorite. He reportedly earned the first real money of his career, after a tour netted him nearly $7 million. Recanting his sexual and musical experimentation and producing an album of unstoppably salable dance-pop, Bowie personified Reagan-era conformity in what might have been his most biting character if not for the uneasy feeling that this time he was not kidding. The critical reception was wary. A People commentator noted that the effort seemed to mark a return to one previous incarnation, at least: “Bowie discovered back in the mid-70s with Young Americans that while artsy experimentation may win him critical plaudits, it’s punchy dance tunes that deliver the commercial knockout,” the reviewer observed. Cocks gave Let’s Dance a more positive spin in Time. “His new material is unabashedly commercial, melodically alliterative and lyrically smart at the same time,” Cocks maintained.
Let’s Dance emerged at a time in rock and pop when a seismic shift seemed imminent. Rock began calcifying into metal, while the punk movement gave way to New Wave. Cocks, writing in Time, theorized about Bowie’s position in the musical timeline, asserting that “Bowie made some of the most adventurous rock of the past decade.” “It laid down rules and set new marks for others to follow. Bowie kept the cutting edge keen. There are few punks or New wavers or art rockers or New Dancers dancing to New Music who do not owe him an abiding debt. Everyone from Gary Numan to Talking Heads and Human League and Culture Club ought to make a deep bow in his direction.”
The Let’s Dance tour sold out stadiums, and Bowie’s ticket receipts matched those of the Police and Michael Jackson that year. The success of the record won Bowie a fleeting following while dismaying former fans; meanwhile Bowie’s interest and creativity had concentrated elsewhere, in the performing arts. The videos for the title track and “China Girl”–a track co-authored with Iggy Pop–maintained his knack for controversy and pop-culture critique. As the “Australian Invasion” found white acts from Down Under overrunning the same pop charts Bowie was climbing, the scenario for “Let’s Dance” depicted a young Aboriginal couple’s rejection by and of white Australian society, in a vignette Bowie described, at the height of Cold War tensions, as “Russian social realism.” The “China Girl” clip ran through a recriminating fantasia of stereotypes as imagined by the song’s racist narrator, and ended in a widely censored beach lovemaking scene that revealed the singer’s bare backside long before male nudity was acceptable. In the same year, Bowie starred in The Hunger and Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence, the former a disturbing bohemian vampire movie and the latter a provocative account of life in a World War II Japanese prison camp.
Clearly Bowie hadn’t completely lost his lofty leanings, and was fretting to interviewers about the commercial pandering of Let’s Dance as early as 1984, when he released the sonically lush but emotionally remote Tonight. It included a pop single, “Blue Jean,” and a cover of the Beach Boys hit “God Only Knows.” The title track was borrowed from Iggy Pop’s Lust for Life album, and employed guest vocalist Tina Turner. Rolling Stone‘s Kurt Loder called it “one of the most vibrantly beautiful tracks he’s ever recorded,” but savaged the remainder of the record. “Considering what Bowie is capable of, Tonight is an uninspired disappointment,” Loder remarked. Bowie discussed Tonight in an interview with Charles Shaar Murray published in Rolling Stone. He admitted that he had not played any instruments on it, nor become involved with its production, as he had during other points of his career. While he told Murray he had been writing new songs again, he explained that his ever-changing musical direction was somewhat of a mystery to him as well. “I have as little idea as anybody about what comes next. I’m terribly intuitive,” he told Murray. “I always thought I was intellectual about what I do, but I’ve come to the realization that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing half the time; that the majority of the stuff I do is totally intuitive.”
Tonight was followed by the exuberant but unresolved Never Let Me Down (1987), a collection that floundered between the turbulent soundscapes and troubled lyrics of Bowie’s heyday and some of the most mercenary pop he’d ever put his name to. People‘s David Hiltbrand gave solid marks to only one track, “Bang Bang,” written by Iggy Pop and Ivan Kraal. “Here Bowie emulates to good effect the arch detachment that marked Iggy’s latest album, Blah Blah Blah,” Hiltbrand wrote. A much-maligned, extravagant “Glass Spider” tour followed, and Bowie continued his occasional foray into film. In 1988, he played Pontius Pilate in Martin Scorcese’s The Last Temptation of Christ.
Bowie next resurfaced in 1989 as a member of a low-profile band unit, Tin Machine, consisting of himself, Reeves Gabrels, and the high-powered rhythm section of drummer Hunt Sales and bass player Tony Sales, whom Bowie had worked with as fellow backup musicians for Iggy Pop years before. The band explored the musical fringes Bowie had abandoned in his previous incarnation, and was a forceful gesture to restore the artistic hunger of his earlier days. The outfit stayed lean and little, eschewing Bowie’s hits and playing venues much smaller than it could have on the strength of those songs.
Just as critics and fans who had written Bowie off were once more taking notice, he lowered expectations again by abruptly putting the band on indefinite hold the following year. He had re-released his classic pre-Let’s Dance albums on Rykodisc, an independent label smaller than the majors but willing to give his catalogue lavish production values and high fanfare. Part of that fanfare was a world tour of his hits, mounted at the record company’s request. Bowie hired respected alternative-pop guitarist Adrian Belew as his band leader and, for the tour’s visual presentation, collaborated with Édouard Lock, choreographer and stage designer of the Quebec-based avant-garde dance troupe La La La Human Steps, for a stark setting in which video and live performance interacted in ways that revolutionized the rock concert and were heavily influential on U2’s better-known ZOO-TV tour two years later.
Bowie made an unexpected return to solo recording in 1993 with his most underrated album, Black Tie White Noise, which challengingly filtered the infectious dance-pop of Bowie’s biggest hits through the bleak sensibility of his artiest endeavors for a macabre and mournful take on the electronic club music of the time. Some of the material had been written for his wedding ceremony in 1992, when he married model and business executive Iman. Unfortunately few even noticed the comeback due to the album’s U.S. label going bankrupt shortly after its release, and even fewer expressed interest due to Bowie’s choice of his Let’s Dance collaborator Nile Rodgers as producer. But while Let’s Dance was Bowie’s most timid album, Black Tie was one of his most experimental. Maclean’s critic Nicholas Jennings found it filled with “some of his freshest sounds in years,” and noted that though it reunited Bowie with Let’s Dance producer Rodgers, the new effort was both “jazzier and funkier” and “an eclectic, horn-fuelled outing.”
A closet intellectual, Bowie never abandoned his interest in the visual arts, and started to build quite a resume as a music and art critic. After decades of dabbling, he started seriously exhibiting his own work, often with such controversial neo-pop figures as dissection artist Damien Hirst, who helped revitalize Britain’s visual-arts scene. In 1995 Bowie decided to bridge these sophisticated pursuits with his pop-music practice, and enlisted Brian Eno for the reunion album Outside. The duo’s preparation became the stuff of instant public-relations legend. They dressed their recording studio as an art atelier, and visited famed collections of mental patients’ paintings for inspiration. Eno encouraged the musicians to paint and sculpt as a catalyst to creativity, and instead of describing how he wanted them to play, he wrote them character sketches to get into. “We both share a great passion for the breakdown of boundaries between the art forms, because we’ve both always been involved in this nebulous area called multimedia,” Bowie told Billboard writer Melinda Newman. “I’ve always felt that film and theater and fashion and art and music all go together.”
Outside, unfortunately, failed to elicit a positive response from either the critical establishment or the record-buying public. “Eno returns the dark, fringy clatier to Bowie’s music,” stated Entertainment Weekly‘s David Browne in one of his more charitable assessments. People reviewer Jeremy Helligar commended the title track for a “gothic sweep” reminiscent of past Bowie classics and also liked “The Heart’s Filthy Lesson,” which Helligar stated “bounces about like industrial hip hop on speed.” The album was also a multimedia project: Bowie’s Internet site offered character profiles for the art-murder mystery, sound clips, and artwork; Entertainment Weekly writer Ty Burr was so entranced by it that he advised readers to “skip the album and surf the site instead.”
Calculated or not, Outside reestablished the desired respect from press and public. This sparked a renaissance in Bowie’s creative confidence, freeing him to follow up with two of the most inspired and well-received albums in his career. Though they couldn’t have been more different from each other, each expressed Bowie’s reflections on advancing technology. Earthling (1997), a crowning achievement of edgy yet infectious pop, is a summation of the electronica style of manic computer-manipulated beats, muzak-like ambient vistas, sampled found-sound collage, and ghostly vocals, rooted in the Bowie/Eno Berlin Trilogy. As he’d done with glam on Ziggy Stardust, Bowie took a vanguard style and made it his own. People critic Peter Castro noted that a few other younger artists had ventured into the jungle genre, “but so far no one as mainstream as Bowie . . . has made it as accessible.” Castro also pointed out that few of Bowie’s superstar-contemporaries from the 1970s were venturing into any sort of musical innovation in their current projects.
Anticipating a pendulum swing from the high-tech to the humanistic, “hours …” (1999) is an ingenious reinvention of the confessional singer-songwriter genre for the digital age, setting chilly computerized textures alongside a dazzling array of influences from the opposite end of the musical spectrum in both style and era, including coffeehouse acoustic balladry, crunching heavy metal, and the quaint jingles of Bowie’s own mid-’60s apprenticeship. Reviews were mixed. One track, “Thursday’s Child” was termed “the loveliest ballad Bowie’s written in an aeon, sung by a man who feels let down by everything in his life except his mate,” observed Entertainment Weekly critic Chris Willman. However, the critic faulted the remainder of the songs, remarking that the effort “goes a ways toward proving how hard it is to write about ennui without succumbing to it.”
Bowie was not just engaging the new technology as subject matter. Years before the Napster controversy came to a head, he became the first major-label artist to offer a single exclusively on the Internet with 1996’s “Telling Lies.” He went on to found the first artist-run Internet Service Provider, BowieNet, which supplied both AOL-style services and exclusive access to special concerts, along with artist chats and downloadable sound files from his impressive trove of rare and unreleased material. In a characteristic blur between art and commerce, this service generously established an “online community” of aficionados while cornering the market on obscure Bowie material, which disappeared from elsewhere on the Web with uncommon thoroughness. Another site, Bowieart, presented emerging visual artists and sold their work without the confiscatory commissions of many galleries. On the commerce side of the equation, Bowie also became the first rock star to trade himself on the stock market, floating bonds against the royalties on his back catalogue, which was perennially re-released to increasing sales and licensed to the highest-bidding TV commercial producers. His BowieBanc.com site offered online banking services, checks and credit cards bearing his likeness, and a year’s subscription to BowieNet.
By 2000 hints of new outlets for Bowie’s restless creativity included a completed but unreleased collection of revivals and new songs in the style of his ’60s rarities, which he’d begun performing revitalized updates of after “hours …”; an in-progress album of contemporary experimental tunes reuniting him with his definitive ’70s producer Tony Visconti; and a rumored Ziggy resurrection, this time for stage, screen, and Web site.
Instead, Bowie produced two new albums—Heathen (2002) and Reality (2003)—that reviewers found not nearly as groundbreaking as his previous work. “Heathen adds up to more than simply Bowie’s most commercially viable and creatively satisfying collection of songs in recent memory,” wrote Larry Flick in the Advocate. “There’s an unspoken connection, an understanding that forged a bond that remains unbroken.” “Bowie is obviously never going to recapture his trend-setting finesse of yesteryear, but at least he seems okay with that. And that’s this record’s greatest strength,” Eric Carr declared in Pitchfork. “Yes, David, the music world is moving on without you, but you can’t end things with Heathen— some of us, myself included, are still waiting for that final blaze of glory. Before you go, you’ve got to let the kids know what they missed out on.” In a Pitchfork review of Reality, Carr called both albums “earnest” and “unpretentious,” saying that Bowie “never dwelled unduly on his past…. What … Heathen implied, and what Reality seems to prove, is that those days are over; never looking back, and no longer focusing ahead, Bowie has finally joined us all in the present, mind-young as ever but old enough not to make a show of it.” “Heathen looked like it might’ve been a holding pattern on the way to greater heights, but only for rising from the ashes of Hours,” Carr added; “Reality shows that instead, Bowie … is simply going to rock like any other human, in a pleasantly mild, non-conformist manner.”
In 2013, after a decade without an original album, Bowie suddenly and without fanfare produced The Next Day. Collaborating with Tony Visconti, the same man who had first worked with Bowie on Space Oddity, critics suggested that Bowie brought a sense of excitement to the work that had been missing since the late 1980s. “In the era of the blabbermouth, Bowie and Visconti kept the recording sessions for The Next Day completely under the radar,” said Todd Simmons in the Brooklyn Rail. “Its existence was never leaked, a feat virtually unthinkable in a time when Twitter has given a platform to every soul on earth to empty their brain out in 140 characters. For two years, nobody said a word. Sure, all involved signed confidentiality agreements, but jaywalking is technically illegal in New York. It was a deep respect for the artistic generosity and work ethic of David Bowie that brought the band together in silence.” “The music … coheres as an album in the classic-rock sense: a unified statement that can be listened to at full length, to tell a story about one man’s progression through innocence, experience, arrogance, cynicism, doubt, redemption and inspiration. Yes, that’s overstating it a bit, but not much,” assessed Ken Tucker on NPR’s Fresh Air. “`The Next Day’ is a thriller, not merely a return to form–partly because David Bowie never took one form to begin with. This is his now-continuing contribution to pop music: the notion that restlessness and melancholy can yield more pleasure than anyone might reasonably expect.” The album, declared Gary Graff in Billboard, “a gentle but certainly welcome return of the Thin White Duke.” “The Next Day marks a glorious homecoming,” concluded Edna Gundersen in USA Today. “Here’s hoping we don’t have to wait another decade for Day after Next.”
Bowie teamed with Visconti again for what proved to be his final album, the experimental jazz-infused Blackstar, released on his 69th birthday. It was, stated New York Times reviewer Jon Pareles, ‘at once emotive and cryptic, structured and spontaneous and, above all, willful, refusing to cater to the expectations of radio stations or fans. The closest thing it offers as an explanation of its message is the title of its finale: `’I Can’t Give Everything Away.’’’ “Not all of Bowie’s projects have been mind-blowing,” wrote a reviewer for USA Today, “of course; but … [Blackstar] … is an unqualified triumph. Texturally adventurous, sonically stunning and full of both ambivalence and yearning, it reveals a musician who has seldom acknowledged boundaries or courted accessibility in top form, with most accessible results.” “`Blackstar’ may be the greatest artistic decision David Bowie could have made at this point in his career,” opined a writer for UWIRE Text, “creating something entirely new that does not base itself on his name or his legacy but instead pursues the beauty of playing the music that is in his soul.”
What critics did not know (because the musician had hidden the news from the public) was that Bowie had been diagnosed with terminal cancer of the liver. He died only a couple of days following the album’s release. Accolades poured in from media and music sources around the globe. “Bowie was a person of relentless reinvention. He emerged in the late 1960s with the voice of a rock belter but with the sensibility of a cabaret singer, steeped in the dynamics of stage musicals,” said New York Times contributor Jon Parales. “Mr. Bowie was his generation’s standard-bearer for rock as theater: something constructed and inflated yet sincere in its artifice, saying more than naturalism could. With a voice that dipped down to baritone and leapt into falsetto, he was complexly androgynous, an explorer of human impulses that could not be quantified.” “He spoke of carrying on against the odds. Of the terror in knowing what the world is about. Of turning and facing the strange,” stated Saeed Ahmed, Todd Leopold, and Joe Sutton in an obituary appearing on the CNN Wire Web site. “His songs were a salve for the alienated and the misfits of the world.”
BIOCRIT
BOOKS
The Complete David Bowie, Trafalgar Square, 2000.
The Complete Guide to the Music of David Bowie, Omnibus Press, 1997.
David Bowie Black Book, Omnibus Press, 1984.
David Bowie: An Illustrated Record, Avon, 1981.
Red Rocket 7, Dark Horse Comics, 1998.
Sandford, Christopher, David Bowie: Loving the Alien, Da Capo Press, 1998.
Tremblett, George, David Bowie: Living on the Brink, Carroll & Graf, 1997.
PERIODICALS
Advocate, July 9, 2002, Larry Flick, “Zowie! Bowie! Heathen is David Bowie’s Sharpest Album–and Most Interesting to Gay Audiences–in Years,” p. 67.
Arena, spring-summer, 1993.
Billboard, March 27, 1993, Melinda Newman, “First Bowie Set in 6 Years is Black-Tie Event,” p. 12; August 19, 1995, Melinda Newman, “David Bowie Returns to Drama,” p. 8; December 28, 1996, Melinda Newman, “Bowie’s BMG/Virgin Album Boasts Radio-Friendly Beats,” p. 15; January 26, 2013, Gary Graff, “Bowie’s Back,” p. 54; March 16, 2013, Phil Gallo, “A New `Day’ For Bowie,” p. 87; January 16, 2016, Jody Rosen, “Bowie Flirts with Death (Musically),” p. 51.
Brooklyn Rail, July-August, 2013, Todd Simmons, “Not Quite Dying: David Bowie, The Next Day,” p. 74.
Circus, December 22, 1977.
Entertainment Weekly, September 29, 1995, David Browne, review of Outside, p. 62; October 20, 1995, Ty Burr, review of “David Bowie Outside,” p. 70; October 15, 1999, Chris Willman, “Golden Years,” p. 77.
Gay & Lesbian Review Worldwide, May-June, 2016, Colin Carman, review of Blackstar, p. 39.
Guardian, January 7, 2016, Alexis Petridis, review of Blackstar.
Guitar Player, December, 2003, Michael Molenda, “David Bowie, Reality,” p. 98.
Hollywood Reporter, November 8, 2016, Stephen Dalton, review of Lazarus.
Maclean’s, May 10, 1993, Nicholas Jennings, review of Black Tie White Noise, p. 54.
New Statesman, January 11, 2013, Kate Mossman, “The Eternal Space Oddity,” p. 14.
New Musical Express, September 13, 1980.
New York, January 11, 2016, Lindsay, Zoladz, review of Blackstar.
New York Times, January 7, 2016. Jon Pareles, review of Blackstar, p. C3.
Observer (London, England), January 16, 2000, Sean O’Hagan, “Major Tom.com”; September 30, 2001, Stuart Husband, “Stardust Memories.”
People, May 30, 1983, review of Let’s Dance, p. 24; May 25, 1987, David Hiltbrand, review of Never Let Me Down, p. 22; December 18, 1989, Andrew Abrahams, review of Sound + Vision, p. 25; October 16, 1995, Jeremy Helligar, “Fame, Fame,” and review of Outside, p. 32; February 17, 1997, Peter Castro, review of Earthling, p. 27.
Record Collector, May, 2013, Tom Seabrook, review of Aladdin Sane, p. 87.
Rolling Stone, July 19, 1973, Ben Gerson, review of Aladdin Sane; March 17, 1983, Pablo Guzman, “New Bowie Album Called ‘Modern Big-Band Rock,'” p. 44; October 25, 1984, Charles Shaar Murray, “Let’s Talk,” p. 14; November 8, 1984, Kurt Loder, review of Tonight, p. 71; December 20, 1984, review of Tonight, p. 108; May 22, 2002, David Fricke, review of Heathen; September 10, 2003, Anthony DeCurtis, “Reality”; December 23, 2015, David Fricke, review of Blackstar; October 26, 2016, Rob Sheffield, review of Lazarus.
Spirituality & Health Magazine, May-June, 2016, Damon Orion, review of Blackstar, p. 72.
Stuff, May, 2013, “David Bowie: The Next Day,” p. 142.
Tampa Bay Times (St. Petersburg, FL), March 21, 2013, Hannah Elliott, “David Bowie: The Next Day,” p. 12.
Telegraph (London, England), January 8, 2016, Neil McCormick, review of Blackstar; November 8, 2016, Dominic Cavendish, review of Lazarus.
Time, July 18, 1983, Jay Cocks, “David Bowie Rockets Onward,” p. 54.
Times of India, July 29, 2016, Reagan Gavin Rasquinha, review of The Next Day.
Fresh Air Mar. 7, 2013, , “David Bowie Awakens To ‘The Next Day’ Of His Career.”.
USA Today, March 11, 2013, Edna Gundersen, “David Bowie Leaps Boldly, Nimbly into `The Next Day,’” p. 01D; January 11, 2016, “Bowie Obliterates Boundaries on His Blazing `Blackstar,’” p. 05D; January 13, 2017, Maeve McDermott, “David Bowie’s `No Plan,’” p. 06D.
UWIRE Text, November 18, 2014, “Hear Me Out: David Bowie, `’Tis a Pity She Was a Whore,’” p. 1; January 10, 2016, “Bowie Drops `Blackstar’ Album on 69th Birthday,” p. 1; January 22, 2016, Anokh Palakurthi, “The Complicated Legacy of David Bowie,” p. 1.
Variety, January 5, 2016, Pat Saperstein, review of Blackstar, p. 104.
ONLINE
BBC, http://www.bbc.com/ (November 9, 2016), review of Lazarus.
Bowieart, http://www.bowieart.com (October 22, 2001), author profile.
David Bowie Fan Page, http://www.teenagewildlife.com (October 22, 2001), author profile.
David Bowie Web site, http://www.davidbowie.com (October 22, 2001), author profile.
David Bowie Wonderworld Fan Site, http://www.bowiewonderworld.com (October 22, 2001), author profile.
Firstpost, http://www.firstpost.com/ (February 23, 2017, Jas Charanjiva, “David Bowie’s Grammy Wins Show That Even after Death, His Artistic Legacy Lives On.”
Fresh Air, http://www.npr.org/ (March 7, 2013), Ken Tucker, “David Bowie Awakens to ‘The Next Day’ of His Career.”
Mitch Schneider Organization, http://www.msopr.com (October 22, 2001).
Morning Edition. http://www.npr.org/ (March 1, 2013), Michel Montagne, “David Bowie, Rock’s Shape Shifter, Returns”; (December 28, 2016), Ann Powers, “On the Enduring Power of David Bowie’s Parting Gift.”
National Public Radio, http://www.npr.org/ (January 11, 2016), Barry Walters, review of Blackstar.
Pitchfork, http://pitchfork.com/ (June 16, 2002, Eric Carr, review of Heathen; (September 16, 2003, Eric Carr, review of Reality; (November 20, 2014), review of Nothing Has Changed; (January 7, 2016), Ryan Dombal, review of Blackstar.
Pop Matters, http://www.popmatters.com/ (May 2, 2013), Matthew Fiander, review of Aladdin Sane; (December 10, 2014), Evan Sawdey, review of Nothing Has Changed.
Sonicnet, http://www.sonicnet.com (October 22, 2001).
Spin, http://www.spin.com/ (January 6, 2016), Alfred Soto, review of Blackstar.
Sound + Vision (boxed set booklet), Rykodisc, 1989.
New York Times, January 12, 2016, Jon Pareles, “David Bowie Dies at 69; Star Transcended Music, Art and Fashion,” p. A24, Nate Chinen, “David Bowie, Master of the Music Video.”
UWIRE Text, January 12, 2016, “In Memoriam: Arts Desk Remembers David Bowie,” p. 1; January 16, 2016, Shannon Jay, “In Memoriam: The Day Bowie Died,” p. 1; January 18, 2016, Max Hill, “How David Bowie Soundtracked My Adolescence,” p. 1; January 21, 2016, Denis Bozic, “In Memoriam: Remembering David Bowie,” p. 1; April 10, 2016, Amanda Reed, “Exit Starman: David Bowie Dies at 69,” p. 1.
CBS Morning News, http://www.rollcall.com/ (January 11, 2016), Anne-Marie Green, author obituary.
CBS This Morning, http://www.cbsnews.com/ (January 11, 2016), Charlie Rose, Norah O’Donnell, author obituaries.
CNN Wire, http://news.blogs.cnn.com/ (January 12, 2016, Saeed Ahmed, Todd Leopold, and Joe Sutton, “David Bowie, a Master of Music and Makeovers, Dies at 69.”
David Bowie's Grammy wins show that even after death, his artistic legacy lives on
Jas CharanjivaFeb, 23 2017 15:35:03 IST
The 59th Grammy Awards that took place on 12 February 2017 saw David Bowie win all five categories he was nominated in. Wham bam, thank you, ma'am! He may not have been there to accept these awards for his album Black Star, but in some sense Bowie is everywhere.
He will live on forever. Future generations will discover Bowie one way or the other. Their appreciation for him and his music will vary from “He's pretty good” to “He is my God” depending on how much they pay attention. I paid attention from a very early age. He is my God.
Everyone calls their musical hero a “genius”, and on the day that hero dies, that word is echoed by others, die-hard fans or not, for a day or two on social media. The day David Bowie died (and several days that followed) something quite extraordinary happened. It seemed half the world was responding to the news at a “Princess Diana” level-of-loss while the rest of the world was watching in awe, thinking “Who was this guy?”. The tributes were astounding. No one to my knowledge has provoked a team of astronomers to register a constellation in their honour. The Starman got his due.
Artwork by Jas Chiranjiya
Artwork by Jas Chiranjiva
Borrowing from Peter Nicholls of the band IQHQ, this was and still is Bowie:
“He was without doubt a supremely gifted songwriter and enormously charismatic performer, a prodigiously talented and courageous cultural innovator with an insatiable appetite for experimentation and risk-taking. Perhaps above all, though, he was quite simply the most accomplished and versatile singer of his generation, a renowned one-take wonder, thanks to his self-confessed notoriously short attention span in the studio.”
Bowie's charisma was otherworldly. He was exquisitely and strangely beautiful — as if he really had fallen to Earth. He was put here to challenge norms. His intelligence was also 'otherworldly' in a sense — you can see it in old interviews of a 20-something Bowie. You'll spot those subtle moments where the young Bowie is quietly amused amidst a serious conversation but doesn't share those thoughts with the interviewer. On the occasions when does, he eloquently challenges the interviewer.
2
Before his career took off, Bowie studied mime under Lindsay Kemp, who would later become one of the world's most notable mime artists. Mime served as a foundation for Bowie's performance art that gave life to his several alter-egos like Ziggy Stardust, an androgynous glam rock and roll character from outer space with a penchant for Japanese fashion and Kabuki. Of all of Bowie's brilliant personas, Ziggy Stardust was by far his most seductive. The impact his alter-ego made on the youth who were searching for something they could not yet define was phenomenal. Ziggy Stardust was outrageous, irresistibly charismatic and had a great backstory – the last rock star from a dying planet descends on Earth to save our disaffected youth. Bowie knew how to create a concept and flesh it to a degree very few musicians could. As Gary Kemp of the band Spandau Ballet mentions in a BBC podcast titled Ziggy Changed My Life: “[Bowie's 1972 album] The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars would become a benchmark by which a generation would forever judge pop and youth culture.”
Ziggy only existed for a year before Bowie killed him. A bold move — but who else would be so daring? Bowie's next alter-ego would be Aladdin Sane (a lad insane, get it?) who on the album cover of the same name, was depicted with a lightning bolt across his face. An iconic look and symbol that Bowie will always own.
3
Bowie departed almost 14 months ago. He left us with a gift neatly packaged in black on his birthday, two days before he died. Black Star is Bowie's 31st studio album. I dare not say it's his final album. He — as we've come to know — was full of surprises. His 18-month battle with cancer wasn't known to the public and friends who knew him. Black Star was recorded in secret with long-time collaborator producer Tony Visconti. The six partial stars beneath the big star on the album cover spell out BOWIE. Four months after its release, fans were shocked to discover the black paper beneath the cut-out star reveals a star field when held up in light. Not surprisingly, Black Star won Best Recording Package at the 2017 Grammys. Bowie also won Best Alternative Rock Album; Best Engineered Album, Non-Classical; Best Rock Performance and Best Rock Song.
Black Star was already on its way to Number 1 on the UK charts before Bowie's death. Once there, it remained at the top for three weeks. It reached Number 1 in 24 countries and has sold over 2 million copies to date. Bowie will continue to influence us and those who will come after us. What he's done with his 69 years is remarkable. To say there will be no one like him is predictable, but it's true. I've studied his life and career for over three decades and to this day I still can't get enough.
#Black star#David bowie#David bowie death#David bowie grammy#Fweekend#Grammy awards#Grammys 2017#Ziggy stardust
Published Date: Feb 18, 2017 12:46 pm | Updated Date: Feb 23, 2017 03:35 pm
David Bowie Dies at 69; Star Transcended Music, Art and Fashion
By JON PARELESJAN. 11, 2016
Continue reading the main storyShare This Page
Share
Tweet
Email
More
Save
933
Leer en español
Continue reading the main story Slide Show
SLIDE SHOW
|
16 Photos
David Bowie (1947-2016)
David Bowie (1947-2016)CreditRalph Gatti/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images
David Bowie, the infinitely changeable, fiercely forward-looking songwriter who taught generations of musicians about the power of drama, images and personas, died on Sunday, two days after his 69th birthday.
His death was confirmed by his publicist, Steve Martin, on Monday morning. No other details were provided.
Mr. Bowie had been treated for cancer for the last 18 months, according to a statement on his social-media accounts. “David Bowie died peacefully today surrounded by his family,” a post on his Facebook page read.
His last album, “Blackstar,” a collaboration with a jazz quartet that was typically enigmatic and exploratory, was released on Friday — his birthday. He is to be honored with a concert at Carnegie Hall on March 31 featuring the Roots, Cyndi Lauper and the Mountain Goats.
He had also collaborated on an Off Broadway musical, “Lazarus,” which was a surreal sequel to the 1976 film that featured his definitive screen role, “The Man Who Fell to Earth.”
Mr. Bowie wrote songs, above all, about being an outsider: an alien, a misfit, a sexual adventurer, a faraway astronaut. His music was always a mutable blend — rock, cabaret, jazz and what he called “plastic soul” — but it was suffused with genuine soul. He also captured the drama and longing of everyday life, enough to give him No. 1 pop hits like “Let’s Dance.”
Samples of David Bowie’s Hits
His music, always a mutable blend suffused with genuine soul, was in many ways about being an outsider.
In concerts and videos, Mr. Bowie’s costumes and imagery traversed styles, eras and continents, from German Expressionism to commedia dell’arte to Japanese kimonos to spacesuits. He set an example, and a challenge, for every arena spectacle in his wake.
If he had an anthem, it was “Changes,” from his 1971 album “Hunky Dory,” which proclaimed:
Turn and face the strange,
Ch-ch-changes,
Oh look out now you rock and rollers,
Pretty soon now you’re gonna get older.
Mr. Bowie earned admiration and emulation across the musical spectrum — from rockers, balladeers, punks, hip-hop acts, creators of pop spectacles and even classical composers like Philip Glass, who based two symphonies on Mr. Bowie’s albums “Low” and “Heroes.”
Mr. Bowie’s constantly morphing persona was a touchstone for performers like Madonna and Lady Gaga; his determination to stay contemporary introduced his fans to Philadelphia funk, Japanese fashion, German electronica and drum-and-bass dance music.
Nirvana chose to sing “The Man Who Sold the World,” the title song of Mr. Bowie’s 1970 album, in its brief set for “MTV Unplugged in New York” in 1993. “Under Pressure,” a collaboration with the glam-rock group Queen, supplied a bass line for the 1990 Vanilla Ice hit “Ice Ice Baby.”
Yet throughout Mr. Bowie’s metamorphoses, he was always recognizable. His voice was widely imitated but always his own; his message was that there was always empathy beyond difference.
Angst and apocalypse, media and paranoia, distance and yearning were among Mr. Bowie’s lifelong themes. So was a penchant for transgression coupled with a determination to push cult tastes toward the mainstream.
Times Coverage on David Bowie's Death
Mr. Bowie produced albums and wrote songs for some of his idols — Lou Reed, Iggy Pop, Mott the Hoople — that gave them pop hits without causing them to abandon their individuality. And he collaborated with musicians like Brian Eno during the late-1970s period that would become known as his Berlin years and, in his final recordings, with the jazz musicians Maria Schneider and Donny McCaslin, introducing them to many new listeners.
Mr. Bowie was a person of relentless reinvention. He emerged in the late 1960s with the voice of a rock belter but with the sensibility of a cabaret singer, steeped in the dynamics of stage musicals.
He was Major Tom, the lost astronaut in his career-making 1969 hit “Space Oddity.” He was Ziggy Stardust, the otherworldly pop star at the center of his 1972 album, “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars.”
He was the self-destructive Thin White Duke and the minimalist but heartfelt voice of the three albums he recorded in Berlin in the ’70s.
The arrival of MTV in the 1980s was the perfect complement to Mr. Bowie’s sense of theatricality and fashion. “Ashes to Ashes,” the “Space Oddity” sequel that revealed, “We know Major Tom’s a junkie,” and “Let’s Dance,” which offered, “Put on your red shoes and dance the blues,” gave him worldwide popularity.
Mr. Bowie was his generation’s standard-bearer for rock as theater: something constructed and inflated yet sincere in its artifice, saying more than naturalism could. With a voice that dipped down to baritone and leapt into falsetto, he was complexly androgynous, an explorer of human impulses that could not be quantified.
He also pushed the limits of “Fashion” and “Fame,” writing songs with those titles and also thinking deeply about the possibilities and strictures of pop renown.
David Bowie’s Career Milestones
Mr. Bowie was married for more than 20 years to the international model Iman, with whom he had a daughter, Alexandria Zahra Jones. They survive him, as does his son from his marriage to the former Mary Angela Barnett, Duncan Jones, a director best known for the 2009 film “Moon.”
In a post on Twitter, Mr. Jones said: “Very sorry and sad to say it’s true. I’ll be offline for a while. Love to all.”
David Robert Jones was born in London on Jan. 8, 1947, where as a youth he soaked up rock ’n’ roll. He took up the saxophone in the 1960s and started leading bands as a teenager, singing the blues in a succession of unsuccessful groups and singles. He suffered a blow in a teenage brawl that caused his left pupil to be permanently dilated.
Louder
Stay on top of the latest in pop and jazz with reviews, interviews, podcasts and more from The New York Times music critics.
Enter your email address
Sign Up
Receive occasional updates and special offers for The New York Times's products and services.
PRIVACY POLICY
In the late 1960s, Lindsay Kemp, a dancer, actor and mime, became a lasting influence on Mr. Bowie, focusing his interest in movement and artifice. Mr. Bowie’s music turned toward folk-rock and psychedelia. The release of “Space Oddity,” shortly before the Apollo 11 mission put men on the moon in 1969, gained him a British pop audience and, when it was rereleased in 1973 in the United States, an American one.
By then, with the albums “Hunky Dory,” “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars” and “Aladdin Sane,” Mr. Bowie had become a pioneer of glam rock and a major star in Britain, playing up an androgynous image. But he also had difficulties separating his onstage personas from real life and succumbed to drug problems, particularly cocaine use. In 1973, he abruptly announced his retirement — though it was the retirement of Ziggy Stardust, not of Mr. Bowie.
He moved to the United States in 1974 and made “Diamond Dogs,” which included the hit “Rebel Rebel.” In 1975, he turned toward funk with the album “Young Americans,” recorded primarily in Philadelphia with collaborators, including a young Luther Vandross. John Lennon joined Mr. Bowie in writing and singing the hit “Fame.” Mr. Bowie’s 1976 album “Station to Station” yielded more hits, but drug problems were making Mr. Bowie increasingly unstable; in interviews, he made pro-fascist pronouncements that he would soon disown.
For a far-reaching change of environment, and to get away from drugs, Mr. Bowie moved in 1976 to Switzerland and then to West Berlin, part of a divided city with a sound that fascinated him: the Krautrock of Kraftwerk, Can, Neu! and other groups. Mr. Bowie shared a Berlin apartment with Iggy Pop, and he helped produce and write songs for two Iggy Pop albums, “The Idiot” and “Lust for Life.”
Continue reading the main story
Continue reading the main story
Bowie, From Past Pages of The Times
FROM THE ARCHIVE | 1971
First Times Review of a Bowie Album
“The day will come when David Bowie is a star and the crushed remains of his melodies are broadcast from Muzak boxes in every elevator and hotel lobby in town,” Nancy Erlich wrote in The Times.
The New York Times
See full article in TimesMachine 1 of 8
Source: The New York Times
By CLAIRE BARTHELEMY
He also made what is usually called his Berlin trilogy — “Low,” “Heroes” and “Lodger” — working with Mr. Eno and Mr. Bowie’s collaborator over decades, the producer Tony Visconti. They used electronics and experimental methods, like having musicians play unfamiliar instruments, yet songs like “‘Heroes’” conveyed romance against the bleakest odds.
As the 1980s began, Mr. Bowie turned to live theater, performing in multiple cities (including a Broadway run) in the demanding title role of “The Elephant Man.” Yet he would also reach his peak as a mainstream pop musician in that decade — particularly with his 1983 album “Let’s Dance,” which he produced with Nile Rodgers of Chic; the Texas blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughan also performed on the album. By 1989 Mr. Bowie was determined to change again; he recorded, without top billing, as a member of the rock band Tin Machine.
His experiments continued in the 1990s. In 1995, he reconnected with Mr. Eno on an album, “1. Outside,” — influenced by science fiction and film noir — that was intended to be the start of a trilogy. Mr. Bowie toured with Nine Inch Nails in an innovative concert that had his band and Nine Inch Nails merging partway through. Mr. Bowie’s 1997 album, “Earthling,” turned toward the era’s electronic dance music.
By the 21st century, Mr. Bowie was an elder statesman. He had been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1996. In 2001, he sang “Heroes” at the Concert for New York City after the Sept. 11 attacks.
His last tour, after the release of his album “Reality,” ended when he experienced heart problems in 2004. But he continued to lend his imprimatur to newer bands like Arcade Fire, joining them onstage, and TV on the Radio, adding backup vocals in the studio.
In 2006, he performed three songs in public for what would be the final time, at the Keep a Child Alive Black Ball fund-raiser at the Hammerstein Ballroom in New York.
His final albums were a glance back and a new excursion. “The Next Day,” released in 2013, returned to something like the glam-rock sound of his 1970s guitar bands, for new songs suffused with bitter thoughts of mortality. And “Blackstar,” released two days before his death, had him backed by a volatile jazz-based quartet, in songs that contemplated fame, spirituality, lust, death and, as always, startling transformations.
Correction: January 11, 2016
An earlier version of this obituary referred incorrectly to the group Mr. Bowie collaborated with on “Blackstar.” It is a jazz quartet, not quintet.
Caryn Ganz and Juston Jones contributed reporting.
A version of this article appears in print on January 12, 2016, on Page A24 of the New York edition with the headline: David Bowie, Star Whose Fame Transcended Music, Dies at 69. Order Reprints| Today's Paper|Subscribe
Blackstar (album)
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
★
A white background with a large black star and smaller parts of a five-pointed star that spell out "BOWIE"
Cover for CD and digital editions
Studio album by David Bowie
Released 8 January 2016
Recorded January–May 2015
Studio
The Magic Shop
(New York City)
Human Worldwide Studios
(New York City)
Genre
Art rock jazz experimental rock
Length 41:17
Label
ISO RCA Columbia Sony
Producer
David Bowie Tony Visconti
David Bowie chronology
Five Years (1969–1973)
(2015) Blackstar
(2016) Who Can I Be Now? (1974–1976)
(2016)
Singles from Blackstar
"Blackstar"
Released: 19 November 2015
"Lazarus"
Released: 17 December 2015
"I Can't Give Everything Away"
Released: 6 April 2016
★[1] (pronounced and stylised as Blackstar) is the twenty-fifth and final studio album by English musician David Bowie. It was released worldwide through ISO, RCA, Columbia, and Sony on 8 January 2016, coinciding with Bowie's 69th birthday. The album was largely recorded in secret between The Magic Shop and Human Worldwide Studios in New York City with Bowie's longtime co-producer Tony Visconti and a group of local jazz musicians.[2][3] Two days after its release, Bowie died of liver cancer; his illness had not been revealed to the public until then. Co-producer Visconti described the album as Bowie's intended swan song and a "parting gift" for his fans before his death.[4]
Upon release, the album was met with critical acclaim and commercial success, topping charts in a number of countries in the wake of Bowie's death, and becoming Bowie's only album to top the Billboard 200 in the United States.[5] The album remained at the number one position in the UK charts for three weeks.[6] At the 59th Annual Grammy Awards, the album won awards for Best Alternative Music Album; Best Engineered Album, Non-Classical; Best Recording Package, and the title single won Best Rock Performance, and Best Rock Song.[7] The album was also awarded the British Album of the Year award at the 2017 Brit Awards, and Metacritic named it the most critically acclaimed album of the year by music publications.[8]
Contents [hide]
1 Background and recording
2 Composition and influences
3 Release and packaging
4 Critical reception
4.1 Accolades
5 Track listing
6 Personnel
7 Commercial performance
8 Charts
8.1 Weekly charts
8.2 Monthly charts
8.3 Year-end charts
9 Certifications
10 Release history
11 References
12 External links
Background and recording[edit]
Bowie recorded ★ while suffering from liver cancer; his illness was not made public until he died, two days after the album's release.[9] Like Bowie's previous album The Next Day, recording took place in secret at the Magic Shop[10] and Human Worldwide Studios in New York City.[11] Bowie began writing and making demos for songs that appear on Blackstar as soon as sessions for The Next Day concluded. He recruited a local New York jazz combo led by Donny McCaslin as the backing band for the sessions.[12]
Two songs that appear on Blackstar, "Sue (Or in a Season of Crime)" and "'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore", had been previously released, but were rerecorded for Blackstar, including new saxophone parts played on the latter song by McCaslin (replacing parts Bowie played on the original release).[13] The title of the latter derives from the title 'Tis Pity She's a Whore, a play by John Ford, an English dramatist of the 17th century.[14] McCaslin and the rest of the jazz group recorded their parts in the studio over a period of about one week a month from January to March 2015, and were reportedly unaware of Bowie's declining health – according to McCaslin, the band worked with Bowie "essentially from 11 to 4 every day", while bassist Tim Lefebvre stated that "it never looked to us like he was sick".[15] The song "Lazarus" was included in Bowie's Off-Broadway musical of the same name.[16]
Composition and influences[edit]
According to producer Tony Visconti, he and Bowie deliberately attempted "to avoid rock'n’roll"[17] while making the album, and they had been listening to rapper Kendrick Lamar's 2015 album To Pimp a Butterfly during the recording sessions and cited it as an influence. Electronic duo Boards of Canada and experimental hip hop trio Death Grips have also been cited as influences.[17][18] The music on Blackstar has been characterised as incorporating art rock,[19][20] jazz,[21] and experimental rock,[22] as well as elements from industrial rock, folk-pop and hip hop.[23] The saxophone was the first instrument Bowie learned, and he was an avid jazz listener in his youth.[24][25][26] The album's title track incorporates jazztronica,[27] while progressing through a drum and bass-style rhythm, an acid house-inspired portion of the instrumental, a saxophone solo, and a lower-tempo blues-like section.[28][29] Andy Greene of Rolling Stone said that the re-recording of "'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore" was "powered by a hip hop beat and free-form sax."[14] "Dollar Days", the album's sixth track, was created without a preliminary demo being made for the song. McCaslin later stated that Bowie one day "just picked up a guitar ... he had this little idea, and we just learned it right there in the studio."[14] In "I Can't Give Everything Away", the final track, Bowie plays a harmonica solo similar to one from his 1977 instrumental track "A New Career in a New Town" off his album Low (1977).[30]
Billboard and CNN wrote that Bowie's lyrics seem to address his impending death,[31][32] with CNN noting that the album "reveals a man who appears to be grappling with his own mortality".[31] "Lazarus", the third track on the album, was notable for the lines "Look up here, I'm in heaven / I've got scars that can't be seen"; this specific part of the lyrics appeared in many publications following Bowie's death on 10 January.[33] "I Can't Give Everything Away" contains the line "Seeing more and feeling less / Saying no but meaning yes / This is all I ever meant / That's the message that I sent", which led Neil McCormick of The Daily Telegraph to think of the song as a point where "Bowie sounds like he is grappling with his own mystery."[34] "Girl Loves Me", the album's fifth track, was notable for its inclusion of Nadsat, a fictional language created by Anthony Burgess for his 1962 novel A Clockwork Orange, where it was used very often.[35] It also included Polari, a type of slang used commonly in England by homosexual men during the mid-20th century.[14]
Release and packaging[edit]
The title track was released as the album's lead single on 19 November 2015[36] and was used as the opening music for the television series The Last Panthers.[37] "Lazarus" was released on 17 December 2015 as a digital download, and received its world premiere on BBC Radio 6 Music's Steve Lamacq Show the same day.[38] The album was released on 8 January 2016, coinciding with Bowie's 69th birthday.[39][40][41]
The artwork for Blackstar was designed by Jonathan Barnbrook, who had designed the artwork for Bowie's Heathen, Reality and The Next Day. The star image on the cover is credited to NASA in the cd booklet. The five star segments below the main star form the word BOWIE in stylised letters.[42] The vinyl cover, in black, features the star as a cutout section, revealing the record (with an all-black picture label) beneath it. With the record removed, the black paper behind the cut-out star reveals a hidden picture of a starfield when the foldout sleeve is held up to a light source. It took more than four months before fans first discovered the effect. Designer claimed there were many other surprises hidden in the lp's artwork.[43] [44] Music journalists also noted that a "black star lesion," usually found inside a breast, suggests to medical practitioners evidence of certain types of cancer.[45][46]
Blackstar sold 146,000 copies in its first week on sale in the United Kingdom[47] (a week which saw four other Bowie albums in the top 10 and a further seven in the top 40, the latter equalling Elvis Presley's chart record).[48] and more than 181,000 in the United States.[49] Within days of the album's release, online retailer Amazon.com temporarily sold out of both the CD and LP editions of the album.[50] In the week 11–17 January, Blackstar was the most downloaded album in 25 iTunes national charts.[51]
Bowie was the biggest-selling vinyl artist of 2016 in the UK, with five albums in the vinyl Top 30, including Blackstar as the number one selling vinyl album of the year. It sold twice as many copies as the previous year's winner, Adele's 25.[52]
Critical reception[edit]
Professional ratings
Aggregate scores
Source Rating
AnyDecentMusic? 8.4/10[53]
Metacritic 87/100[54]
Review scores
Source Rating
AllMusic 4/5 stars[55]
The A.V. Club A−[56]
The Daily Telegraph 5/5 stars[34]
Entertainment Weekly A−[57]
The Guardian 4/5 stars[12]
The Independent 4/5 stars[58]
NME 4/5[59]
Pitchfork 8.5/10[60]
Rolling Stone 4/5 stars[61]
Spin 7/10[62]
Blackstar received widespread acclaim from music critics. At Metacritic, the album received an average score of 87, which indicates "universal acclaim", based on 43 reviews.[54] Rolling Stone critic David Fricke called Blackstar "a ricochet of textural eccentricity and pictorial-shrapnel writing".[61] Andy Gill of The Independent regarded the record as "the most extreme album of [Bowie's] entire career", stating that "Blackstar is as far as he's strayed from pop."[58] Jon Pareles of The New York Times described the album as "at once emotive and cryptic, structured and spontaneous and, above all, willful, refusing to cater to the expectations of radio stations or fans".[63] The Daily Telegraph's Neil McCormick hailed Blackstar as an "extraordinary" album which "suggests that, like a modern day Lazarus of pop, Bowie is well and truly back from beyond."[34] In a favourable review for Exclaim!, Michael Rancic wrote that Blackstar is "a defining statement from someone who isn't interested in living in the past, but rather, for the first time in a while, waiting for everyone else to catch up".[64]
Reviewing for Q magazine, Tom Doyle wrote, "Blackstar is a more concise statement than The Next Day and a far, far more intriguing one."[20] NME critic Sam Richards stated that Bowie had maintained his "formidable record of reinventing himself" on a "busy, bewildering and occasionally beautiful record", adding that "one of the few certainties we can take from this restless, relentlessly intriguing album is that David Bowie is positively allergic to the idea of heritage rock."[59] Chris Gerard of PopMatters called the album "singular in its unique sound and vibe," describing it as "trippy and majestic head-music spun from moonage daydreams and made for gliding in and out of life."[65] Pitchfork's review of Blackstar, written by Ryan Dombal, was published on the day of the album's release, two days before Bowie's death, and concluded: "This tortured immortality is no gimmick: Bowie will live on long after the man has died. For now, though, he's making the most of his latest reawakening, adding to the myth while the myth is his to hold."[60] Writing for The A.V. Club, which chose it as the best album of 2016, Sean O'Neal described Blackstar as "a sonically adventurous album that proves Bowie was always one step ahead—where he'll now remain in perpetuity."[66]
The album was nominated for the "Top Rock Album" award at the 2016 Billboard Music Awards,[67] but lost out to Blurryface by Twenty One Pilots.
Accolades[edit]
At the end of 2016, Blackstar appeared on a number of critics' lists ranking the year's top albums. According to Metacritic, it was the most prominently ranked record of 2016.[68] At the 59th Annual Grammy Awards in 2017, the album received nominations for Best Alternative Music Album and Best Recording Package, winning both.[69]
Publication Accolade Year Rank Ref.
The A.V. Club 20 Best Albums of 2016 2016
1
[70]
Chicago Tribune Top Albums of 2016 2016
10
[71]
Consequence of Sound Top 50 Albums of 2016 2016
3
[72]
The Independent Best Albums of 2016 2016
17
[73]
Mojo The Best of 2016 2016
1
[74]
The New York Times The Best Albums of 2016 2016
2
[75]
Newsweek Best Albums of 2016 2016
1
[76]
NME NME's Albums of the Year 2016 2016
6
[77]
Paste 50 Best Albums of 2016 2016
1
[78]
Pitchfork The 50 Best Albums of 2016 2016
4
[79]
Q Q's Top 50 Albums of the Year 2016 2016
1
[80]
Rolling Stone 50 Best Albums of 2016 2016
2
[81]
Rolling Stone Readers' Poll: 10 Best Albums of 2016 2016
1
[82]
The Skinny Top 50 Albums of 2016 2016
7
[83]
Stereogum The 50 Best Albums of 2016 2016
5
[84]
Uncut Top 75 Best Albums of 2016 2016
1
[85]
Variance Magazine 50 Best Albums of 2016 2016
2
[86]
The Village Voice Pazz & Jop Music Critics' Poll 2016
1
[87]
The Wire Magazine Top 50 Releases of 2016 2016
1
[88]
Track listing[edit]
All tracks written by David Bowie, except where noted.
Blackstar – CD – vinyl – digital download
No. Title Length
1. "Blackstar" 9:57
2. "'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore" 4:52
3. "Lazarus" 6:22
4. "Sue (Or in a Season of Crime)" (Bowie, Maria Schneider, Paul Bateman, Bob Bharma) 4:40
5. "Girl Loves Me" 4:51
6. "Dollar Days" 4:44
7. "I Can't Give Everything Away" 5:47
Total length: 41:13
Digital download bonus track
No. Title Length
8. "Blackstar" (Video) 9:59
Total length: 51:12
Personnel[edit]
Personnel adapted from Blackstar liner notes.[11]
David Bowie – vocals, acoustic guitar, mixing, production, string arrangements, "Fender Guitar" (3), harmonica (7)
Donny McCaslin – flute, saxophone, woodwinds
Ben Monder – guitar
Jason Lindner – piano, organ, keyboards
Tim Lefebvre – bass
Mark Guiliana – drums, percussion
Kevin Killen – engineering
Erin Tonkon – assistant engineer, backing vocals (2)
Joe Visciano – mixing assistant
Kabir Hermon – assistant engineer
Joe LaPorta – mastering engineer
Tom Elmhirst – mixing engineer
Tony Visconti – production, strings, engineering, mixing engineer
James Murphy – percussion (4 and 5)
Commercial performance[edit]
Blackstar was already on course to debut at number one on the UK Albums Chart prior to the announcement of Bowie's death on 11 January 2016, according to the Official Charts Company.[89] The album debuted at number one after selling 146,000 copies and became his tenth number one album in the UK.[90] The album remained three weeks at number one, falling at number 2 behind another Bowie album, the compilation Best of Bowie (2002), which became the first ever album to get to number one in the UK because of streaming.[6] As of February 2017 it has sold 421,665 copies there.[91]
In the US, the album debuted at number one with 181,000 sales. It marked becoming Bowie's first number one in that country and best weekly sales figure.[5][92] It was the 14th best-selling album in the US in 2016, with 448,000 copies sold that year.[93]
The album also peaked at number one in 24 countries, number 2 in Greece, Mexico, South Korea and Taiwan, number 4 in Hungary and 5 in Japan. As of 2017, the album has sold nearly 2 million copies. [94][95]
Charts[edit]
Weekly charts[edit]
Chart (2016) Peak
position
Australian Albums (ARIA)[96] 1
Austrian Albums (Ö3 Austria)[96] 1
Belgian Albums (Ultratop Flanders)[96] 1
Belgian Albums (Ultratop Wallonia)[96] 1
Canadian Albums (Billboard)[97] 1
Croatian International Albums (HDU)[98] 1
Czech Albums (IFPI Czech Republic)[99] 1
Danish Albums (Hitlisten)[96] 1
Dutch Albums (MegaCharts)[96] 1
Finnish Albums (Suomen virallinen lista)[100] 1
French Albums (SNEP)[96] 1
German Albums (Offizielle Top 100)[101] 1
Greek Albums (IFPI Greece)[102] 2
Hungarian Albums (MAHASZ)[103] 4
Irish Albums (IRMA)[104] 1
Italian Albums (FIMI)[105] 1
Japanese Albums (Oricon)[106] 5
Mexican Albums (AMPROFON)[107] 2
New Zealand Albums (RMNZ)[108] 1
Norwegian Albums (VG-lista)[109] 1
Polish Albums (ZPAV)[110] 1
Portuguese Albums (AFP)[96] 1
Russian Albums (2M)[111] 1
Scottish Albums (OCC)[112] 1
South Korean Albums (Gaon)[113] 29
South Korean Albums International (Gaon)[114] 2
Spanish Albums (PROMUSICAE)[96] 1
Swedish Albums (Sverigetopplistan)[96] 1
Swiss Albums (Schweizer Hitparade)[96] 1
Taiwanese Albums (Five Music)[115] 2
UK Albums (OCC)[116] 1
US Billboard 200[49] 1
US Top Alternative Albums (Billboard)[117] 1
US Top Rock Albums (Billboard)[118] 1
US Top Tastemaker Albums (Billboard)[119] 1
Monthly charts[edit]
Chart (2016) Peak
position
Argentine Monthly Albums (CAPIF)[120] 2
Year-end charts[edit]
Chart (2016) Position
Australian Albums (ARIA)[121] 8
Austrian Albums (Ö3 Austria)[122] 6
Belgian Albums (Ultratop Flanders)[123] 3
Belgian Albums (Ultratop Wallonia)[124] 9
Canadian Albums (Billboard)[125] 37
Danish Albums (Hitlisten)[126] 17
Dutch Albums (MegaCharts)[127] 7
French Albums (SNEP)[128] 27
German Albums (Offizielle Top 100)[129] 17
Hungarian Albums (MAHASZ)[130] 65
Italian Albums (FIMI)[131] 16
Japanese Albums (Oricon)[132] 78
Mexican Albums (AMPROFON)[133] 94
New Zealand Albums (RMNZ)[134] 6
Polish Albums (ZPAV)[135] 40
South Korean Albums International (Gaon)[136] 39
Spanish Albums (PROMUSICAE)[137] 23
Swedish Albums Chart[138] 20
Swiss Albums (Schweizer Hitparade)[139] 6
UK Albums (OCC)[140] 6
US Billboard 200[141] 64
US Billboard Top Rock Albums[142] 4
Certifications[edit]
Region Certification Certified units/Sales
Australia (ARIA)[143] Platinum 70,000^
Austria (IFPI Austria)[144] Platinum 15,000*
Belgium (BEA)[145] Platinum 30,000*
Canada (Music Canada)[146] Platinum 80,000^
Denmark (IFPI Denmark)[147] Gold 10,000^
France (SNEP)[148] Platinum 100,000*
Germany (BVMI)[149] Gold 100,000^
Italy (FIMI)[150] Platinum 50,000*
New Zealand (RMNZ)[151] Gold 7,500^
Poland (ZPAV)[152] Gold 10,000*
Spain (PROMUSICAE)[153] Gold 20,000^
United Kingdom (BPI)[154] Platinum 421,665[155]
United States (RIAA)[156] Gold 500,000double-dagger
*sales figures based on certification alone
^shipments figures based on certification alone
Release history[edit]
Region Date Format(s) Label Ref.
Europe 8 January 2016
CD digital download vinyl
ISO Sony
[157]
United Kingdom
ISO RCA
[158][159][160]
United States
ISO Columbia
[161][162][163]
Lazarus (musical)
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Lazarus
Lazarus-poster.png
Off-Broadway promotional poster
Music David Bowie
Lyrics David Bowie
Book Enda Walsh
Basis The Man Who Fell to Earth
by Walter Tevis
Productions
2015 Off-Broadway
2016 West End
Lazarus is a musical with music and lyrics composed by David Bowie. First performed at the end of 2015, it was one of the last works Bowie completed before his death on 10 January 2016. The musical is inspired by Walter Tevis's novel The Man Who Fell to Earth; Bowie previously starred in the 1976 film adaptation of the same name, directed by Nicolas Roeg.
Contents [hide]
1 New York production
1.1 Production details
1.2 Cast
1.3 Notable events
1.4 Critical reception
2 London production
2.1 Production details
2.2 Cast
3 Songs
4 Original cast recording
5 Awards and nominations
5.1 Original Off-Broadway production
5.2 Original West End production
6 References
New York production[edit]
Production details[edit]
The musical was staged for a limited run at New York Theatre Workshop in Manhattan, directed by Ivo van Hove.[1][2] Like Bowie's contemporary album Blackstar (with which it shares the song "Lazarus"),[3] much of the production of the musical was kept secret until its first preview in November 2015. The musical opened on 7 December 2015[4] with a planned run through 17 January 2016,[5] although the production was extended to 20 January 2016.[6] Tickets to the entire run of the musical sold out within hours of being made available.[7]
Cast[edit]
Michael C. Hall as Thomas Jerome Newton.[4]
Cristin Milioti as Newton's assistant, Elly.[8]
Sophia Anne Caruso as Newton's muse.[9]
Michael Esper as Valentine.[9]
Alan Cumming as the girl's killer (video insert)[10]
Notable events[edit]
Bowie's last public appearance was at 7 December 2015 opening night of the production.[11]
New York City's mayor's office declared the final day of the play's run (20 January 2016) "David Bowie Day" in honour of the late artist and presented the proclamation to managing director Jeremy Blocker at the curtain call of the final show.[12]
Critical reception[edit]
Ben Brantley said in his review of the production in The New York Times that "Ice-bolts of ecstasy shoot like novas through the fabulous muddle and murk of Lazarus, the great-sounding, great-looking and mind numbing new musical built around songs by David Bowie."[13] Rolling Stone called the musical a "tour de force" and "theater at its finest."[9]
London production[edit]
Production details[edit]
A London production of the musical was announced in July 2016. The London production ran at the Kings Cross Theatre from 8 November 2016 to 22 January 2017, with previews beginning the week of 25 October.[14][15]
Ivo van Hove directed the London production.[16] The London production was produced by Robert Fox Ltd. and Jones/Tintoretto Entertainment.[17]
Cast[edit]
Michael C. Hall as Thomas Jerome Newton[16]
Amy Lennox as Newton's assistant, Elly[15]
Sophia Anne Caruso as Newton's muse[16]
Michael Esper as Valentine[16]
Jamie Muscato as Ben[15]
Additional cast members:[15]
Gabrielle Brooks
Sydnie Christmas
Richard Hansell
Maimuna Memon
Tom Parsons
Julie Yammanee
Songs[edit]
Lazarus features a number of songs from Bowie's back catalogue as well as three new tracks ("No Plan", "Killing a Little Time", "When I Met You").[18]
All tracks written by David Bowie, except where noted.
No. Title Original album Length
1. "Lazarus" Blackstar (2016)
2. "It's No Game (Part 1)" Scary Monsters (1980)
3. "This Is Not America" (written by Bowie, Pat Metheny and Lyle Mays) The Falcon and the Snowman (1985)
4. "The Man Who Sold the World" The Man Who Sold the World (1970)
5. "No Plan" No Plan (2017)
6. "Love Is Lost" The Next Day (2013)
7. "Changes" Hunky Dory (1971)
8. "Where Are We Now?" The Next Day (2013)
9. "Absolute Beginners" Absolute Beginners (1986)
10. "Dirty Boys" The Next Day (2013)
11. "Killing A Little Time" No Plan (2017)
12. "Life on Mars?" Hunky Dory (1971)
13. "All the Young Dudes" All the Young Dudes (1972)
14. "Sound and Vision" Low (1977)
15. "Always Crashing in the Same Car" Low (1977)
16. "Valentine's Day" The Next Day (2013)
17. "When I Met You" No Plan (2017)
18. ""Heroes"" (written by Bowie and Brian Eno) "Heroes" (1977)
Original cast recording[edit]
On 21 October 2016, the original cast recording, Lazarus, was released. The album also features three previously unreleased songs from Bowie, among the last he recorded prior to his death.
Awards and nominations[edit]
Original Off-Broadway production[edit]
Year Award Category Nominee Outcome
2016 Drama Desk Awards Outstanding Actor in a Musical Michael C. Hall Nominated
Outstanding Sound Design in a Musical Brian Ronan Nominated
Outstanding Projection Design Tal Yarden Nominated
Drama League Awards Distinguished Performance Michael C. Hall Nominated
Outer Critics Circle Awards Outstanding New Off-Broadway Musical Nominated
Outstanding Book of a Musical (Broadway or Off-Broadway) Enda Walsh Nominated
Outstanding Featured Actor in a Musical Michael Esper Nominated
Outstanding Featured Actress in a Musical Sophia Anne Caruso Nominated
Outstanding Projection Design (Play or Musical) Tal Yarden Nominated
Lucille Lortel Awards Outstanding Lead Actor in a Musical Michael C. Hall Nominated
Outstanding Lead Actress in a Musical Sophia Anne Caruso Nominated
Original West End production[edit]
Year Award ceremony Category Nominee Result
2017 WhatsOnStage Awards Best Actor in a Musical Michael C. Hall Nominated
Best Supporting Actress in a Musical Amy Lennox Nominated
Sophia Anne Caruso Nominated
Best Video Design Tal Yarden Nominated
David Bowie
Born: January 08, 1947 in London, United Kingdom
Died: January 10, 2016 in New York, New York, United States
Other Names : Jones, David Robert (British pop singer); The Thin White Duke; Ziggy Stardust
Nationality: British
Occupation: Rock singer
Contemporary Authors Online. Detroit: Gale, 2016. From Literature Resource Center.
Full Text: COPYRIGHT 2017 Gale, Cengage Learning
Updated:Feb. 24, 2017
Table of Contents
Listen
PERSONAL INFORMATION:
Born January 8, 1947, in London, England; died of cancer, January 10, 2016; son of Haywood Stenton (in public relations) and Margaret Mary (Burns) Jones; married Mary Angela Barnett (a model), March 20, 1970 (divorced, 1980); married Iman Abdulmajid (a model, actress, and cosmetics entrepreneur), April 24, 1992; children: (first marriage) Duncan Zowie Haywood Jones, (second marriage) Alexandria Zahra Jones. Education: Educated in England; studied saxophone under Ronnie Ross; studied mime under Lindsay Kemp.
CAREER:
Songwriter and performer. Member of various musical groups, including "Davie Jones with the King Bees," "The Manish Boys," "Davy Jones and the Lower Third," and "Feathers," c. 1964-68, and "Tin Machine," c. 1989-92. Actor in motion pictures, including The Man Who Fell to Earth, 1976, Just a Gigolo, 1979, The Hunger, 1983, Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence, 1983, Absolute Beginners, 1986, Labyrinth, 1986, The Last Temptation of Christ, 1988, Fire Walk with Me, 1992, and Basquiat, 1996; actor in television plays, including Baal, 1981; and actor in stage productions, including The Elephant Man, 1980. Producer of recordings; narrator of Peter and the Wolf by Sergei Prokofiev, RCA, 1978. Music and art critic for such publications as Q and Modern Painters, beginning c. 1994; exhibiting visual artist, beginning c. 1994; book publisher; and Internet entrepreneur.
AWARDS:
Grammy Award for Best Rock Song, 2017, for "Blackstar."
WORKS:
WRITINGS:
SONG LYRICS; AND COMPOSER, UNLESS OTHERWISE NOTED
David Bowie (contains "Uncle Arthur," "Sell Me a Coat," "Rubber Band," "Love You Till Tuesday," "There Is a Happy Land," "We Are Hungry Men," "When I Live My Dream," "Little Bombardier," "Silly Boy Blue," "Come and Buy My Toys," "Join the Gang," "She's Got Medals," "Maid of Bond Street," and "Please Mr. Gravedigger"), Deram, 1967, re-released, Rebound, 1998.
Space Oddity a.k.a. Man of Words, Man of Music a.k.a. David Bowie (contains "Space Oddity," "Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed," "Letter to Hermione," "Cygnet Committee," "Janine," "An Occasional Dream," "The Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud," "God Knows I'm Good," and "Memory of a Free Festival"), Mercury, 1969, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
The Man Who Sold the World (contains "Width of a Circle," "All the Madmen," "Black Country Rock," "After All," "Running Gun Blues" "Saviour Machine," "She Shook Me Cold," "The Man Who Sold the World," and "The Supermen"), Mercury, 1970, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
Hunky Dory (contains "Changes," "Oh! You Pretty Things," "Eight Line Poem," "Life on Mars?," "Kooks," "Quicksand," "Andy Warhol," "Song for Bob Dylan," "Queen Bitch," and "The Bewlay Brothers"), RCA, 1971, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (contains "Five Years," "Soul Love," "Moonage Daydream," "Starman," "Lady Stardust," "Star," "Hang on to Yourself," "Ziggy Stardust," "Suffragette City," and "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide"), RCA, 1972, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
Aladdin Sane (contains "Watch That Man," "Aladdin Sane [1913-1938-197?,]" "Drive-in Saturday," "Panic in Detroit," "Cracked Actor," "Time," "The Prettiest Star," "The Jean Genie," and "Lady Grinning Soul"), RCA, 1973, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
Diamond Dogs (contains "Future Legend," "Diamond Dogs," "Sweet Thing/ Candidate/Sweet Thing [Reprise]," "Rebel Rebel," "Rock 'n' Roll with Me" [with Warren Peace], "We Are the Dead," "1984," and "Big Brother/Chant of the Ever Circling Skeletal Family"), RCA, 1974, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
David Live (contains "1984," "Rebel Rebel," "Moonage Daydream," "Sweet Thing," "Changes," "Suffragette City," "Aladdin Sane," "All the Young Dudes," "Cracked Actor," "Rock 'n' Roll with Me," "Watch That Man," "Diamond Dogs," "Big Brother," "Width of a Circle," "The Jean Genie," and "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide"), RCA, 1974, re-released, Rykodisc, 1990.
Young Americans (contains "Young Americans," "Win," "Fascination" [with Luther Vandross], "Right," "Somebody up There Likes Me," "Can You Hear Me," and "Fame" [with Carlos Alomar and John Lennon]), RCA, 1975, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
Station to Station (contains "Station to Station," "Golden Years," "Word on a Wing," "TVC15," and "Stay," RCA, 1976, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
Low (contains "Speed of Life," "Breaking Glass" [with Dennis Davis and George Murray], "What in the World," "Sound and Vision," "Always Crashing in the Same Car," "Be My Wife," "A New Career in a New Town," "Warszawa" [with Brian Eno], "Art Decade," "Weeping Wall," and "Subterraneans"), RCA, 1977, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
"Heroes" (contains "Beauty and the Beast," "Joe the Lion," "'Heroes'" [with Eno], "Sons of the Silent Age," "Blackout," "V-2 Schneider," "Sense of Doubt," "Moss Garden" [with Eno], "Neuköln" [with Eno], and "The Secret Life of Arabia," [with Eno and Alomar]), RCA, 1977, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
Stage (contains "Hang on to Yourself," "Ziggy Stardust," "Five Years," "Soul Love," "Star," "Station to Station," "Fame," "TVC15," "Warszawa," "Speed of Life," "Art Decade," "Sense of Doubt," "Breaking Glass," "Heroes," "What in the World," "Blackout," and "Beauty and the Beast"), RCA, 1978, re-released, Rykodisc, 1991.
Lodger (contains "Fantastic Voyage" [with Eno], "African Night Flight" [with Eno], "Move On," "Yassassin," "Red Sails" [with Eno], "D.J." [with Eno and Alomar], "Look Back in Anger" [with Eno], "Boys Keep Swinging" [with Eno], "Repetition," and "Red Money" [with Alomar]), RCA, 1979, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) (contains "It's No Game [Part 1]," "Up the Hill Backwards," "Scary Monsters [and Super Creeps]," "Ashes to Ashes," "Fashion," "Teenage Wildlife," "Scream like a Baby," "Because You're Young," and "It's No Game [Part 2]"), RCA, 1980 , re-released, Virgin, 1999.
Let's Dance (contains "Modern Love," "China Girl" [with Iggy Pop], "Let's Dance," "Without You," "Ricochet," "Cat People [Putting out Fire]" [with Giorgio Moroder], and "Shake It"), EMI, 1983, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
Ziggy Stardust: The Motion Picture (contains "Hang on to Yourself," "Ziggy Stardust," "Watch That Man," "The Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud/All the Young Dudes/Oh! You Pretty Things," "Moonage Daydream," "Space Oddity," "Cracked Actor," "Time," "Width of a Circle," "Changes," "Suffragette City," and "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide"), RCA, 1983, re-released, Rykodisc, 1991.
Tonight (contains "Loving the Alien," "Tonight" [with Pop], "Neighborhood Threat" [with Pop], "Blue Jean," "Tumble and Twirl" [with Pop], and "Dancing with the Big Boys" [with Pop and Alomar]), EMI, 1984, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
Never Let Me Down (contains "Day-In Day-Out," "Time Will Crawl," "Beat of Your Drum," "Never Let Me Down" [with Alomar], "Zeroes," "Glass Spider," "Shining Star [Makin' My Love]," "New York's in Love," "'87 and Cry," and "Too Dizzy" [with Erdal Kizilcay], EMI, 1987, re-released, Virgin, 1999.
Black Tie White Noise (contains "The Wedding," "You've Been Around" [with Reeves Gabrels], "Black Tie White Noise," "Jump They Say," "Pallas Athena," "Miracle Goodnight," "Looking for Lester," and "The Wedding Song"), Savage, 1993, re-released, Virgin, 1995.
The Buddha of Suburbia (contains "Buddha of Suburbia," "Sex and the Church," "South Horizon," "The Mysteries," "Bleed like a Craze, Dad," "Strangers When We Meet," "Dead against It," "Untitled No. 1," "Ian Fish, U.K. Heir," and "Buddha of Suburbia"), Arista, 1993, re-released, Virgin, 1995.
Santa Monica '72 (contains "Intro," "Hang on to Yourself," "Ziggy Stardust," "Changes," "The Supermen," "Life on Mars?," "Five Years," "Space Oddity," "Andy Warhol," "My Death," "Width of a Circle," "Queen Bitch," "Moonage Daydream," "John, I'm Only Dancing," "The Jean Genie," "Suffragette City," and "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide"), Griffin, 1994.
Outside (contains "Leon Takes Us Outside" [with Eno, Gabrels, Mike Garson, Kizilcay, and Sterling Campbell], "Outside" [with Kevin Armstrong], "The Hearts Filthy Lesson" [with Eno, Gabrels, Garson, Kizilcay, and Campbell], "A Small Plot of Land" [with Eno, Gabrels, Garson, Kizilcay, and Campbell], "Segue--Baby Grace [A Horrid Cassette]" [with Eno, Gabrels, Garson, Kizilcay, and Campbell], "Hallo Spaceboy" [with Eno], "The Motel," "I Have Not Been to Oxford Town" [with Eno], "No Control" [with Eno], "Segue--Algeria Touchshriek" [with Eno, Gabrels, Garson, Kizilcay, and Campbell], "The Voyeur of Utter Destruction [As Beauty]" [with Eno and Gabrels], "Segue--Ramona A. Stone/I Am with Name" [with Eno, Gabrels, Garson, Kizilcay, and Campbell], "Wishful Beginnings" [with Eno], "We Prick You" [with Eno], "Segue--Nathan Adler" [with Eno, Gabrels, Garson, Kizilcay, and Campbell], "I'm Deranged" [with Eno], "Thru' These Architects Eyes" [with Gabrels], "Segue--Nathan Adler" [with Eno], and "Strangers When We Meet"), Virgin, 1995.
Earthling (contains "Little Wonder" [with Gabrels and Mark Plati], "Looking for Satellites" [with Gabrels and Plati], "Battle for Britain [The Letter]" [with Gabrels and Plati], "Seven Years in Tibet" [with Gabrels], "Dead Man Walking" [with Gabrels], "Telling Lies," "The Last Thing You Should Do" [with Gabrels and Plati], "I'm Afraid of Americans" [with Eno], and "Law [Earthlings on Fire]" [with Gabrels]), Virgin, 1997.
"hours..." (contains "Thursday's Child" [with Gabrels], "Something in the Air" [with Gabrels], "Survive" [with Gabrels], "If I'm Dreaming My Life" [with Gabrels], "Seven" [with Gabrels], "What's Really Happening" [with Gabrels and Alex Grant], "The Pretty Things Are Going to Hell" [with Gabrels], "New Angels of Promise" [with Gabrels], "Brilliant Adventure" [with Gabrels], and "The Dreamers" [with Gabrels]), Virgin, 1999.
Bowie at the Beeb (contains "In the Heat of the Morning," "London Bye Ta Ta," "Karma Man," "Silly Boy Blue," "Let Me Sleep beside You," "Janine," "God Knows I'm Good," "The Width of a Circle," "Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed," "Cygnet Committee," "Memory of a Free Festival," "Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud," "Bombers," "Looking for a Friend," "Kooks," "It Ain't Easy," "The Supermen," "Eight Line Poem," "Hang on to Yourself," "Ziggy Stardust," "Queen Bitch," "Waiting for the Man," "Five Years," "White Light/ White Heat," "Moonage Daydream," "Suffragette City," "Starman," "Space Oddity," "Changes," "Oh! You Pretty Things," "Andy Warhol," "Lady Stardust," "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide," "Wild Is the Wind," "Ashes to Ashes," "Seven," "This Is Not America" [with Pat Metheny], "Absolute Beginners," "Always Crashing in the Same Car," "Survive," "Little Wonder," "Man Who Sold the World," "Fame," "Stay," "Hallo Spaceboy," "Cracked Actor," "I'm Afraid of Americans," and "Let's Dance"), Virgin, 2000.
All Saints (contains "A New Career in a New Town," "V-2 Schneider," "Abdulmajid," "Weeping Wall," "All Saints" [with Eno], "Art Decade," "Crystal Japan," "Brilliant Adventure," "Sense of Doubt," "Moss Garden," "Neuköln," "The Mysteries," "Ian Fish, U.K. Heir," "Subterraneans," "Warszawa," and "Some Are" [with Eno and Philip Glass]), Virgin, 2001.
Also author of songs on greatest hits compilations, including ChangesBowie, Rykodisc, 1990, and rarities collections, including Sound + Vision, Rykodisc, 1990; contributor to soundtrack albums, including Labyrinth, EMI, 1986, and Christiane F., Virgin, 2001; co-author of albums with Iggy Pop: The Idiot, RCA, 1977; Lust for Life, RCA, 1977; and Blah Blah Blah, A&M, 1986. Coauthor of albums with Tin Machine including Tin Machine, EMI, 1989; Tin Machine II, London, 1991; and Oy Vey, Baby, Victory, 1992.
Sidelights
David Bowie is considered one of rock music's most prophetic and unusual talents. Since the 1960s he has combined ideas from the social fringe and the artistic avant-garde with the visceral appeal of popular music and multimedia spectacle to achieve cult stature and eventually superstardom. He was a forerunner of both glitter rock and disco, and his collaborations with Brian Eno placed him squarely in the rock avant-grade.
Also defining Bowie's career has been a Warholian disregard for the boundary between art and commerce. Throughout the 1970s, with challenging material that earned him celebrity and sales, Bowie straddled the line. A 1980s detour into mainstream fare made many feel he'd fallen over the line into sheer commercialism. But by the end of the 1990s, with a small industry of financial ventures and online services based on his back catalogue and a restored reputation for his newer work, he once more bestrode the line like a pop-culture colossus. Observer journalist Sean O'Hagan marked the start of the performer's fifth decade in entertainment by terming him the "quintessential twenty-first-century pop icon."
Bowie, born David Robert Jones, was born in 1947 amidst middle-class London surroundings which gave little indication or encouragement of the advances he would later make. While his high school education set him toward a vocation in commercial art, he was also introduced to the literary and musical subcultures of Beat-generation London by his older half-brother Terry. While still in school David embarked on an itinerant music career, eventually changing his name to Bowie to avoid confusion with Monkees lead singer Davy Jones. Not long after Terry had sparked Bowie's choice of profession, Bowie saw him institutionalized for the mental illness common in their family. The event haunted Bowie, and was a likely influence on his career-long exploration of altered states of personality and perception.
In his youth and early career Bowie dabbled in diverse artforms and influences, thereby establishing a wealth of perspectives for his mature phase, though none of them lasted very long at the time. He came close to taking his vows as a Buddhist monk, and seriously studied mime, at one point actually opening for rock band Tyrannosaurus Rex in that capacity, with a wordless one-man play about the Chinese invasion of Tibet. He worked as an advertising illustrator and ran a community arts center, appeared in an ice cream commercial and an independent film, and experimented with both straight and gay lifestyles. He marketed himself as an R&B saxophonist, a mod rocker, and a music-hall-inspired mainstream entertainer, first in a string of undistinguished bands and then as a solo act. He would also incarnate as a hippie folksinger and a principal in the psychedelic performance troupe Feathers before emerging as an innovative and controversial mass-media personality in what must have seemed to many an overnight ascent.
Up to 1969 about all Bowie had to show for this creative turmoil was a handful of mildly ambitious if often derivative singles and an obscure album of musical comedy-inspired originals. Bowie did conceive and star in arguably the first long-form music video ever made, Love You till Tuesday, but an uncomprehending market kept it without an outlet, and it remained unreleased for decades. His first genuine success came with a 1969 single, "Space Oddity." Impressed with Stanley Kubrick's film 2001: A Space Odyssey, Bowie penned his song about a golden-boy astronaut, Major Tom, who breaks contact with earth and continues journeying through the universe instead of returning home to his wife.
"Space Oddity"'s drop-out ethic and cautionary spin on mainstream society's celebration of the space program resonated with both hippie hopes of transcendence and machine-age moods of disillusionment. However Bowie's next two albums would find him struggling to coalesce a distinct identity musically, even as he advanced his abilities as a lyricist. 1969's Man of Words, Man of Music (later known as Space Oddity) alternated between solo acoustic-guitar balladry, folk-rock, and the kind of orchestrated pop for which his previous manager had groomed him.
Bowie's third LP, The Man Who Sold the World, was lumbering heavy metal with lounge and synth-rock leanings and was released in 1970. Violence and lust were its themes; tracks like "Running Gun Blues" and "She Shook Me Cold" portrayed cynical characters for whom brutality is pleasurable and sex parasitic. The cover photography for The Man Who Sold the World probably had as great an effect on Bowie's career as did any of the music from that album. Bowie was shown heavily made-up, wearing an evening dress and jewelry and reclining on a sofa in a pose he called "a parody of Gabriel Rossetti." This penchant for cross-dressing would become the focus of intense media scrutiny for the performer over the next few years.
Bowie's songwriting fully came of age on 1971's Hunky Dory, an album that matched confected pop melodies with dissident sentiments and apocalyptic scenarios. Thematically, songs such as "Quicksand" and "Bewlay Brothers" are stark, introspective laments about surviving in a society where nonconformity is either ridiculed or condemned. The work was considered quite avant-garde for American tastes at the time: John Mendelsohn, writing in Rolling Stone, noted that on the record, "Bowie's music offers an experience that is as intriguing as it is chilling, but only to the listener sufficiently together to withstand its schizophrenia." At the time, according to George Tremblett in his David Bowie: Living on the Brink, Bowie declared his intentions, stating that rock music needed to be "tarted up, made into a prostitute, a parody of itself."
In 1972 Bowie saw the commercial currents gathering into a wave of popularity for the glitter-rock or "glam" movement, and he jumped on. The genre, defined by circus-like flamboyance, sexual ambiguity, and sing-songy tunes subverted by hard-rock arrangements, had a showmanship and skepticism that appealed to a hedonistic yet still discontented post-'60s generation, becoming wise to the manipulations of media spectacle. In this spirit Bowie adopted an imaginary superstar persona which turned him into an actual one, even as the album he built around the character told a story which served as a landmark exposé of celebrity egomania.
The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust, the tale of a great and tragic rock-star casualty, was hailed as Bowie's first masterpiece, and commented upon its own medium in a manner more common in the conceptual art world than in the pop business of the day. Bowie assumed the "Ziggy" character in concert, and even in interviews. "I began to wonder what it would be like to be a rock and roll star," he said, "so I wrote a script." The script was derived from an actual incident involving Vince Taylor, an American rock performer whom Bowie had befriended during the mid-1960s. "He was slowly going crazy," Bowie noted. "Finally, he fired his band and went onstage one night in a white sheet. He told the audience to rejoice, that he was Jesus. They put him away."
Both Ziggy's fictional band and Bowie's real one were called the Spiders from Mars. Bowie mounted a multimedia assault, with album, spectacular concerts, and an abortive film. His manager tightly controlled press access, orchestrated fan hysteria, and bedecked Bowie in the trappings of superstar affluence long before he had achieved it in reality; in this way Bowie both lampooned and mastered the Warholian art of manufactured celebrity. His arrival for the first leg of his tour was a typically dramatic one: he disembarked in New York from an ocean liner, the Queen Elizabeth II.
Bowie, as Ziggy, became a media sensation in North America. Newsweek, the New York Times, and other periodicals offered treatises that attempted to explain his appeal. A review in the New Yorker of his Carnegie Hall show enthused that it was "as transcendent as rock and roll gets." The Ziggy persona was designed to lampoon the commercialization of the glitter rock era of the early 1970s. But as Time writer Jay Cocks explained, "Bowie was after something more than a shock and a trend. He wanted a confrontation with the innate theatricality of rock. In 1972, when he first hit the stage as Ziggy, decked out in makeup, dye job and psychedelic costume, the rock world was ready. Too much karma, too much good vibes, too much hippy dippy: audiences wanted decadence with a difference. Bowie was there."
Rock legend holds that Bowie came to the brink of a delusional loss of his own identity within the character. Earnest folk and classic-rock fans--who already considered Bowie's flamboyance to be camouflage for deficient musicianship--seized on his supposed crack-up as a cautionary parable of Faustian fame. But Bowie had already moved on, setting his sights back on the medium of theater in planning two stage productions. One was based on Ziggy, whose persona would resurface in Bowie's oeuvre in ways subtle and conspicuous throughout his career, and the other on George Orwell's novel 1984.
The Ziggy show was shelved, and the 1984 project vetoed by Orwell's estate, so Bowie returned to the recording studio to convert the latter into Diamond Dogs (1974). An oblique response to the repression he witnessed on a trip to the Soviet Union and the growing cynicism and belligerence of the West, the album alternated between bleak adaptations of Orwell's dystopian vision, and strangely festive portrayals of a postapocalyptic society populated by feral fashionplates decked out in the trappings of the fallen civilization.
Bowie continued to earn both scorn and laudatory words from various camps in the rock establishment. For his next surprise, Bowie mounted a Young Americans tour before there was a Young Americans album; once it was released he promoted it exclusively through appearances on TV variety shows--in the process clearly anticipating the music video era and furthering his campaign to establish himself in the other media which intrigued him. In November of 1975, Bowie became one of the first white performers to appear on the landmark dance show, Soul Train. One track from Young Americans, "Fame," co-written with guitarist Carlos Alomar and John Lennon, was his most successful single to date; eight years later Time's contributor Jay Cocks noted that it "has a good claim to being the first breakthrough disco song."
In 1976, Bowie accepted his first major film role as the star of The Man Who Fell to Earth. While confirming his dramatic credentials, it paradoxically provoked his high-profile return to the recording studio and the concert stage. When an expected soundtrack album to the film fell through, Bowie rushed to maintain his footing in multiple entertainment industries by quickly recording and touring Station to Station (1976). The album and tour solidified his pop songcraft while expanding the influences he synthesized into it, and fortified his commercial success while escalating his pre-Young Americans critique of mass culture. In the studio, Bowie meshed top funk musicians with his own imperious cabaret croon, for an alternately icy and incendiary type of lounge-soul that echoed into the "new romantic" genre of arch dance-pop in the '80s and the ironic cocktail-music revival of the '90s. In concert, he assumed the persona of "The Thin White Duke," a Eurocentric aristocrat prone to fascist iconography in props, dress, and gesture. Bowie again extended the character offstage, making troubling far-right remarks to the press, and spent many years repenting for a phase he attributed to drug-fueled dementia.
Nonetheless, Bowie's de rigueur rock-star drug use was reaching fearsome proportions, epitomized by his comment years later that he "can't remember 1975." After a legendary intervention by two unidentified friends, he abandoned the decadent Los Angeles lifestyle for relative anonymity and solitude in West Berlin. The personal excesses proved easier to abandon than the chemical ones; though publicity portrayed him as clean and sober from then on, Bowie now confirms that his addictions persisted into the early '90s. Still, he regained his focus, bringing forth what many critics and fans consider the most important work of his career. He collaborated on two historic albums with punk precursor Iggy Pop, The Idiot and Lust for Life, both released in 1977. But for his own albums, Bowie teamed with conceptual rock trailblazer Brian Eno on what came to be famous as the "Berlin Trilogy." A pioneer of the synthesizer, Eno was best known for sweeping, atmospheric instrumentals that set the blueprint for both "new age" mood music and the "ambient" genre of '90s "electronica." He also specialized in fragmentary, eccentric pop vignettes that reflected the shortening attention spans of a media-saturated era. Bowie adopted both forms for Low and "Heroes" (both 1977), giving many listeners and future musicians their first exposure to Eno's innovations and adding intermittent, disjointed lyrics which would influence the chic alienation of later "new wave" acts.
Returning to Berlin and Eno, Bowie completed Lodger (1979), which incorporates the polyglot of ethnic influences hinted at on Heroes into a series of quirky pop tunes with African, Turkish, Jamaican, and other influences in a presentiment of the "world music" boom. Still interested in an acting career, Bowie played the lead role in the demanding Broadway play The Elephant Man in 1980 to near-unanimous critical approval. Maintaining his presence and preserving his options in both highbrow and vernacular arenas, Bowie simultaneously released Scary Monsters, a masterful album of cacophonous but catchy post-punk that sold surprisingly well and set a standard for the following decade of alternative music.
These two accomplishments formed a finale for this phase of Bowie's career. Said to be distraught over the murder of his friend John Lennon and determined to take a larger role in the upbringing of his young son (Zowie, a.k.a. Joe Jones), Bowie retreated from the spotlight for three years. He stepped back into it briefly in 1981 and 1982 for a handful of rock and high-art place-holders--on the one hand, the theme song to the film Cat People and the hit duet with Queen, "Under Pressure"; on the other, a starring role in the BBC production of Bertolt Brecht's first play, Baal, the grim tale of an amoral wartime troubadour, which was accompanied by a soundtrack EP that featured some of the most haunting vocal performances of Bowie's career.
When Bowie returned to the music scene, it was in his least recognizable guise yet. 1983's Let's Dance commenced a six-year period that was Bowie's most commercially successful but least favorite. He reportedly earned the first real money of his career, after a tour netted him nearly $7 million. Recanting his sexual and musical experimentation and producing an album of unstoppably salable dance-pop, Bowie personified Reagan-era conformity in what might have been his most biting character if not for the uneasy feeling that this time he was not kidding. The critical reception was wary. A People commentator noted that the effort seemed to mark a return to one previous incarnation, at least: "Bowie discovered back in the mid-70s with Young Americans that while artsy experimentation may win him critical plaudits, it's punchy dance tunes that deliver the commercial knockout," the review observed. Cocks gave Let's Dance a more positive spin in Time. "His new material is unabashedly commercial, melodically alliterative and lyrically smart at the same time," Cocks maintained.
Let's Dance emerged at a time in rock and pop when a seismic shift seemed imminent. Rock began calcifying into metal, while the punk movement gave way to New Wave. Cocks, writing in Time, theorized about Bowie's position in the musical timeline, asserting that "Bowie made some of the most adventurous rock of the past decade." "It laid down rules and set new marks for others to follow. Bowie kept the cutting edge keen. There are few punks or New wavers or art rockers or New Dancers dancing to New Music who do not owe him an abiding debt. Everyone from Gary Numan to Talking Heads and Human League and Culture Club ought to make a deep bow in his direction."
The Let's Dance tour sold out stadiums, and Bowie's ticket receipts matched those of the Police and Michael Jackson that year. The success of the record won Bowie a fleeting following while dismaying former fans; meanwhile Bowie's interest and creativity had concentrated elsewhere, in the performing arts. The videos for the title track and "China Girl"--a track co-authored with Iggy Pop--maintained his knack for controversy and pop-culture critique. As the "Australian Invasion" found white acts from Down Under overrunning the same pop charts Bowie was climbing, the scenario for "Let's Dance" depicted a young Aboriginal couple's rejection by and of white Australian society, in a vignette Bowie described, at the height of Cold War tensions, as "Russian social realism." The "China Girl" clip ran through a recriminating fantasia of stereotypes as imagined by the song's racist narrator, and ended in a widely censored beach lovemaking scene that revealed the singer's bare backside long before male nudity was acceptable. In the same year, Bowie starred in The Hunger and Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence, the former a disturbing bohemian vampire movie and the latter a provocative account of life in a World War II Japanese prison camp.
Clearly Bowie hadn't completely lost his lofty leanings, and was fretting to interviewers about the commercial pandering of Let's Dance as early as 1984, when he released the sonically lush but emotionally remote Tonight. It included a pop single, "Blue Jean," and a cover of the Beach Boys hit "God Only Knows." The title track was borrowed from Iggy Pop's Lust for Life album, and employed guest vocalist Tina Turner. Rolling Stone's Kurt Loder called it "one of the most vibrantly beautiful tracks he's ever recorded," but savaged the remainder of the record. "Considering what Bowie is capable of, Tonight is an uninspired disappointment," Loder remarked. Bowie discussed Tonight in an interview with Charles Shaar Murray published in Rolling Stone. He admitted that he had not played any instruments on it, nor become involved with its production, as he had during other points of his career. While he told Murray he had been writing new songs again, he explained that his ever-changing musical direction was somewhat of a mystery to him as well. "I have as little idea as anybody about what comes next. I'm terribly intuitive," he told Murray. "I always thought I was intellectual about what I do, but I've come to the realization that I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing half the time; that the majority of the stuff I do is totally intuitive."
Tonight was followed by the exuberant but unresolved Never Let Me Down (1987), a collection that floundered between the turbulent soundscapes and troubled lyrics of Bowie's heyday and some of the most mercenary pop he'd ever put his name to. People's David Hiltbrand gave solid marks to only one track, "Bang Bang," written by Iggy Pop and Ivan Kraal. "Here Bowie emulates to good effect the arch detachment that marked Iggy's latest album, Blah Blah Blah," Hiltbrand wrote. A much-maligned, extravagant "Glass Spider" tour followed, and Bowie continued his occasional foray into film. In 1988, he played Pontius Pilate in Martin Scorcese's The Last Temptation of Christ.
Bowie next resurfaced in 1989 as a member of a low-profile band unit, Tin Machine, consisting of himself, Reeves Gabrels, and the high-powered rhythm section of drummer Hunt Sales and bass player Tony Sales, whom Bowie had worked with as fellow backup musicians for Iggy Pop years before. The band explored the musical fringes Bowie had abandoned in his previous incarnation, and was a forceful gesture to restore the artistic hunger of his earlier days. The outfit stayed lean and little, eschewing Bowie's hits and playing venues much smaller than it could have on the strength of those songs.
Just as critics and fans who had written Bowie off were once more taking notice, he lowered expectations again by abruptly putting the band on indefinite hold the following year. He had re-released his classic pre-Let's Dance albums on Rykodisc, an independent label smaller than the majors but willing to give his catalogue lavish production values and high fanfare. Part of that fanfare was a world tour of his hits, mounted at the record company's request. Bowie hired respected alternative-pop guitarist Adrian Belew as his band leader and, for the tour's visual presentation, collaborated with Édouard Lock, choreographer and stage designer of the Quebec-based avant-garde dance troupe La La La Human Steps, for a stark setting in which video and live performance interacted in ways that revolutionized the rock concert and were heavily influential on U2's better-known ZOO-TV tour two years later.
Bowie made an unexpected return to solo recording in 1993 with his most underrated album, Black Tie White Noise, which challengingly filtered the infectious dance-pop of Bowie's biggest hits through the bleak sensibility of his artiest endeavors for a macabre and mournful take on the electronic club music of the time. Some of the material had been written for his wedding ceremony in 1992, when he married model and business executive Iman. Unfortunately few even noticed the comeback due to the album's U.S. label going bankrupt shortly after its release, and even fewer expressed interest due to Bowie's choice of his Let's Dance collaborator Nile Rodgers as producer. But while Let's Dance was Bowie's most timid album, Black Tie was one of his most experimental. Maclean's critic Nicholas Jennings found it filled with "some of his freshest sounds in years," and noted that though it reunited Bowie with Let's Dance producer Rodgers, the new effort was both "jazzier and funkier" and "an eclectic, horn-fuelled outing."
A closet intellectual, Bowie never abandoned his interest in the visual arts, and started to build quite a resume as a music and art critic. After decades of dabbling, he started seriously exhibiting his own work, often with such controversial neo-pop figures as dissection artist Damien Hirst, who helped revitalize Britain's visual-arts scene. In 1995 Bowie decided to bridge these sophisticated pursuits with his pop-music practice, and enlisted Brian Eno for the reunion album Outside. The duo's preparation became the stuff of instant public-relations legend. They dressed their recording studio as an art atelier, and visited famed collections of mental patients' paintings for inspiration. Eno encouraged the musicians to paint and sculpt as a catalyst to creativity, and instead of describing how he wanted them to play, he wrote them character sketches to get into. "We both share a great passion for the breakdown of boundaries between the art forms, because we've both always been involved in this nebulous area called multimedia," Bowie told Billboard writer Melinda Newman. "I've always felt that film and theater and fashion and art and music all go together."
Outside, unfortunately, failed to elicit a positive response from either the critical establishment or the record-buying public. "Eno returns the dark, fringy clatier to Bowie's music," stated Entertainment Weekly's David Browne in one of his more charitable assessments. People reviewer Jeremy Helligar commended the title track for a "gothic sweep" reminiscent of past Bowie classics and also liked "The Heart's Filthy Lesson," which Helligar stated "bounces about like industrial hip hop on speed." The album was also a multimedia project: Bowie's Internet site offered character profiles for the art-murder mystery, sound clips, and artwork; Entertainment Weekly writer Ty Burr was so entranced by it that he advised readers to "skip the album and surf the site instead."
Calculated or not, Outside reestablished the desired respect from press and public. This sparked a renaissance in Bowie's creative confidence, freeing him to follow up with two of the most inspired and well-received albums in his career. Though they couldn't have been more different from each other, each expressed Bowie's reflections on advancing technology. Earthling (1997), a crowning achievement of edgy yet infectious pop, is a summation of the electronica style of manic computer-manipulated beats, muzak-like ambient vistas, sampled found-sound collage, and ghostly vocals, rooted in the Bowie/Eno Berlin Trilogy. As he'd done with glam on Ziggy Stardust, Bowie took a vanguard style and made it his own. People critic Peter Castro noted that a few other younger artists had ventured into the jungle genre, "but so far no one as mainstream as Bowie . . . has made it as accessible." Castro also pointed out that few of Bowie's superstar-contemporaries from the 1970s were venturing into any sort of musical innovation in their current projects.
Anticipating a pendulum swing from the high-tech to the humanistic, "hours . . ." (1999) is an ingenious reinvention of the confessional singer-songwriter genre for the digital age, setting chilly computerized textures alongside a dazzling array of influences from the opposite end of the musical spectrum in both style and era, including coffeehouse acoustic balladry, crunching heavy metal, and the quaint jingles of Bowie's own mid-'60s apprenticeship. Reviews were mixed. One track, "Thursday's Child" was termed "the loveliest ballad Bowie's written in an aeon, sung by a man who feels let down by everything in his life except his mate," observed Entertainment Weekly critic Chris Willman. However, the critic faulted the remainder of the songs, remarking that the effort "goes a ways toward proving how hard it is to write about ennui without succumbing to it."
Bowie was not just engaging the new technology as subject matter. Years before the Napster controversy came to a head, he became the first major-label artist to offer a single exclusively on the Internet with 1996's "Telling Lies." He went on to found the first artist-run Internet Service Provider, BowieNet, which supplied both AOL-style services and exclusive access to special concerts, along with artist chats and downloadable sound files from his impressive trove of rare and unreleased material. In a characteristic blur between art and commerce, this service generously established an "online community" of aficionados while cornering the market on obscure Bowie material, which disappeared from elsewhere on the Web with uncommon thoroughness. Another site, Bowieart, presented emerging visual artists and sold their work without the confiscatory commissions of many galleries. On the commerce side of the equation, Bowie also became the first rock star to trade himself on the stock market, floating bonds against the royalties on his back catalogue, which was perennially re-released to increasing sales and licensed to the highest-bidding TV commercial producers. His BowieBanc.com site offered online banking services, checks and credit cards bearing his likeness, and a year's subscription to BowieNet.
By 2000 hints of new outlets for Bowie's restless creativity included a completed but unreleased collection of revivals and new songs in the style of his '60s rarities, which he'd begun performing revitalized updates of after "hours. . ."; an in-progress album of contemporary experimental tunes reuniting him with his definitive '70s producer Tony Visconti; and a rumored Ziggy resurrection, this time for stage, screen, and Web site.
FURTHER READINGS:
FURTHER READINGS ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
BOOKS
The Complete David Bowie, Trafalgar Square, 2000.
The Complete Guide to the Music of David Bowie, Omnibus Press, 1997.
Red Rocket 7, Dark Horse Comics, 1998.
David Bowie Black Book, Omnibus Press, 1984.
David Bowie: An Illustrated Record, Avon, 1981.
Sandford, Christopher, David Bowie: Loving the Alien, Da Capo Press, 1998.
Tremblett, George, David Bowie: Living on the Brink, Carroll & Graf, 1997.
PERIODICALS
Arena, spring-summer, 1993.
Billboard, March 27, 1993, Melinda Newman, "First Bowie Set in 6 Years is Black-Tie Event," p. 12; August 19, 1995, Melinda Newman, "David Bowie Returns to Drama," p. 8; December 28, 1996, Melinda Newman, "Bowie's BMG/Virgin Album Boasts Radio-Friendly Beats," p. 15.
Circus, December 22, 1977.
Entertainment Weekly, September 29, 1995, David Browne, review ofOutside, p. 62; October 20, 1995, Ty Burr, review of David Bowie Outside (World Wide Web site), p. 70; October 15, 1999, Chris Willman, "Golden Years," p. 77.
Maclean's, May 10, 1993, Nicholas Jennings, review of Black Tie White Noise, p. 54.
New Musical Express, September 13, 1980.
Observer (London, England), January 16, 2000, Sean O'Hagan, "Major Tom.com"; September 30, 2001, Stuart Husband, "Stardust Memories."
People, May 30, 1983, review of Let's Dance, p. 24; May 25, 1987, David Hiltbrand, review of Never Let Me Down, p. 22; December 18, 1989, Andrew Abrahams, review of Sound + Vision, p. 25; October 16, 1995, Jeremy Helligar, "Fame, Fame," and review of Outside, p. 32; February 17, 1997, Peter Castro, review of Earthling, p. 27.
Rolling Stone, March 17, 1983, Pablo Guzman, "New Bowie Album Called 'Modern Big-Band Rock,'" p. 44; October 25, 1984, Charles Shaar Murray, "Let's Talk," p. 14; November 8, 1984, Kurt Loder, review of Tonight, p. 71; December 20, 1984, review of Tonight, p. 108.
Time, July 18, 1983, Jay Cocks, "David Bowie Rockets Onward," p. 54.
OTHER
Bowieart, http://www.bowieart.com (October 22, 2001).
David Bowie Fan Page, http://www.teenagewildlife.com (October 22, 2001).
David Bowie Web site, http://www.davidbowie.com (October 22, 2001).
David Bowie Wonderworld Fan Site, http://www.bowiewonderworld.com (October 22, 2001).
Mitch Schneider Organization, http://www.msopr.com (October 22, 2001).
Sonicnet, http://www.sonicnet.com (October 22, 2001).
Sound + Vision (boxed set booklet), Rykodisc, 1989.*
Blackstar
Damon Orion
Spirituality & Health Magazine. 19.3 (May-June 2016): p72.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 Spirituality & Health Magazine
http://www.spirituality-health.com/spirit/
Listen
Full Text:
Blackstar
David Bowie
COLUMBIA RECORDS
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
IN A LESSER-KNOWN TUNE called "Black Star," Elvis Presley once sang, "When a man sees his black star, he knows his time has come."
More than half a century later, on the birthday that he shared with Elvis, David Bowie released his 25th album, * (pronounced "Blackstar," a medical term for a type of cancer lesion). Two days later, he died of cancer at age 69. Artistic to the last, the Starman lived just long enough for his age to match the symbol for the astrological sign of Cancer, thus turning his exit from this world into a multi-layered Crowleyan pun.
At the outset of Blackstar's lavish title track--a dreamlike, hallucinatory jazztronica piece that spans almost 10 minutes--a slightly jarring syncopated drum and bass rhythm warns listeners not to let Bowie's trance-inducing vocal lull them into a false sense of security. Jazz saxophonist Donny McCaslin and his quartet create a strange and compelling mesh of electronic and analog instrumentation, including strings and woodwinds. In a passage whose first line is rhythmically similar to that of his classic early '70s tune "Changes," Bowie sings, "Something happened on the day he died: spirit rose a meter and stepped aside."
Beyond the implications of its title, "Lazarus" (a song that shares its title with an off-Broadway musical whose songs Bowie composed shortly before his passing) is rich with allusions to the singer's impending reunion with the Great Mystery. "Look up here. I'm in Heaven," the vocalist intones, as if envisioning his words reaching listeners posthumously. In an increasingly urgent tone, he sings, "Just like that bluebird, I'll be free."
Blackstar's music is alternately placid and unsettling, seeming to illustrate Bowie's own fluctuation between discomfort and acceptance. The relatively tranquil feel of the album's final two songs implies that the turbulence has passed, leaving only wistfulness and resignation. In "Dollar Days," Bowie sings, "If I never manage to see the English evergreens I'm running to, it's nothing to me," while in "I Can't Give Everything Away," he muses, "Seeing more and feeling less; saying no but meaning yes--this is all I ever meant. That's the message that I sent."
Blackstar is not a grand summation of Bowie's life and body of work. It is, however, a powerful and compelling swan song from an artist who was creating groundbreaking music all the way to his last breath.--DAMON ORION
Orion, Damon
Bowie flirts with death (musically)
Jody Rosen
Billboard. 128.1 (Jan. 16, 2016): p51.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 e5 Global Media, LLC
Listen
Full Text:
****
DAVID BOWIE
Blackstar
Columbia
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
THE NEW DAVID BOWIE RELEASE, Blackstar, begins with an execution, and from there the tidings only get grimmer. His 25th studio album features just seven songs, but they serve up a veritable Grand Guignol of dread, death, even dismemberment.
Blackstar opens with the sprawling title track, whose scene is laid in a candlelit villa where "On the day of execution/ Only women kneel and smile." Images of sadomasochism and castration flicker through the lyrics in "Tis a Pity She's a Whore"; "Lazarus" is narrated from beyond the grave, by a ghost who drops his cellphone from heaven to the earth below, presumably adding to the body count.
There's a straight murder ballad, "Sue (Or in a Season of Crime)," and a menacing song delivered largely in Nadsat, the lingo spoken by the teenage thugs in Anthony Burgess' A Clockwork Orange. ("Choodesny with the red rot/Libbilubbing litso-fitso," Bowie hisses.) The album ends with the churning "I Can't Give Everything Away," which seems to offer some relief from the bleakness, until you listen more closely: "The blackout hearts, the flowered news/With skull designs upon my shoes." The reaper wears a skate-rat's high-tops, and he's tiptoeing up behind you.
It's tempting to say Bowie is channeling the Zeitgeist, filling songs with the fury and foreboding of the scourged world of 2016. (Bowie reportedly told Donny McCaslin, the jazz saxophonist whose quartet forms the core of the backing group on Blackstar, that the title track is about ISIS.) On the other hand, for Bowie, such subject matter is nothing new. From the ill-fated astronaut of "Space Oddity" to the lovers cowering beneath flying bullets in "Heroes," much of his greatest music has been streaked with violence and doom.
In any case, a listener may leave the precise meaning of the album to Bowie's most dedicated decipherers. What grips your attention on Blackstar is not sense but sound--the rumble, snarl and screech of the music, which is as potent as any he has produced in quite some time. (It's far more focused than The Next Day, Bowie's appealing but mushy 2013 comeback.) Much has been made of his choice of jazz collaborators, but to call this album jazz is as wrong as it would be to call it art rock, or funk, or electronica--though all of those styles and more are stirred into the mix. Blackstar is unmistakably a band record, showcasing a talented group of musicians who are comfortable navigating the songs' harmonically twisty byways. Together with Bowie's intrepid longtime right-hand man, producer Tony Visconti, they give the record a distinctively eerie, muscular stamp.
You can hear that chemistry' on the title track, which justifies the sprawl of its nine-plus minutes, moving from a stuttering intro bolstered by McCaslin's honking sax into a plangent soul ballad and then a sinister, groaning coda. The combined effect is goth, in the sense that Chartres Cathedral is goth: The song is a grand edifice, ornamented with spires and gargoyles, with towering vaults beneath which the music echoes and howls.
Nothing on Blackstar quite matches the majesty and weirdness of that opener, but nearly everything comes close. Special credit goes to the rhythm section, bassist Tim Lefebvre and drummer Mark Guiliana, who lock into Bowie's grooves, tilting the music in the direction of spooky funk. Then there's guitarist Ben Monder, who plays the Robert Fripp role impressively on songs like "Lazarus" and the lovely "Dollar Day's" with a lyrical combination of delicacy and clatter.
Bowieologists already are likening the album to his great Berlin experiments Low or "Heroes." It's to Bowie's credit that the comparisons don't quite fit. Blackstar is its own strange, perverse thing, the latest move in a boundlessly unpredictable career. Bowie turns 69 on its release date, Jan. 8, yet he remains as committed to novelty as anyone in pop. He also remains a powerful and effective singer, displaying the full range of his tricks on Blackstar--whispering, warbling, shrieking and dropping into his most romantic baritone-Bowie croon to deliver lyrics like "I want eagles in my daydreams and diamonds in my eyes." That line is one of the more hopeful on a discomfiting record, an album that keeps you riveted even when--especially when--it creeps you out.--JODY ROSEN
Caption: The 69-year-old legend's 25th album is filled with songs about death, and doom.
The Critics: January 11, 2016; Lindsay Zoladz on David Bowie's Blackstar ... Matt Zoller Seitz on The X-Files ... David Edelstein on Son of Saul
Lindsay Zoladz, Matt Zoller Seitz and David Edelstein
New York. (Jan. 11, 2016):
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 New York Media
http://nymag.com/
Listen
Full Text:
Byline: lindsay zoladz, matt zoller seitz, david edelstein
pop / lindsay zoladz
The Man Who Sold the Weird David Bowie gets strange again on Blackstar.
the longest song that David Bowie has ever recorded is, still, 'Station to Station,' the ten-minute-and-14-second opening salvo from his erratic and wonderful 1976 hit record of the same name. (The album and its creator both have birthdays this month, turning 40 and 69, respectively.) An epic, freewheeling homage to Kraftwerk, Kabbalah, Alastair Crowley, and Christ (its title, Bowie has said, was inspired not by train travel so much as the stations of the cross), 'Station to Station' remains one of the most formally adventurous things Bowie's ever done: an assertively funky groove speckled with proto-industrial noise that--midway through, at the drop of a drum fill--suddenly explodes into a galloping glam-rock number. It's all dizzyingly intoxicating and somehow lovely. 'It's not the side effects of the cocaine,' Bowie yelps in the second half of the song, 'I'm thinking that it must be love!' Famously, and for reasons to which that lyric alludes, Bowie has said in later years that he has absolutely no recollection of making this song.
'Blackstar,' the ominous, nine-minute-and-57-second opening track on Bowie's new album, feels immediately like a spiritual cousin of 'Station to Station.' Or maybe it feels like its sober-but-still-eccentric uncle: wiser, more patient, but somehow more genuinely strange because that strangeness can no longer be blamed on truckloads of drugs. 'On the day of execution,' Bowie sings in a droning, haunted, multitracked croon, 'only women kneel and smile.' Like 'Station to Station,' 'Blackstar' has the feel of two songs stitched into one, but the halves interweave more seamlessly here: The second part is an ascension ('Something happened on the day he died ...'), an angelic and almost cartoonishly pretty reverie. The beauty is interrupted, though, when that droning refrain comes back in, and the track climaxes with these two pieces braided together quite eerily, like a round song sung by angels and devils.
What's it all mean? 'Blackstar' was, at least in some way, inspired by the noirish European crime TV show The Last Panthers, for which it is now the theme song. Donny McCaslin, the saxophonist who plays on the track, claims that Bowie told him 'it was about isis.' Tony Visconti, Bowie's longtime producer, with whom he recorded Blackstar, is skeptical of that claim but has gone on record saying he has no clue what the song's about, either. The music video, which looks like Nirvana's 'Heart Shaped Box' video crossed with Pirates of the Caribbean as directed by David Lynch, does not exactly clear things up. But all this inscrutability is definitely good news. Praise be; Bizarro Bowie is back.
The last we'd heard from Bowie was his tuneful, nostalgic 2013 record, The Next Day, his first album after a nine-year post-heart-attack hiatus. Tonally, it's an outlier in his catalogue. Bowie's always been glancing backward, of course, but usually with a self-referential wink; here instead were songs that seemed to achingly long for the past, and none more than the elegiac 'Where Are We Now?,' a rather straightforward reflection on his years in Berlin. The Next Day was a good record, but at times it felt a little too stately and composed. It was a safe, indoor-track victory lap rather than what we've come to expect from Bowie at his best: a jaunty joyride in a stolen car.
In the rearview, The Next Day now feels like a collection of relatively conventional songs Bowie had to get out of his system before moving on to something more characteristically daring. Blackstar is a much wilder record than its predecessor, and that has a lot to do with the energy Bowie's channeling from some new collaborators, the kinetic, avant-garde jazz ensemble the Donny McCaslin Quartet. (Shortly before asking them to play on the record, he stopped by one of their gigs at the West Village's tiny 55 bar, unannounced.) Blackstar proves that, five decades into his career, Bowie remains as open-minded and porous to contemporary influence as ever. Visconti has said they were listening to 'a lot of Kendrick Lamar' while working on the record, and, shockingly, that is actually evident. No, the Thin White Duke isn't spitting bars or anything like that, but there's a definite echo of To Pimp a Butterfly's embrace of jazzy arrangements and heaving, live-band humanity. Sparks fly between the quartet and Bowie. One of my favorite moments on the record comes in the middle of the frenetic ' 'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore'--McCaslin is wailing on a breakneck sax solo, and deep in the mix Bowie can be heard whooping and yelping wordlessly, in admiration of the untamed sounds coming out of this instrument, or perhaps in competition with them.
These songs deal, however obliquely, with murder, death, and all manner of crime. But there's also an undercurrent of domestic banality running through them, and those are often their most unsettling moments. 'Sue, I got the job, we'll buy the house,' Bowie sings on the propulsive 'Sue (Or In a Season of Crime),' warbling unsteadily like the ghost of Willy Loman. Later in the song, at the mention of the seemingly comforting word home, the quartet erupts into a cacophony of dinner-plate-shattering chaos. 'Where the fuck did Monday go?' he chants on 'Girl Loves Me,' a line that seems oddly down-to-earth until it's repeated enough times to become stilted and creepy, like a malfunctioning robot programmed to understand humanity by reading only 'Garfield' strips. Blackstar is a distorted mirror that renders the mundane downright nightmarish.
More than anything else in his discography, Blackstar feels like a tip of the hat to Bowie's longtime musical hero, the '60s heartthrob turned existential troubadour Scott Walker. (He's called the baritone Walker his 'idol' and even executive-produced the mythmaking 2006 documentary Scott Walker: 30 Century Man.) But--blessedly, I think--Blackstar is also an assertion that Bowie can never go full Scott Walker on us; he remains grounded by pop melody even in his most out-there moments. (The record's only moment of dullness is also its tamest, the throwaway acoustic-guitar-driven ditty 'Dollar Days.') And in a way, its expertly maintained balance between self-indulgence and accessibility, between high art and pop, is the most deliciously sinister thing about Blackstar. I've been walking around with the strangest parts of this record lodged in my head like a Katy Perry song, mindlessly humming refrains like 'Where the fuck did Monday go?' and 'On the day of execution / On the day of execution ...' (With all due respect to Walker's dark epic Bish Bosh, I cannot say the same of, say, 'SDSS1416+13B [Zercon, a Flagpole Sitter].') These are diabolical earworms, all the more creepy for their singsongy lucidity. But hasn't that always been Bowie's genius, knowing exactly how much sugar is needed to smuggle in the strange? After all, he's still the same person who got the mainstream to accept everything from androgyny to ambient music, and the same one who, 40 years ago, got millions of people to listen to a ten-minute avant-rock experiment, because you had to play through 'Station to Station' before you got to hear 'Golden Years.'
Blackstar
Pat Saperstein
Variety. 330.13 (Jan. 5, 2016): p104.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 Penske Business Media, LLC
http://variety.com
Listen
Full Text:
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
Blackstar
David Bowie
"Lazarus" is the name of the lead-off single from Bowie's 25th studio album--and the biblical callback couldn't be more appropriate for the newly prolific 69-year-old rock legend. The song is also incorporated in his wildly popular Off Broadway play of the same name.
Not quite dying: David Bowie: The Next Day
Todd Simmons
The Brooklyn Rail. (July-August 2013): p74.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 The Brooklyn Rail, Inc.
http://www.brooklynrail.org
Listen
Full Text:
At the beginning of 2013, # David Bowie wasn't exactly a trending topic. But a week later, with the sudden release of The Next Day, his name was exploding across the Internet in a stampede of chatter. For the first time since 2003, there was finally new music by one of rock's most revered legends. It has been Bowie-mania redux ever since, manifesting in teeming crowds at his major retrospective at the Victoria & Albert Museum in London, a chart-topping record, an avalanche of magazine cover stories, and three high-profile videos. Bowie is back. And so is Tony Visconti.
Brooklyn's Tony Visconti and Brixton-born David Bowie have collaborated on more than a dozen records, beginning with 1969's Space Oddity. Prior to that, the young Bowie had been churning through ill-fitting genres and pounding the London pavement, seeking cracks in the music industry wall to crawl through. He was having little luck gaining career traction while the British Invasion was exploding sea-to-sea without him. The industry hadn't a clue what to make of this mod-turned-freak-folk-hippy, and to be fair, Bowie was still honing his songwriting craft. He was performing in mime troupes and starting band after band, searching for his sound. Meanwhile, Visconti had relocated to London from New York to work with Procol Harum producer Denny Cordell. In his fascinating autobiography, Bowie, Bolan, and the Brooklyn Boy, he recalls his introduction to Bowie in Cordell's office as being something of a musical set-up, the kind that rarely flourishes. However, there was quick chemistry between those two ambitious working-class lads from opposite sides of the Atlantic, and that occasion would prove to set some important gears in motion. Both of their careers would soon gain traction.
With Visconti behind the board, Bowie would create Space Oddity, the first major record of his seismic career and his first chart-topping success. Bowie and Visconti would then parlay that into the ultra-heavy The Man Who Sold the World--not a significant commercial achievement until Nirvana covered its title track in the 1990s, but a powerful musical statement nonetheless. Most importantly, it laid the groundwork for the Ziggy Stardust sound. TMWSTW, on which Visconti played all the bass parts, was a landmark in guitar sound production, thanks in no small part to Mick Ronson, arguably one of the most underrated guitarists in rock history.
More than 40 years later, amidst rampant retirement rumors and with little fanfare, Bowie released the single "Where Are We Now?" on his 66th birthday, and announced that his first new album in a decade would follow. It had been by far the longest hiatus of his legendary career, a virtual lifetime in the age of social media. Bowie's previous LP, Reality, was released, promoted, and toured on before the advent of Facebook and Twitter, but hype has always come naturally to him. Remember, for example, that Bowie was the first major musician to offer up a song for download ("Telling Lies") in 1996. In the era of the blabbermouth, Bowie and Visconti kept the recording sessions for The Next Day completely under the radar. Its existence was never leaked, a feat virtually unthinkable in a time when Twitter has given a platform to every soul on earth to empty their brain out in 140 characters. For two years, nobody said a word. Sure, all involved signed confidentiality agreements, but jaywalking is technically illegal in New York. It was a deep respect for the artistic generosity and work ethic of David Bowie that brought the band together in silence. When I recently asked Visconti if the clandestine pact added a buzz to The Next Day sessions, he said, "It was a buzz, but it was almost damaging. 'What are you doing these days?' was always a tough question to answer because if I say 'nothing' then it looks like I'm out of work. I always took the 6 train home after working in the studio. Our movements were very obvious if you were looking for signs of a new album being recorded. But no one ever put them together."
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
The uproar following Bowie's sudden reemergence showed how the power of restraint could fuel the public's craving for another Bowie chapter. By first releasing the meditatively solemn "Where Are We Now?" Bowie might have fooled some fans into expecting a slow crawl into the grave from the once indefatigable one. However, the ballad of life in Berlin aside, The Next Day is the most distinctly rock 'n' roll album Bowie has made since the first Tin Machine record in 1989.
Despite the easy temptation to indulge in the predictable comeback narrative, Bowie offers no revelatory explanation for his long break from the limelight. Instead, he lets the work speak for itself. Even with his band now talking freely about the recording sessions at the Magic Shop on Crosby Street, Bowie himself is saying little to nothing, leaving the rest of us "squawking like a pink monkey bird--busting up our brains for the words."
"Here I am! Not quite dying!" Bowie rants on the title track of The Next Day, a spine-tingler that launches out of the gate with a single drum crack, and that slyly gleeful declaration signals an exuberant return to form. With the chops of a deft band of returning players behind Bowie, the album sets deathly tales of human depravity against a dynamically gritty yet melodic backdrop. There are high school shooters, prison guards, despots, conflicted soldiers, sinful priests, and desperate celebrities, and these characters rise up on the back of an urgent, guitar-driven sonic landscape--courtesy of Earl Slick, Gerry Leonard, and David Torn. The synthesizer experiments of previous records have largely been replaced by organic, propulsive rock songs. The spiritual ancestors of these tunes could be "Running Gun Blues," "Scream Like a Baby," "Joe The Lion," or "Repetition." In fact, drummer Zachary Alford told Uncut magazine that one of the songs on The Next Day, "Dancing Out in Space," dates from the original Lodger sessions in 1978. Pulsating and hummable, with darkness lurking around the bend, it is Bowie at his edgy best.
It is this combination of personal intensity, melodic depth, and pure instrumental force that makes The Next Day an instant classic that comfortably stands alongside some of Bowie's best work. The album also furthers the legacy of one of music's most fruitful collaborations. By now, Bowie and Visconti are looking at 44 years and counting of compelling alchemy.
TODD SIMMONS lives in Brooklyn and has been writing for the Rail since 2003.
Simmons, Todd
David Bowie: The Next Day
Stuff. 17.5 (May 2013): p142.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 Haymarket Media Group
http://www.haymarket.com/stuff/stuff_magazine/default.aspx
Listen
Full Text:
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
David Bowie The Next Day ****
First, the bad news: this is no Hunky Dory, or Low, or, indeed, Heroes. But the good news is it's also no Earthling. What it is, is a mostly good, sometimes great album that doesn't try too hard to sound contemporary and is all the better for it. He is 66, after all.
David Bowie: Aladdin Sane: 40th Anniversary Edition
Tom Seabrook
Record Collector. .414 (May 2013): p87.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 Metropolis International Group Ltd.
http://www.metropolis.co.uk/consumer-publishing/record-collector
Listen
Full Text:
David Bowie
Aladdin Sane: 40th Anniversary Edition
***
EMI DBAS 40
We should be on by now.
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
You might have noticed one or two mentions in the press recently about a new David Bowie album. (It's good, too maybe the best thing he's done since Sca., oh, never mind.) This Aladdin Sane reissue is very much not the new David Bowie album, and you get the sense, given the timing of its release, that EMI's catalogue department was caught just as unawares as the rest of us by DB's big birthday announcement (itself about as thrilling a surprise as you'll get in modern music).
And that's a shame because, of all Bowie's early 70s efforts, Aladdin Sane is probably the most deserving of a reappraisal--if, indeed, an album that's been reissued on at least five other occasions needs any sort of reintroduction. Famously dubbed "Ziggy goes to America" by the man himself, Aladdin Sane is much more than that. In many ways, it's a refinement of the Ziggy aesthetic: the songs are stronger, the production and musicianship better, the overall effect more cohesive.
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
As with last year's Ziggy redux, the album has been remastered in vivid Technicolor by Ray Staff at AIR Studios, and arrives without "extras", the barrel having long since been emptied. But when an album has songs as good as Drive-In Saturday, Time, Lady Grinning Soul and Cracked Actor, bonus tracks are the last thing you need. Uncertain if you like him? Give him another spin.
Caption: Doom metal's annus miserablis: Cathedral's bell tolls for thee last time
***** ESSENTIAL
**** EXCELLENT
*** GOOD
** FOR COMPLETISTS
* DON'T BOTHER
ALBUMS KEY:
LP (vinyl-only)
CD/LP (both formats available)
CD+DVD (CD-and-DVD package)
2-CD (multi-disc package)
Seabrook, Tom
The Next Day
Pat Saperstein
Variety. 319.1 (Mar. 26, 2013): p104.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 Penske Business Media, LLC
http://variety.com
Listen
Full Text:
The Next Day
David Bowie
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
Listen to Bowie's first album in 10 years the way the Thin White Duke was meant to be heard--on Thin Black Vinyl. Once again artfully musing about fame and fashion, he also makes reference to age and death, delivered in a quavering and emotion filled voice.
Saperstein, Pat
A New 'Day' For Bowie
Phil Gallo
Billboard. 125.10 (Mar. 16, 2013): p87.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 e5 Global Media, LLC
Listen
Full Text:
David Bowie
The Next Day
PRODUCERS: David Bowie, Tony Visconti
LABEL: Iso/Columbia Records
RELEASE DATE: March 12
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
Simultaneously accessible and ambitious, The Next Day, David Bowie's first album in a decade, is laden with musical references to his great '70s work, stunning vocals and lyrics that find the 66-year-old still pondering the stars, self-doubt and death. It's a straightforward rock record, fiddled with melodic hooks. Throughout, his reference points play like a gathering of old friends--melodies conjure John Lennon, a jagged guitar line recalls Robert Fripp, several power chords and layered female voices pay homage to Marc Bolan. Add to that moments recalling Bowie's own work: the drums of "Five Years," guitars of "Aladdin Sane" and the ambience of Lodger. The bands behind him are full of longtime cohorts, and their command of his signature sound, not to mention the abrupt musical twists, provide a resonance on par with Bowie's voice.
Gallo, Phil
David Bowie: The Next Day
Jason Draper
Record Collector. .412 (Mar. 2013): p87.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 Metropolis International Group Ltd.
http://www.metropolis.co.uk/consumer-publishing/record-collector
Listen
Full Text:
David Bowie
The Next Day
****
RCA, cat no tbc (CD / 2-LP)
The confounding return of The Thin White Duke
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
We might have discovered Bowie wasn't an alien years ago, but it's possible he could still be a wizard. After years of silence, the surprise 8 January, 5.01am (12.01am where he lives in New York--the first minute of his 66th birthday) dropping of new single Where Are We Now? ensured that the world was dazzled by Bowie's sudden revealing act come breakfast-time. Yet while the internet (and the fact that, until that morning, it seemed as though we had more chance of a JD Salinger resurrection than a new Bowie album) has given him the tools to make such a stunning guerrilla move, it's also enabled many a leak over the years. The upshot: music journalists now often get just one listen of an album in closed conditions, left to do the best they can on first impressions. With a record as dense as The Next Day, any resulting review is going to be an exercise in damage limitation. It's like the difference between excavating a cave and scratching on walls with a fork.
Initial impressions, then. Check that "Heroes"-reappropriating sleeve and think: if we could have been heroes "just for one day", what happens the day after? Well, strictly speaking, Lodger came out 19 months after but, broadly put, The Next Day has a strikingly post-"Berlin trilogy" feel about it. It could almost have been called The Next Step. And then there's Where Are We Now?, stuffed with reflective references to Bowie's time in the German capital, yet almost resigned and, with an alarmingly frail vocal, a complete wrong-footing. It sounds nothing like the album it's buried in.
"Here I am, not quite dying," Bowie avers on the opening title track, yet the record itself is steeped in death: "Say goodbye to the thrills of life" he sings on early stand-out Love Is Lost, interjecting his own oppressive keyboard stabs like slabs of end times organ. "Where do the boys lie?/Mud mud mud/How does the grass grow?/ Blood blood blood" he chants on How Does The Grass Grow?, amid vocal interpolations of the Apache riff. I'd Rather Be High appears to be sung from the perspective of a young soldier at one point stumbling into a graveyard to whisper something that sounds like: "Just remember, duckies, everybody gets got." Many of these visions occure either at night or as the sun is going down.
This is an album that's only ever going to reveal itself fully as time goes on. For starters, Bowie's voice is often so submerged in the mix that it's difficult to parse what he's singing; even when reduced to a four-piece, the band are unremittingly complex. A lifelong Scott Walker fan, Bowie also appears to have put together his own audio jigsaw puzzle. The influence is writ large on the chilling closer Heat, coming off like Scott's The Electrician, but, whereas Walker draws on historical resources for his albums, The Next Day is littered with references to Bowie's own past--with some lifts from rock's back pages thrown in for good measure (Dancing Out In Space finds him once again in thrall to the rock'n'roll backbeat; Valentine's Day recalls Lennon-led mid-period Beatles).
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
Is it stretching things to suggest that Dirty Boys' "You will buy a feather hat/I will steal a cricket bat" recalls the couple that's mean/drinks all the time in "Heroes" as transplanted into the music-hall world of Bowie's Deram debut? Perhaps, but there's no mistaking Five Years' iconic drum pattern when it sneaks in at the end of You Feel So Lonely You Could Die (itself purloining an Elvis title and giving it a hint of Queen vocal melody). It's done with no fanfare, no signalling: it's just there. And then there's something like the Lust For Life bassline wandering in when you're not looking; or a vocal delivery reminiscent of Lodger's African Night Flight; guitar flourishes with Young Americans' shimmer and jagged solos akin to Robert Fripp's leads on Heroes. There's a moment where he could burst into Boys Keep Swinging, while later offering grim flashes of "a corpse hanging from a beam" (You Feel So Lonely ...).
Once you start hearing these things, it's impossible not to keep looking for them (does the "Mud mud mud"/Apache refrain from How Does The Grass Grow? really have hints of the fake stuck groove that ends Diamond Dogs' Ever Circling Skeletal Family?). Along with long-term collaborators including guitarist Earl Slick, bassist Gail Ann Dorsey and drummer Zachary Alford, Bowie and producer Tony Visconti have spent two years piecing together something that, if it is a jigsaw puzzle, might well be using pieces from different sets. Perhaps it's the natural logjam of ideas that occurs when Bowie stops releasing albums with any regularity. After all, what else has he left to do other than try to make sense of his singular course through rock and pop?
It's become a lazy habit for journalists to append "his best since Scary Monsters" to every Bowie album from 1995's Outside onwards, so how about this: The Next Day is certainly his most engaging and intriguing since Outside. For now, that's more than enough. It brings to mind the story that John Lennon, after writing I Am The Walrus, declared: "Let the fuckers work that one out." As to whether The Next Day will remain a must-hear once the puzzle's been cracked? Only tomorrow will tell. Or maybe the day after.
Caption: Look back in wonder: Bowie plunders his past
***** ESSENTIAL **** EXCELLENT *** GOOD ** FOR COMPLETISTS * DON'T BOTHER
ALBUMS KEY: LP (vinyl-only) CD / LP (both formats available) CD+DVD (CD-and-DVD package) 2-CD (multi-disc package)
Draper, Jason
Bowie's back
Gary Graff
Billboard. 125.3 (Jan. 26, 2013): p54.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 e5 Global Media, LLC
Listen
Full Text:
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
Leave it to David Bowie to ask the question, in song, that we'd all like to put to him--namely, where the hell has he been? It's been a good nine years of seclusion for the rock auteur, and a decade since his last album. The stately, subdued and atmospheric "Where Are We Now?," which precedes March's The Next Day, doesn't provide a lot of answers, though its references to Berlin landmarks like Potsdamer Platz, Numberger Strasse and the KaDeWe store indicate he's been spending some time in the city that inspired his late-'70s albums Low, Heroes and Lodger.
There, the characteristically open-ended lyrics tell us, he's been "a man lost in time ... just walking the dead." Produced by frequent Bowie collaborator Tony Visconti, "Where Are We Now?" boasts some of the ambience of that Berlin trilogy and also shares a slow-burn commonality with a number of U2 ballads, particularly in the gently propulsive bridge that leads to the song's instrumental outro, a lush, winding pattern that just cries out for the Edge's spiraling guitar heroics. It's a gentle but certainly welcome return of the Thin White Duke.--GG
David Bowie
Where Are We Now? (4:08)
PRODUCER: Tony Visconti
WRITER: David Bowie
PUBLISHER: Nipple Music, administered by RZO Music (BMI)
LABEL: ISO/Columbia
Graff, Gary
The eternal space oddity
Kate Mossman
New Statesman. 142.5140 (Jan. 11, 2013): p14.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 New Statesman, Ltd.
http://www.newstatesman.com/
Listen
Full Text:
Apart from a charity gig six years ago, sightings of David Bowie in the past decade have largely been paparazzi shots: a thin, white duke drifting from school gate to home in Manhattan, content with the demands of fatherhood following heart surgery in 2004. Industry friends of mine were asked to write his obituary five years ago. So it was exciting to see the searchlight swing round when, out of nowhere, he announced his first album in ten years and released a single ("Where Are We Now?"), on his 66th birthday, in advance of a huge retrospective opening at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London in March.
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
For a magical moment on the morning of 8 January, the music industry is saved. Charts matter again (emails are pouring in from William Hill); there's proof that you can keep secrets from the internet; the eternal mysteries of pop are restored as that shaky but unmistakeable voice breaks through YouTube, like Gandalf back from the dead.
Why does Bowie still hold such mythical power? Is it because he retired for a decade, ramping up the expectations? Nothing keeps you safer from criticism in the music industry than hardly releasing any music--Kate Bush will testify to that. Or is it because he's always been "ahead of the game"? To be fair, he's not (musically) these days, nor is he pretending to be.
Back to Berlin
"Where Are We Now?", produced by Bowie's long-time wingman Tony Visconti, is a luxuriantly self-reflexive song, reminiscent, with its elegiac chord sequence, of "Thursday's Child" from the1999 album Hours... (which also saw him boldly alluding to much of his previous work). He's been chewing over mortality on his past two albums, with songs such as "Afraid" and the ironic "Never Get Old". It's obvious why. The new single is a sombre walk around his beloved Berlin, communing with ghosts.
If you want witty, equivocal poetry about middle age, listen to Nick Lowe or Chris Difford. Bowie is getting older reluctantly, fearfully, far away from his audience--and for his audience, this is a very powerful thing. The first line he's spoken in years, "Had to get the train from Potsdamer Platz ..." is a call out to the class of '77, sending them right back to those heady times, alone. Musically unremarkable though it maybe, "Where Are We Now?" activates two of the most potent things about popular music: nostalgia and the contemplation of darkness.
A good friend of mine, who gets the whole Bowie thing much better than I will ever do, suggested the other day, "He's never got over the crushing disappointment of learning the world isn't as magical as the one he perceived when he was a child." His playfulness isn't all gone, though. In the new video, with his face projected on to a puppet made of old socks by the artist Tony Oursler, he looks a bit like Avid Merrion's "Bear".
Kate Mossman is the New Statesman's pop critic
Mossman, Kate
David Bowie, Reality
Michael Molenda
Guitar Player. 37.12 (Dec. 2003): p98.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2003 NewBay Media LLC
http://www.guitarplayer.com
Listen
Full Text:
I love David Bowie almost more than I love myself, but someone has to quit calling each new record "a return to form." Truthfully, Davey, you're on a mission I never thought you'd embrace--channeling boredom. Columbia.
Molenda, Michael
Zowie! Bowie! Heathen is David Bowie's sharpest album--and most interesting to gay audiences--in years
Larry Flick
The Advocate. (July 9, 2002): p67.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2002 Regent Media
http://www.advocate.com/
Listen
Full Text:
Heathen * David Bowie * IS0/Columbia
David Bowie has always been an object of affection for lofty queer lads who fancy themselves sophisticated and "open-minded." Unlike Iggy Pop, whose brutish brand of rock and onstage cock-floppin' rendered him sleazily attainable in the minds of his male disciples, Bowie's '70s-era Ziggy Stardust gender-bending and the innate emotional vulnerability and displacement of his lyrics in an unforgivingly macho world made him iconic. And while his subsequent, stylishly fey punk-daddy posings made him less overtly gay-friendly, he nonetheless remained consistently compelling. Even when he squired supermodel Iman down the matrimonial aisle and into the baby delivery room, he seemed, in some small way, to belong to us--even though he has never directly courted the attention or ardor of his gay loyalists.
On Heathen the legendary artist walks a tightrope between asserting his continued rock relevance and revisiting the more introspective ground of his salad days. Reconnecting with producer-collaborator Tony Visconti for the first time in more than 20 years has undeniably revived Bowie's inner poet. They clearly have a natural rapport that seems to unlock a secret mental door for Bowie--it's been 10 years since he's woven prose as thoughtful as the words that fill Heathen.
And this time he's not even pretending to be light or charmingly philosophical. Rather, Bowie bathes in themes of isolation, depression, anxiety, and abandonment. The difference is that his age forces him to confront such concepts and ideas with the perspective of a man who's been wallowing for a lifetime, rather than discovering them and reacting to their newness. He's particularly effective on the elegantly arranged "Afraid," which delicately explores the pain of being ostracized for being different from the rest of society, while the cinematic, expansive "5:15 The Angels Have Gone" delves into the mind of a man who loses everything without warning.
All of this functions within musical contexts that range from ambient pop ("A Better Future") to ornery guitar rock ("Slow Burn"). There are guest appearances by Pete Townshend and Foo Fighters front man Dave Grohl, while Moby and Air provide appropriately atmospheric mixes of several tracks. Also offered is the haunting "I Would Be Your Slave," which Bowie performed at the Tibet House benefit show at Carnegie Hall in New York earlier this year.
In all, Heathen adds up to more than simply Bowie's most commercially viable and creatively satisfying collection of songs in recent memory. It brings the artist back to an emotional point at which his gay audience can tangibly relate. The male-male pronouns aren't there, but as with Ziggy Stardust and the material that surrounded that era, there's an unspoken connection, an understanding that forged a bond that remains unbroken.
Flick is senior talent editor at Billboard.
Flick, Larry
Blackstar
Colin Carman
The Gay & Lesbian Review Worldwide. 23.3 (May-June 2016): p39.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 The Gay & Lesbian Review Worldwide
http://glreview.com
Listen
Full Text:
Blackstar
Album by David Bowie
ISO/Columbia
Leave it to David Bowie to aestheticize his own death. The glam-legend's passing on January 10th, two days after his 69th birthday, coincided with the release of his final album, Blackstar. Comprised of seven down-tempo tracks, Blackstar is the darkest of all swan songs, brought (back) to life by veteran producer Tony Visconti, who fuses sad-sounding saxophones with rock and electronica. On "Lazarus," Bowie imagines himself as a dark god, singing "Look up here, I'm in heaven" before a trio of electric guitar chords rains down like lightning. Apart from the biblical allusion, "Lazarus" is the name of the off-Broadway musical that Bowie co-wrote as a sequel to 1976's The Man Who Fell to Earth, his first major film. There's "'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore" to lighten the mood, albeit briefly; the speaker is beaten by a masculinized woman who "kept my cock" and "stole my purse." The themes on Blackstar are largely existential as the pop star looks back over his life. "By the time I got to New York, I was living like a king," he sings, referring to his Carnegie Hall debut in 1972. On "Dollar Days," he looks back to his childhood as David Robert Jones and the "English evergreens" of his native Brixton. If there's one last deposit in his queer catalog, it could be "Girl Loves Me," which, far from being a love song, paints a grim picture of heterosexuality. "I'm cold to this pig and pug show" is one of the few intelligible lyrics in a song made up of Nadsat (the language in A Clockwork Orange) and the gay argot known as "Polari." In a 1972 interview with Melody Maker, Bowie once blurted out "I'm gay," though he was a married man (and new father) at the time. In 1983 he changed his tune once more, telling Rolling Stone that declaring himself to be bisexual was "the biggest mistake I ever made," since "I was always a closet heterosexual." Whatever Bowie was off the record, his music remains one long study in the erotic enigma of gender and selfhood. Blackstar will not only intensify but complicate his mythic status as the studly starman who fell to earth.
COLIN CARMAN
Carman, Colin
David Bowie's 'No Plan'
USA Today. (Jan. 13, 2017): Lifestyle: p06D.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2017 USA Today
http://www.usatoday.com/
Listen
Full Text:
One year after his death shocked us, David Bowie is being remembered in new films, books and box sets -- including some new music of his own. Even in his final months, Bowie was recording additional songs for his musical, Lazarus. Four previously
unreleased songs make up the new No Plan EP. In Lazarus, the EP's title track is a moody ballad sung by Sophia Anne Caruso; Bowie's version incorporates the same dark, cinematic jazz of his final album, Blackstar, its lyrics taking on renewed meaning after his death: "Here, Second Avenue just out of view / Here, is no traffic here?"
Maeve McDermott
CAPTION(S):
photo STEPHEN CHERNIN, AP
On The Enduring Power Of David Bowie's Parting Gift
Morning Edition. 2016.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 National Public Radio, Inc. (NPR). All rights reserved. Visit our website terms of use and permissions page at www.npr.org for further information. NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by a contractor for NPR, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of NPR's programming is the audio.
http://www.npr.org/templates/rundowns/rundown.php?prgId=3
Listen
Full Text:
To listen to this broadcast, click here:
Play audio
BYLINE: ANN POWERS
HOST: RACHEL MARTIN
RACHEL MARTIN: This is the time of year when music critics go back through all the albums of 2016 and rank them. And there is what may be to some a surprising name at the top of a lot of those lists - the late, great David Bowie.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "BLACKSTAR")
DAVID BOWIE: (Singing) Something happened on the day he died, spirit rose a meter then stepped aside.
MARTIN: The album is called "Blackstar" and it was the pop icon's last album before he died.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "BLACKSTAR")
BOWIE: I'm a blackstar. I'm a blackstar.
MARTIN: NPR's music critic Ann Powers says it set the tone for music throughout the entire year. Ann joins us now to talk more about it. Hi, Ann.
ANN POWERS: Hey, Rachel. How are you today?
MARTIN: I'm doing well. So a huge name, this huge important album that you say you could feel in other works throughout 2016. How so?
POWERS: I think it's safe to say that many of us had a surprisingly challenging year in 2016. Aside from Bowie, there were many other significant music losses including Prince and Leonard Cohen, many others.
MARTIN: Yeah.
POWERS: So to have this beautiful work that gently carries us into the next realm, but at the same time violently engages with the struggle to live and to die. This was an album that many of us returned to to cope with 2016.
(SOUNDBITE OF DAVID BOWIE SONG, "LAZARUS")
MARTIN: David Bowie was fighting cancer when he was making this album and we should say he died just days after its release. Was he in a way writing his own eulogy with this?
POWERS: I mean, there's no doubt that Bowie was aware of how very, very sick he was, but he also kept the dire nature of his illness from his collaborators and insisted that he would be able to continue on. So does it feel like a dying man's gasp? No, it doesn't. It feels so eloquent, yet it offers this view into that experience that is useful to all of us even as it's so sad to listen to.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "LAZARUS")
BOWIE: (Singing) Look up here, I'm in heaven.
MARTIN: And the music itself is distinct, right? It's really different than the Bowie that a lot of us grew up listening to.
POWERS: It's different than the Bowie of "Life On Mars?" or "Let's Dance," but it is consistent with the other major strain throughout Bowie's career which was really art music and experimenting.
(SOUNDBITE OF DAVID BOWIE SONG, "LAZARUS")
POWERS: For this work, Bowie was working with jazz musicians, notably Donny McCaslin and his quartet. So it's different than what you hear on the radio, but it's very much a through-line with his earlier stuff. And, in fact, I think he was looking back on his own canon and those memories are embedded in these songs.
MARTIN: There's obviously a huge emotional component to this work, but as a critic, how do you think it stacks up - this album - against his best work?
POWERS: Oh, I think it will remain in the major canon of David Bowie's work. It's remarkable how well he orchestrated his whole career. Here is a man who began with a plan, who began with an idea to change rock 'n' roll, to make it into a total art form that had room for elements taken from film and theater and all kinds of musical styles. And he did that every phase of his career and with this final one, he realized it beautifully.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "I CAN'T GIVE EVERYTHING AWAY")
BOWIE: (Singing) I know something's very wrong.
MARTIN: NPR music critic Ann Powers. Thanks so much, Ann.
POWERS: Thank you, Rachel.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "I CAN'T GIVE EVERYTHING AWAY")
BOWIE: (Singing) The blackout hearts, the flowered news with skull designs upon my shoes. I can't give...
Album Review - The Next Day
The Times of India. (July 29, 2016): News:
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 Bennett, Coleman & Co. Ltd.
Listen
Full Text:
Byline: Reagan Gavin Rasquinha
Artiste: David BowieAlbum: The Next DayRating: 5/5Price: Rs 399Label: ColumbiaAlbum: Progressive Rock: This album deserves re-visiting once again for the simple fact that few artistes have been as relevant since the 1960s. David Bowie might be no more but his career has consistently been amazing since the time he started out. Having set musical trends and pioneered glam rock, his place is cemented as a musical icon. So, when Bowie released The Next Day (the album would be his second last one) it might not have been a surprise that it peaked at #1 and #2 on the UK and US charts, respectively. It also garnered universal praise from both critics and fans alike. The title track recalls his Berlin Trilogy days while You Feel So Lonely You Could Die reprises Five Years. I'd Rather Be High recalls the majestic Ziggy Stardust era. Teaming up with legendary producer Tony Visconti and a cast of superb musicians, he both challenged the odds and defied expectations with this album. The music is focused, makes you actively listen and sounds refreshingly original. It is a work of art from a man who was as famous for his style and changing personas, as he was for his music.
For Reprint Rights: timescontent.com
Reagan Gavin Rasquinha
The complicated legacy of David Bowie
UWIRE Text. (Jan. 22, 2016): p1.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 Uloop Inc.
http://uwire.com/?s=UWIRE+Text&x=26&y=14&=Go
Listen
Full Text:
After the death of glam-rockstar and pop culture icon David Bowie last week, a huge outpouring of grief, sadness and fondness arose for the late musician, known for his both his solo career and his collaboration with Queen in the hit, "Under Pressure."
Bowie's impact on music obviously goes without saying. As a singer, he was theatrical - a live performer at heart, with many lively songs like "Suffragette City" and more eclectic ones like "Space Oddity." Bowie also performed with artists such as Pink Floyd guitarist David GIlmour, Arcade Fire and Mick Jagger.
Bowie also had a large influence on the fashion world at the time. Eighth-semester English major Alexandra Bell said he was one of the most influential dressers of the time.
"He handpicked aspects of his surroundings and background like the greatest of chefs, cutting up materials, turning them inside out, and combining them seamlessly into something new and vibrant," Bell said, also mentioning that Bowie's clothing style reflected how his music pushed several cultural boundaries for each decade he was in.
For instance, Bell said his Kabuki mime experience reflected the excitement of space travel in the 60s and 70s, as well as the androgynous elegance of the Thin White Duke persona in the 80s and the dark grungy style of Bowie within the 90s.
Bell concluded that Bowie's openness to change and his love of producing art transcends time and genre.
Bowie not only had a huge impact on the fashion and music scene, but also in social consciousness. Though he wasn't necessarily an activist the way famous artists like Joan Baez or Bono are, Bowie still remained aware of several cultural issues at the time, including criticizing MTV in 1983 for not covering black musicians enough.
Take his creative personas - including an androgynous alien-like rock star named Ziggy Stardust - and statements on gender and sexuality that, while not exactly academically professional by modern standards, had sentiments that resonated with many of his fans. It showed people that it was essentially okay to deviate from the norm and that they should express themselves however they wanted.
After getting married to a woman in 1970, Bowie came out as gay to journalist Michael Watts in 1972. Four years later, he told Playboy Magazine that he was bisexual, and in the next decade, Bowie told Rolling Stone that making those statements was "the biggest mistake I ever made" and that in reality he was a "closet heterosexual."
Even after his death, perceptions of his orientation still wildly vary, though New York Times writer Katie Rogers wrote how Bowie's edginess "earned him fast stardom and the freedom to play with gender and sexuality," mentioning that Bowie often played with his personas in a way that made his viewers rethink gender.
"Wherever he fell on the spectrum, Mr. Bowie understood that the entire concept was part spectacle," Rogers wrote. "The preoccupation with the was-he-or-wasn't-he part of Mr. Bowie's sexuality often overshadows his more nuanced contributions to queer culture through imagery and style."
Fourth-semester electrical engineering major Alexandra Zavaglia said Bowie's impact on queer culture should be measured based on how it was received directly during his era and not necessarily just how it is received today.
"He would have had to made music that reached out to people," Zavaglia said in reference to how Bowie may have been able to show kids who didn't necessarily align with a heteronormative, cisgender norms that they could still be successful.
"Someone who has no idea would just think he's weird, so his influence was a combination of his appearance and music," Zavaglia continued. "And that's what he did so well."
However, not all of Bowie's legacy is positive. It's important to mention that Bowie himself has a history of sexual misconduct, which includes a sexual affair with a 15-year old girl, Lori Maddox, according to Mattix in an article published in Thrillist.
Though Maddox wrote that their sexual relationship was consensual - if not common for many rock stars of the era - and that she didn't feel manipulated, her age at the time made her legally unable to consent. By definition, that is rape.
It's hard to ignore a pretty horrifying charge - and people certainly shouldn't brush it off or try to blame Maddox for Bowie's actions. If anything, it shows that Bowie, along with being a transcendent performer presenting revolutionary views on sexuality and gender, was human and that he made a horrendous mistake near the height of his fame - though people trying to accurately remember Bowie should recognize these two aspects of his legacy as separate and not comparable parts of whom he was.
Nonetheless, even with a dark past, Bowie's legacy and performances within the music, fashion and pop culture world remain fascinating despite his passing.
Anokh Palakurthi is the associate Life editor for The Daily Campus. He can be reached via email at anokh.palakurthi@uconn.edu.
Bowie obliterates boundaries on his blazing 'Blackstar'
USA Today. (Jan. 11, 2016): Lifestyle: p05D.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 USA Today
http://www.usatoday.com/
Listen
Full Text:
Has there ever been a pop star cooler than David Bowie? Through a career spanning nearly 50 years and a wide assortment of styles and genres -- including a few he helped pioneer -- this multifaceted artist and personality has continued to pique our curiosity without compromising or embarrassing himself.
Not all of Bowie's projects have been mind-blowing, of course; but his latest album, Blackstar -- released Friday, his 69th birthday -- is an unqualified triumph. Texturally adventurous, sonically stunning and full of both ambivalence and yearning, it reveals a musician who has seldom acknowledged boundaries or courted accessibility in top form, with most accessible results.
Produced by Bowie and longtime colleague Tony Visconti, Blackstar sprang from a period of intense creativity: December marked the off-Broadway opening of Lazarus, a musical Bowie co-wrote with Irish playwright Enda Walsh that was inspired by the novel The Man Who Fell to Earth -- the source material for the 1976 film of the same name, which starred Bowie as an alien on a lonely mission.
The album features a song used in the show, the single Lazarus, a six-minutes-plus scorcher with piercing, crashing guitar riffs and mournful saxophone lines that at one point segue to a cacophonous wail.
Dissonance and melodic pull co-exist, radiantly, throughout Blackstar. On the title track, which clocks in at just under 10 minutes (most of the seven tunes are about half that length), syncopated drums reverberate frantically in an Eastern-flavored arrangement that nods to jazz (a central influence on the album), electronica and symphonic rock.
There's more sax (courtesy of Donny McCaslin, one of the album's MVPs), along with surging synth chords and strains of flute; a trippy bridge features stately strings, arranged by Bowie, who sings, "I want eagles in my daydreams and diamonds in my eyes."
By which Bowie means a well, who knows, exactly? Elusiveness has always been central to his appeal, enabling him to adopt alter egos and use other theatrical and ironic gestures without sacrificing emotional urgency.
If the lyrics on Blackstar can be enigmatic, the music is anything but, assaulting and embracing the listener with direct and irresistible force. 'Tis A Pity She Was A Whore comes at us with a relentless groove, offering long, wild instrumental passages.
Dollar Days is warmer and more bittersweet, with caressing acoustic guitar and piano. On I Can't Give Everything Away, guitars and keyboards swell over a desolate refrain, building with other instruments to a soaring climax.
"I've got drama, can't be stolen," Bowie sings in Lazarus. Blackstar reaffirms both his gift for flash and the soulfulness that sustains it -- the fire under his chilly exterior, which by all indications is burning as bright as ever.
DAVID BOWIE
Blackstar
**** out of four
Rock
download Lazarus, Dollar Days, I Can't Give Everything Away
CAPTION(S):
photo Jimmy King
Bowie drops 'Blackstar' album on 69th birthday
UWIRE Text. (Jan. 10, 2016): p1.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 Uloop Inc.
http://uwire.com/?s=UWIRE+Text&x=26&y=14&=Go
Listen
Full Text:
Rising masterfully from the dead, the modern Lazarus himself, David Bowie, has brought out an album that does not try and therefore succeeds. The artist, once known as Ziggy Stardust, has always had to try to outlive his musical work from the 70as. But here, on his newest record "Blackstar" which dropped on Jan. 8, Bowie returns to life in a darkly distorted mist of jazz and alienation.
The artistas 25th studio album consists of only seven songs, although some extend much farther than a radio song youare used to, and moves pretty far away from the rugged pop sound listeners expected to hear from Bowie when news of a new album surfaced.
"Blackstar" begins with the title track, which rounds off to be about 10 minutes of Bowie singing haunting melodies over a digital drum pattern and some hollow synths teetering between minor keys and major keys as the song continues its disorienting ride. A vibrant saxophone pops up all over the album, but its introduction comes during the first song when an eerie desert sounding solo waves over the lull of the strings. Bowie sings mostly about the death and the meaning "at the center of it all", as the song fills itself in fragment by fragmentasometimes even complete changes in instrumentation, presenting the song in sections like a jazz set.
Perhaps some of his most experimental work since his early albums, Bowie decides not to let us ease into it but to instead dive headfirst into the warped artistas mind and get a good glimpse at his easel.
Bowie leaves us with a piece of art and a pop treasure, although it is hard to classify exactly what genre this song truly falls into, in the form of the albumas third track "Lazarus". Lazarus is a biblical character who was resurrected by Jesus, and the mysteries of this phenomenon caused him to be a wanted man, since his condition was something that could not be explained and therefore frightened people who were afraid to give in to faith. In the song, Bowie questions if life is trapping him and if freedom comes with death, and whether or not he has the capacity for happiness.
The song is elevated by its gorgeous instrumental, which features that saxophone playing a beautiful solemn melody to a distorted muffing riff on the electric guitar. Bowieas natural vocals are so filled with emotion that "Lazarus" quickly settles itself comfortably in your ear.
The album changes its sounds many times, with rougher rock songs like "Sue (Or In a Season of Crime)" in the same place as soft, introspective musings over Pink Floyd-esque acoustic instrumentals like "Dollar Days". "Blackstar" may be the greatest artistic decision David Bowie could have made at this point in his career, creating something entirely new that does not base itself on his name or his legacy but instead pursues the beauty of playing the music that is in his soul.
Review: 'Blackstar,' David Bowie's Emotive and Cryptic New Album
Jon Pareles
The New York Times. (Jan. 7, 2016): Arts and Entertainment: pC3(L).
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 The New York Times Company
http://www.nytimes.com
Listen
Full Text:
David Bowie
''Blackstar''
(ISO/Columbia)
Instability and ambiguity are the only constants on David Bowie's ''Blackstar,'' the strange, daring, ultimately rewarding album he releases this week on his 69th birthday. It's at once emotive and cryptic, structured and spontaneous and, above all, willful, refusing to cater to the expectations of radio stations or fans. The closest thing it offers as an explanation of its message is the title of its finale: ''I Can't Give Everything Away.''
Mr. Bowie's 2013 album, ''The Next Day,'' ended a silence of 10 years between studio albums; it revisited his chunky 1970s guitar-band rock with a mood darkened by bitter awareness of mortality. ''Blackstar,'' stylized as *, veers elsewhere. Mr. Bowie's 2014 anthology ''Nothing Has Changed'' included a new song, ''Sue (Or in a Season of Crime),'' recorded with the Maria Schneider Orchestra, a modern-jazz big band. The quartet led by the saxophonist Donny McCaslin, a mainstay of Ms. Schneider's orchestra, is Mr. Bowie's studio band on ''Blackstar,'' and it jams its way into rock, funk and electronics from a jazz perspective. The group complicates the harmonies and fills the interstices of the songs with improvisation, often with Mr. McCaslin's saxophone chasing Mr. Bowie's voice. The closest thing to ''Blackstar'' among Mr. Bowie's two dozen studio albums is ''1. Outside,'' from 1995, which featured the jazz pianist Mick Garson and also presented more enigmas than answers.
Each song on ''Blackstar'' is restless and mercurial. The 10-minute title track opens the album with wavering guitar and flute tones that refuse to settle on a single key. Mark Guiliana's drumbeat, when it arrives, is a matter of sputtering off-beats and silences, while Mr. Bowie intones lyrics about ''the day of execution.'' Midway through, the song moves through an improvised limbo and coalesces into a different tune: a march with lyrics about a messianic ''blackstar'' who also declares ''I'm not a popstar.'' Eventually the two halves of the song merge, with the opening verses over the march beat, darkening the tone even further. The video clip shows candlelit rituals and, near the end, bloody crucifixions. (Mr. McCaslin told Rolling Stone that Mr. Bowie said the song is ''about ISIS,'' a disputed contention.)
Thoughts of death hover throughout ''Blackstar.'' In ''Lazarus,'' a slowly gathering dirge with jolts from Mr. Bowie on electric guitar, the narrator is ''in heaven'' with ''scars that can't be seen,'' looking back on a profligate life. A remake of ''Sue (Or in a Season of Crime),'' with a hurtling rock beat and Ben Monder's keening guitar replacing Ms. Schneider's impressionistic big-band horn arrangement, leaves unclear whether it is a farewell or a murder confession.
Throughout ''Blackstar,'' Mr. Bowie stays more cantankerous than contemplative. ''Tis a Pity She Was a Whore'' slams out a boom-bap hip-hop beat while Mr. Bowie's voice leaps through an odd-angled melody amid a swarm of overdubbed saxophones. Mr. Bowie delivers ''Girl Loves Me'' in an odd, yodeling cackle, with lyrics that, for reasons unknown, often slip into the Russian-rooted slang Nadsat, from ''A Clockwork Orange.''
This album's last two songs, ''Dollar Days'' and ''I Can't Give Everything Away,'' circle back toward a familiar Bowie approach: the richly melodic, slow-building mid-tempo rocker. ''Dollar Days'' even allows itself some lush strings. But Mr. Bowie isn't suddenly going cozy. In ''Dollar Days,'' he croons, ''I'm dying to/Push their backs against the grain/And fool them all again and again.'' He may be briefly dropping his mask; he may be trying on a new one. Either way, he's not letting himself or his listeners take things easy.
CAPTION(S):
PHOTO
Hear Me Out: David Bowie, ''Tis a Pity She Was a Whore'
UWIRE Text. (Nov. 18, 2014): p1.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2014 Uloop Inc.
http://uwire.com/?s=UWIRE+Text&x=26&y=14&=Go
Listen
Full Text:
Byline: Charlotte L.R. Anrig
'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore
"'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore," David Bowie's newly released single off the upcoming retrospective "Nothing Has Changed," blends classic rock music and modernism with flair typical of the iconic art rocker. Built on a skeleton of anxious synth beats and irregular, high-pitched piano notes, the song emerges as a weirdly compelling jumble of sound: it isn't catchy, but it attracts in its strange patterns and contrasts. Bowie's vocals, too, add an element of interest. Soft, emotional, and muted, heard as if through a wall, they follow a surprisingly simple melody quite at odds with the surrounding instrumental cacophony.
The point of it all, according to Bowie, has to do with abstract painting and World War I. "If Vorticists wrote Rock Music, it might have sounded like this," he explains on his Facebook page. The Vorticists practiced in 20th-century Britain, working in bold color, quasi-cubist shapes, and semi-representational forms. It's an odd comparison to make, but it's also an apt one: "'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore" does seem explosive, straddling the line between the direct and abstract.
The lyrics in particular evince this balancing act. "'Tis a pity she was a whore / 'tis my curse, I suppose," Bowie sings. "That was patrol / that was patrol / this is the war." The words, while spoken in familiar phrases, describe a somewhat metaphorical situation.
A hint for how to interpret them might lie in another of Bowie's remarks about the track. "The song acknowledges the shocking rawness of the First World War," Bowie writes on Facebook. Indeed, gunshots can be heard in the first part of the song, along with a beat that seems like a marching rhythm.
"'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore" has some high intellectual aims, and though it certainly won't end up stuck in anyone's head anytime soon, Bowie enthusiasts will have a good time trying to unravel its mysteries.
"Nothing Has Changed," David Bowie's latest compilation album, came out Nov. 17 via Parlophone.
DAVID BOWIE: THE NEXT DAY
Hannah Elliott
Tampa Bay Times (St. Petersburg, FL). (Mar. 21, 2013): News: p12.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 Times Publishing Company
http://www.tampabay.com/
Listen
Full Text:
Byline: HANNAH ELLIOTT
Most of us can say we know David Bowie, even if the familiarity ends at the name. Bowie is a musical "chameleon" as some say; he thrived in the '70s and '80s because of his unique transformations according to fashion and trends. From glam-rock persona Ziggy Stardust to his "plastic soul" ventures, to his electronica Brian Eno phases, Bowie is anything but a one-trick pony.
After secretly recording The Next Day after a 10-year hiatus, Bowie announced on his 66th birthday the release of his 24th studio album. After brushing up on my Bowie background and listening to the classics then listening to the new album, I realized he had gathered aspects from all his phases to create this triumphant comeback.
Where Are We Now? flipped the switch from "I think I know what is going on" to "I totally get it." One of the sweetest and most transporting songs I have heard, it felt as if I were suddenly in one of those cute British teen romance movies. This song is also the high point for Bowie's vocals for me. The gentleness of his voice fit perfectly into the dreamlike ambience of it all.
No matter the masks, face paint and costumes Bowie chooses, he has a face that automatically makes me like him, and makes me think he really can't be that crazy.
The strident guitar, especially onValentine's Day, brings a taste of the past Bowie but with a more polished twist. The combining of wistful Stardust-y songs, futuristic edge and soulful twang is masterful and evident on a majority of the album.
Even if the album lacks periodically, there are a handful of songs that save it from sinking. If you haven't been exposed to Bowie yet, I'd suggest it even if it is just for the sake of seeming musically educated. Bowie reserved his place as a music legend a while ago, but the new album makes it clear he isn't done making his mark just yet.
* * *
Album review
David Bowie
The Next Day
Available: Now
****
---
REVIEW KEY
***** Can you marry a thing that's not a person?
**** Silver medals are still cool.
*** Nobody's perfect
** Its mom still loves it.
* No. Just, no.
HANNAH ELLIOTT
David Bowie leaps boldly, nimbly into 'The Next Day'
Edna Gundersen
USA Today. (Mar. 11, 2013): Lifestyle: p01D.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 USA Today
http://www.usatoday.com/
Listen
Full Text:
Byline: Edna Gundersen
David Bowie
**** out of four
The Next Day ROCK
Ddownload Every last note
---
Too often, a rock veteran's new work elicits a hopeful audit followed by a happy retreat to the fusty greatest-hits compilation.
Not so with David Bowie, whose golden years are overshadowing his golden oldies.
The glitter rock, plastic soul and electronica albums of the '70s stand among Bowie's tallest achievements, and the elegance and urgency of his 2013 return provide proof that pop music's craftiest chameleon has lost none of his sound vision.
The Next Day arrives Tuesday, ending years of rumors that Bowie was retired or ill. It's Bowie's first studio album since 2003's Reality and his best since 1980's Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps). Secretly writing and recording for two years with longtime producer Tony Visconti, Bowie crafted an emotionally dramatic, stylistically diverse, sonically bold and lyrically complex song cycle tackling a war-scarred, celebrity-driven world of bewildered souls.
The disc's title and cover, with the 1977 Heroes album photo papered over, telegraphs Bowie's determination to look forward, and he has succeeded in sculpting a bracingly modern collection.
His past echoes in the grooves of Next, whether it's a sprinkling of Ziggy Stardust in the title track, a chunk of Hunky Dory in If You Can See Me or smidges of Lodger dirges in You Feel So Lonely You Could Die.
Single Where Are We Now?, the delicate ballad released on Bowie's 66th birthday, hinted at an introspective, autobiographical bent. Instead, Next leans toward observation (the pained ruminations of battle-weary soldiers in I'd Rather Be High and How Does the Grass Grow?) and uptempo bold strokes (The Next Day and the soulful, psychedelic Dancing Out in Space). The album peaks with the sax-driven, sensual Dirty Boys; bleakly beautiful Valentine's Day; and The Stars (Are Out Tonight), a feverish rocker mocking celebrity culture.
The Next Day marks a glorious homecoming. Here's hoping we don't have to wait another decade for Day After Next.
CAPTION(S):
photo Andrew H. Walker, Getty Images David Bowie's latest studio album is his first in 10 years.
Edna Gundersen
David Bowie Awakens To 'The Next Day' Of His Career
Fresh Air. 2013.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 National Public Radio, Inc. (NPR). All rights reserved. Visit our website terms of use and permissions page at www.npr.org for further information. NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by a contractor for NPR, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of NPR's programming is the audio.
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=13
Listen
Full Text:
To listen to this broadcast, click here:
Play audio
GROSS: David Bowie has a new album - his first new studio album in a decade. It's called "The Next Day." The 66-year-old Bowie has released two videos from the album already, including one for the song "The Stars Are Out Tonight," in which Bowie and the actress Tilda Swinton portray a retirement age couple. Nevertheless, rock critic Ken Tucker says Bowie's new music displays a youthful energy and inventiveness.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "THE NEXT DAY")
BOWIE: (Singing) Look into my eyes, he tells her. I'm gonna say good-bye, he says, yeah. Do not cry, she begs him. Good-bye, yeah, on a day she thinks I'm in love, yeah. They whip him through the streets and alleys there. The gormless and the baying crowd right there. They can't get enough of that doomsday song. They can't get enough of it all.
TUCKER: The cover of David Bowie's new album, "The Next Day," is actually the cover of Bowie's 1977 album, "Heroes," with a white square placed over the singer's face. It's a brilliantly simple yet shrewd piece of appropriated art, a gesture announcing that Bowie will not try to break with his past but instead will transmute it, refract it, and if he's lucky, deepen it.
Because depth is something David Bowie has usually, often wisely, resisted. In taking on, over the decades, different costumes and guises - Ziggy Stardust, the Thin White Duke - and in gliding across the surface of genres such as glam rock, hard rock and disco, Bowie has proven a surprisingly durable artist. He's someone whose best songs allow him to make emotional, even moving music without becoming maudlin or melodramatic or, heaven forbid, sentimental.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "THE STARS (ARE OUT TONIGHT)")
BOWIE: (Singing) The stars are never sleeping. The dead ones and the living, we live closer to the Earth, never to the heavens. The stars are never far away. The stars are out tonight. They watch us from behind their shades, Brigitte, Jack, and Kate and Brad from behind their tinted windows stretch gleaming like blackened sunshine.
TUCKER: That's "The Stars Are Out Tonight," which proceeds from the title pun to suggest that stars - celebrities - haunt the lives of us ordinary folk, and that they're just as jealous of our lives as some of us are of theirs. The video for the song, co-starring Bowie and Tilda Swinton, finds them playing a happily aging couple who grocery shop and chuckle unironically at TV sitcoms, even as their mundane activities are observed by young, glamorous people literally dying for such contentment.
The music of "The Stars Are Out Tonight" is all guitar and drum-driven urgency, with Bowie yelling with deliberate hoarseness over the instruments, his voice a metaphor for the exhausted dread contained in the lyric. By contrast, listen to the lovely croon he uses on this song, "Where Are We Now?"
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "WHERE ARE WE NOW?")
BOWIE: (Singing) Had to get the train from Potzdamer Platz. You never knew that, that I could do that, just walking the dead. Sitting in the Dschungel on Nurnberge Strasse, a man lost in time near KaDeWe, just walking the dead.
TUCKER: "Where Are We Now?" evokes life in Berlin, a reminder that the album itself reunites Bowie with producer Tony Visconti, with whom Bowie made his so-called Berlin trilogy of albums: "Low," "Heroes" and "Lodger." But Bowie and Visconti don't merely reconnect with some of the sounds of that late-'70s period, extending even to the use of some familiar Bowie musicians, such as guitarist Earl Slick.
No, they also acknowledge other albums, including what I consider Bowie's finest, "Station to Station," and other producers who've helped Bowie's evolution - most notably Nile Rodgers, who guided the star through one of his best albums, "Let's Dance." You can hear this confluence of influences in a jittery, hammering song such as "Love Is Lost."
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "LOVE IS LOST")
BOWIE: (Singing) It's the darkest hour. You're 22. The voice of youth, the hour of dread. The darkest hour and your voice is new. Love is lost, lost is love. Your country's new...
TUCKER: Wave goodbye to the life without pain, Bowie sings there, and in a song that offers a mock-hymn to that ceaseless modern quest for the new, it's also an acknowledgment of the physical pain of aging, as well as romantic agony. In general I find the structure of "The Next Day" significant, because it plays like a collection of discreet singles - songs each in a different style, genre, mood - very much in the current mode of consuming music, downloading one hit or potential hit at a time.
Yet the music also coheres as an album in the classic-rock sense: a unified statement that can be listened to at full length, to tell a story about one man's progression through innocence, experience, arrogance, cynicism, doubt, redemption and inspiration. Yes, that's overstating it a bit, but not much.
Yes, some of these steps falter in melody, or in sustaining the desired effect. But in general, "The Next Day" is a thriller, not merely a return to form - partly because David Bowie never took one form to begin with. This is his now-continuing contribution to pop music: the notion that restlessness and melancholy can yield more pleasure than anyone might reasonably expect.
GROSS: Ken Tucker reviewed David Bowie's album, "The Next Day." You can see the music video of the song "The Stars Are Out Tonight," featuring Bowie and Tilda Swinton, on our website, freshair.npr.org, where you can also download podcasts of our show.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "VALENTINE'S DAY")
BOWIE: (Singing) Valentine told me who's to go. Feelings he's treasured most of all, the teachers and the football stars. It's in his tiny face. It's in his scrawny hands. Valentine told me so. He's got something to say this Valentine's Day.
David Bowie, Rock's Shape Shifter, Returns
Morning Edition. 2013.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2013 National Public Radio, Inc. (NPR). All rights reserved. Visit our website terms of use and permissions page at www.npr.org for further information. NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by a contractor for NPR, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of NPR's programming is the audio.
http://www.npr.org/templates/rundowns/rundown.php?prgId=3
Listen
Full Text:
To listen to this broadcast, click here:
Play audio
MONTAGNE: And from pope to pop. A legend is back. As of last night, fans could stream David Bowie's new album, "The Next Day," on iTunes. It's his first album in 10 years. He's been laying low since he had a heart attack back in 2004. In a moment we'll hear from NPR's music critic, Ann Powers. First, let's hear from you, responding to our Facebook request for your favorite Bowie persona.
UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN #1: My favorite Bowie persona...
UNIDENTIFIED MAN: It's hard to choose a favorite.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "MOONAGE DAYDREAM" )
BOWIE: (singing) I'm a Mama, Papa, coming for you...
UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN #1: The Ziggy Stardust character really drew me in and captured my imagination. He's the alien, the thing that doesn't fit into a category, a true individual.
UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN #2: Oh, man, let me tell you what. The Goblin King, Jareth.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "MAGIC DANCE")
BOWIE: (singing) ...dance magic. Put that baby spell on me.
UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN #2: Oh. I was like, wow, I had no idea he was that kooky(ph) talented. It was just excellent.
UNIDENTIFIED MAN: Right now I'm way into those Berlin records. It's less hooky and less poppy, and way more cerebral and experimental.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "ALWAYS CRASHING THE SAME CAR")
MONTAGNE: That was Joel Muzzy(ph) of San Diego, along with Vicki Neatum (ph) in Shawnee, Kansas. And Jennifer Cassastanto(ph) in Waltham, Massachusetts. Just a sampling of the folks who wrote in. We also got drawings, essays, photos of Halloween costumes, plus cats named for the pop star. We're going to talk about the new record with NPR's music critic, Ann Powers, who's just listened through to it. Ann, hello.
POWERS: Hi.
MONTAGNE: Hi. Well, which David Bowie do we get with his new album?
POWERS: I would say we get the David Bowie character known as David Bowie.
(LAUGHTER)
POWERS: He's telling us a lot of different stories on this record, "The Next Day," and I think there's a real sense of him as a storyteller, as an observer. And that is a rich part of Bowie's legacy. And it's played out beautifully on this record.
MONTAGNE: Why don't we listen to one of the tracks. It's called "Where Are We Now?"
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "WHERE ARE WE NOW?)
BOWIE: (singing) Sitting in the Dschungel on Nurnberger Strasse. A man lost in time...
POWERS: "Where Are We Now?" is interesting because it seems to be autobiographical. He's referring to places in Berlin where he made some of his greatest records with the producer Brian Eno. So it's really a game of unraveling the references. And that's fun for all of us who love to figure Bowie out.
MONTAGNE: And this song was released as a video, which is pretty interesting.
POWERS: Well, David Bowie has always been a master of the visual, as well as the sonic. And he was an innovator with video even before the age of MTV. See, video is really important for Bowie now, because it's harder for older artists to get played on commercial radio. But video can spread like wildfire and, you know, virally help this record get out. And that's what happening with this very artful, beautiful video.
MONTAGNE: Now, this song, which is called "The Stars Are Out Tonight" is pretty different. It's more of a rock song.
POWERS: Yeah.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "THE STARS ARE OUT TONIGHT")
BOWIE: (singing) Stars are never sleeping. Dead ones and the living. We live closer to the earth, never to the heavens. The stars are never far away...
MONTAGNE: The stars and David Bowie. That sounds about right.
POWERS: He's meditating on the nature of celebrity in this song. He even drops what we think is Brad Pitt's name. He mentions someone named Brad. But he's, as usual, making modern myth out of our everyday social lives. And the song seems to be referring to stars in the heavens and stars in Hollywood. It's got that great Bowie rock sound, that kind of glammy, rich theatrical sound.
He's working with many of his longtime collaborators. So it's pure Bowie, but it's totally relevant to now.
MONTAGNE: So he's back.
POWERS: I think David Bowie is totally back. I think the lesson of this is that David Bowie really never went away. This is a beautiful, rich, and very complicated album.
MONTAGNE: Ann, nice to talk to you again.
POWERS: It's great to talk to you too. And enjoy the Bowie album.
MONTAGNE: All right. Ann Powers is NPR's music critic. And you can learn more about the new David Bowie album on our website npr.org.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "THE STARS ARE OUT TONIGHT")
BOWIE: (singing) They drown with their radiant smiles and trap you with their beautiful lies. They're broke and shamed or drunk or scared but I hope they live forever. Their jealousy's spilling down. The stars must stick together. We will never be rid of these stars. But I hope they live forever. And they know just what we do...
MONTAGNE: You're listening to MORNING EDITION from NPR News.
Exit Starman: David Bowie dies at 69
UWIRE Text. (Apr. 10, 2016): p1.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 Uloop Inc.
http://uwire.com/?s=UWIRE+Text&x=26&y=14&=Go
Listen
Full Text:
Byline: Amanda Reed
TWEET SHARE YouTube Instagram
In 1977, David Bowie sang "I will be king, and you, you will be queen." Little did he know how literal that would become.
After a nearly 50-year career that transcended musical and societal labels, Bowie's cosmic career as one of Pop music's most important figures came to an end when he died Sunday of cancer.
The news broke over his website and social media accounts, just two days after the release of his latest album, "Blackstar," which coincided with the singer-songwriter's 69th birthday.
Fans and colleagues, including fellow British music artists Paul McCartney and Duran Duran, took to the Internet to pay their condolences.
Bowie was born David Jones on Jan. 8, 1947, but changed his last name to Bowie at the start of his career in 1966 to avoid confusion with Davy Jones of the Monkees.
He released his first album, "The World of David Bowie," in 1967, which mostly went unnoticed. That anoymity changed in 1969 with "Space Oddity" and the poignant track of the same name, which tells the story of Major Tom, an abandoned astronaut orbiting the moon. Although the song was a hit on British airwaves, it took four years for the song to catch on in the United States.
He received his first major crossover hit with "Fame" off of his album "Young Americans" in 1975.
Bowie released 24 more albums after that, most recently "Blackstar." He was a musical chameleon. Over the span of his 40-year career, he never restricted himself to one genre and constantly experimented with different sounds, making his career one of pop history's most influential in recent memory.
Bowie began as a glam rocker, but afterwards delved into other genres like art rock, soul, jazz, hard rock, dance- pop and -punk and electronica. His career brought him 14 awards, including a Grammy and a Daytime Emmy award for his ability to create art from all sides of the musical spectrum.
On Twitter, Kanye West called Bowie "one of my most important inspirations, so fearless, so creative, he gave us magic for a lifetime."
As genre couldn't contain Bowie's musical creativity, neither could the platform. Aside from a varied musical career, Bowie also made several film and stage cameos, including a lost space alien named Thomas Jerome Newton in "The Man Who Fell to Earth" (Dir. Nicolas Roeg, 1976), the tragic title character in "The Elephant Man" on Broadway (1980) and, most famously, the Goblin King in Jim Henson's cult classic "Labyrinth" (1986).
Bowie also leaves behind a legacy of civil rights. One of his most popular songs, "Heroes," is about a relationship that develops at the site of the Berlin Wall. After living in Berlin for three years in the '70s, Bowie returned to the wall for a concert in 1987 preluding the wall's fall two years later.
Bowie also famously confronted MTV in a 1983 interview about its lack of black artist music videos, the same year Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video put the network on the map. The incident is one of the singer's most prolific and telling moments as an artist-activist.
But perhaps Bowie will best be remembered as a sexual enigma. As one of the first mainstream artists unafraid to be sexually ambiguous in the public eye, Bowie paved the way for openly gay artists along with the likes of Queen's Freddie Mercury.
Tributes to the musician have been overwhelmingly positive, with celebrities and fans alike flocking to social media to say goodbye. Apart from some sexual assault claims, including one account that suggests Bowie had a sexual encounter with Lori Mattix, a groupie and a minor at the time, Bowie's legacy is admirable.
Akin to his musicianship, Bowie took several names -- including Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane and Starman. He married his first wife, Angela "Angie" Bowie in 1970. They divorced in 1980 and had one child, BAFTA award-winning director Duncan Jones. In 1992, he married supermodel Iman. The couple, who were still together at the time of Bowie's death, have a daughter, Alexandria Zahra Jones.
One day before "Blackstar"'s release, Bowie debuted the music video for the second single off the album, "Lazarus." Bowie's longtime producer Tony Visconti declared on Facebook Monday that the singer's final record was "a parting gift" to his fans.
He croons, "Look up here, I'm in heaven / I've got scars that can't be seen" in a hospital bed, like he knew his death was coming before anyone else did. The title of the track is an illusion to the Biblical story of the same name, where Jesus revives Lazarus, a devout follower and beloved friend, four days after his death.
Although unlike Lazarus, once he took flight, Bowie never seemed to crash -- even after death, Starman's impact will remain ubiquitous for generations to come.
IN MEMORIAM: Remembering David Bowie
UWIRE Text. (Jan. 21, 2016): p1.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 Uloop Inc.
http://uwire.com/?s=UWIRE+Text&x=26&y=14&=Go
Listen
Full Text:
Byline: Denis Bozic
January 21, 2016
David Bowie, a legendary music and fashion icon, passed away on Jan. 10 after an 18-month battle with liver cancer. Following his death, numerous artists and public figures paid their respects to the singer via social media by thanking him for being a source of inspiration throughout their lives. Last week, the entrance to the Infinite Corridor was embellished with a banner that paid homage to Bowie through his verse from "Space Oddity," while Lobby 7 greeted the MIT community with imagery of his eccentric outfits. Surely, every Bowie fan can cite a multitude of reasons why this icon should be remembered and appreciated, but I can understand why someone who did not follow his career might ask a simple question -- why should we care about David Bowie?
There are the obvious reasons. He was one of the defining figures of the glam rock era, with his alter-ego Ziggy Stardust becoming almost equally important as Bowie himself. His love for theater allowed him to develop convincing characters and stories, which served as solid foundations for flamboyant and unforgettable shows. He continuously experimented with music and created albums that -- even when they did not receive widespread recognition -- were ahead of their time. His outfits, just as outlandish, have become an artistic legacy of incontrovertible importance. He gracefully and successfully re-entered the music scene after a decade-long hiatus and managed to release two critically acclaimed albums before his death.
Besides his contribution to the world of art and entertainment, he was highly valued by other people, not only as a musician but also as a friend. In a recent interview for The New York Times, Iggy Pop described Bowie as "more of a benefactor than a friend" and that he "went a bit out of his way to bestow some good karma on [Iggy Pop]." Tony Visconti, Bowie's producer, said that he was an "extraordinary man, full of love and life" in his Facebook post following Bowie's death. But, in order to completely grasp why he was an important global figure, perhaps we should try to understand what he meant to those who never had the opportunity to meet him in person: children, teenagers, young adults, parents, grandparents, and dedicated music fans across the world.
I was first introduced to Bowie's music as a 14-year-old, when a friend of mine directed me to his songs "Ashes to Ashes" and "China Girl." It would be a stretch to say that I've been a devout fan of his music ever since . While his most prominent albums have become essential components of my music collection, I can't say that I know the majority of his songs by heart or that I have appreciated the entirety of his work. However, since that day, I have committedly watched many of his interviews and studied his life and career, because there was something inexplicably touching about his character that made me want to learn more about this unique artist. It wasn't until 2014 that I finally understood what made Bowie so special to me.
Two years ago, when I visited the exhibition "David Bowie," the first retrospective collection of his work, in Berlin's Martin-Gropious-Bau, I realized for the first time that David Bowie was more than just an icon in the history of music, fashion, and entertainment. Looking through the displays of his handwritten lyrics, original costumes, music videos, interviews, and album artwork, I sensed that his two opposing traits, grandiose eccentricity and subdued vulnerability, were, paradoxically, closely related. . Whereas his style and demeanor at times made him seem otherworldly and almost inaccessible, his unapologetically honest character, showcased through his evolving work and emotional expressiveness, helped me see that he was just another human being, but who was -- unlike many of us -- not afraid to express himself and defy society's oppressive stereotypes. In his own special way, David Bowie was the world's favorite outcast.
So, why should we care? We should care because he undoubtedly changed the music industry and inspired other musicians, but also because he achieved so much more. He inspired actors. He inspired designers. He served as a role model (or anti-role model, for that matter) to children, teenagers, rebels, music fans, and adults who wanted to immortalize their youth. He wore outlandish outfits that remain avant-garde even today. He played with the notion of ambiguous sexuality when the world was struggling to accept the idea of alternative sexual identity. He challenged the world by fighting the old-fashioned concepts of polarized masculinity and femininity. In other words, most importantly, he showed that there is value in being a misfit.
Rest in peace, David Bowie. The world will never forget what a bright and shining star you were.Post a comment on this article
How David Bowie soundtracked my adolescence
UWIRE Text. (Jan. 18, 2016): p1.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 Uloop Inc.
http://uwire.com/?s=UWIRE+Text&x=26&y=14&=Go
Listen
Full Text:
Byline: Max Hill
I never met David Bowie. I've probably never even breathed the same air as him. But when I heard he had died, my chest felt tight.
The celebrity obituaries have been pooling in for the past week with no signs of stopping. Many of these people knew him personally. I can't pretend I know anything about the man -- all I know is the music. So, instead of telling you his life story, I'm going to tell you mine, through five of my very favourite David Bowie songs.
1. "Space Oddity" - David Bowie (1969)
Fun fact: "Space Oddity" began as a novelty song. Bowie's first album sold poorly, and his career seemed to have burnt out before it had even begun. Luckily, "Space Oddity" was a sleeper hit, and became the singer's first success. Its tender melodies and sci-fi aesthetic were enough to convert a generation of fans -- including me, age 10. I sang along in my bedroom and painted my face. I wanted to become an astronaut but wasn't sure if I could breathe in space. (As I later discovered, I could not.)
2. "Ashes to Ashes" - Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) (1980)
Turns out, in grade eight, I made a pretty terrible boyfriend. I was clingy, anxious, and sullen. I holed up in my room and listened to classic rock. I was really into David Bowie, as most weirdo teenagers are.
There's a line in "Ashes to Ashes" where Bowie croons "I'm happy / hope you're happy too." This was all I wanted to say to my high school girlfriend. Turns out she wasn't, and I was promptly dumped. I deserved it, but I'm still thankful that Bowie gave a voice to my teenaged insecurity.
3. "Five Years" - Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (1972)
I fell in love with quite a few David Bowie songs before "Five Years," but this was the first one that felt like it was mine. No one else knew about it -- it never charted as a single, and never made as big a cultural impact as his biggest hits.
This was the first time that I delved beyond Bowie's best-of. I listened to his discography endlessly and was still hungry for more. But for a while, nothing matched the high of this one, the song that felt like a well-kept secret.
4. "Heroes" - "Heroes" (1977)
"Heroes" was one of the first "our songs" my partner and I ever had. We turned it up as loud as it could go and sung to it at the top of our lungs in parked cars. Whenever it came on, we would stop whatever we were doing and begin hollering. We didn't care if our voices cracked or if anyone else could hear.
"Heroes" is the perfect love songs for misfits who have found each other, and David Bowie was there when I found mine.
5. "Valentine's Day" - The Next Day (2013)
Like most Bowie fanboys, I did my best to conveniently forget most albums he had made since Let's Dance in 1983. It's not that they weren't good -- it's that they were ordinary. If there's one thing that should never be associated with David Bowie, it's the mundane.
The Next Day changed all that. It was Bowie's second wind, the sprint at the end of the marathon. I reviewed it for The Peak in one of my first articles, saying it "manages to rise to the level of Bowie's best work." My favourite track, "Valentine's Day," reminded me of the first time I had heard "Space Oddity."
I listened to it on Sunday while I watched the news of his death flood my Facebook feed. I was a different person, and so was he.
In Memoriam: The Day Bowie Died
UWIRE Text. (Jan. 16, 2016): p1.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 Uloop Inc.
http://uwire.com/?s=UWIRE+Text&x=26&y=14&=Go
Listen
Full Text:
Shannon Jay
Staff Writer
Music lost a legend last week, but the eccentric David Bowie got a chance to say goodbye in his own avant-garde and allusive way.
When "Blackstar" was released on Jan. 8, Bowie's 69th birthday, he seemed to be on the fast track to a major comeback. Critics loved the record. Bowie was also working on music for an off-broadway production called "Lazarus" with a star-studded, tribute concert at New York's Carnegie Hall planned.
What critics and fans did not know; however, was that Bowie had been battling cancer for 18 months. He discovered his liver cancer was terminal back in November, soon after the completion of "Blackstar." Long-time producer Tony Visconti helped with Bowie's final record and later confirmed Bowie's plans for the record to serve as a farewell to his fans.
"He was so brave and courageous," Visconti told Rolling Stone. "His energy was still incredible for a man who had cancer. He never showed any fear. He was just all business about making the album."
Perhaps the record's most potent track, "Lazarus," stumped listeners with its overtly morbid themes. After giving the record another spin on Monday, these themes made all too much sense. The record's lyrics became downright eerie. Lines from "Lazarus" are sure to bring a tear to listeners' eyes. Bowie is free as a bluebird looking down from heaven, singing to us all one last time, with nothing left to lose.
Despite such a final and beautifully orchestrated goodbye, Bowie wasn't planning to stop at "Blackstar." Visconti said Bowie contacted him just a few weeks before his death with plans for a new album. Both men assumed Bowie had a few months left for them to work together. Weeks before his passing, Bowie had already written demos for five more tracks and was excited to get back into the studio.
Bowie's desire to keep making music until the end isn't surprising. Over the last 40 years, he had released almost 30 studio albums with records like the epic "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust" and the gender-bending, in-your-face "Hunky Dory." He will forevermore influence music culture's aesthetics and inspire artists from all different genres.
Despite his extensive discography, "Blackstar" is rising to become Bowie's only number one release on Billboard 200 chart.
On Monday, an outpour of support online from famous fans flooded in shortly after news broke of Bowie's passing. Kendrick Lamar, who Bowie credited with being a huge influence on "Blackstar," tweeted, "What a honor, what a soul. David Bowie, Spirit of Gold. RIP." Queen's official Twitter posted a video of late frontman Freddie Mercury and Bowie's duet "Under Pressure" quoting the chorus, "This is our last dance..."
Flea of Red Hot Chili Peppers remembered Bowie in a much more permanent fashion by getting the late starman's name tattooed on his forearm.
Stories about the fascinatingly strange life and legacy of the space oddity filled news feeds this week illustrating Bowie's influence on popular culture. His genre-bending tunes and gender-bending fashion defined cool for decades. Bowie's strange spirit will continue to live on through anyone brave enough to embrace their own individuality.
David Bowie, a master of music and makeovers, dies at 69
CNN Wire. (Jan. 12, 2016):
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 CNN Newsource Sales, Inc.
http://news.blogs.cnn.com/tag/the-cnn-wire/
Listen
Full Text:
Byline: Saeed Ahmed, Todd Leopold and Joe Sutton, CNN
(CNN) -- David Bowie, whose incomparable sound and chameleon-like ability to reinvent himself made him a pop music fixture for more than four decades, has died. He was 69.
Bowie died Sunday after an 18-month battle with cancer, his publicist Steve Martin told CNN.
"David Bowie died peacefully today surrounded by his family after a courageous 18 month battle with cancer," said a statement posted on his official social media accounts. "While many of you will share in this loss, we ask that you respect the family's privacy during their time of grief."
Neither his publicist nor the statement elaborated on what type of cancer the singer had.
Bowie's death has been the regular subject of Internet hoaxes for the last several years. So the news came as a shock to fans and industry insiders when it was confirmed.
"Very sorry and sad to say it's true. I'll be offline for a while. Love to all," his son, "Moon" film director Duncan Jones, tweeted.
Marriage of music and fashion
From a mop-topped unknown named David Jones, to his space-alien alter ego "Ziggy Stardust," to his dapper departure as the soul-influenced Thin White Duke, Bowie married music and fashion in a way few artists have been able to master.
He was theatrical, he was flamboyant, he was without parallel in his showmanship.
His albums, especially after his 1972 breakthrough "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars," were treated as events. His songs, including "Changes," "Fame," "Heroes" and "Modern Love," were anthemic hits, played constantly on the radio and inspiring generations of musicians.
With a voice that soared from a baritone to a falsetto, he spoke of carrying on against the odds. Of the terror in knowing what the world is about. Of turning and facing the strange.
His songs were a salve for the alienated and the misfits of the world.
Bowie had just released his latest album, "Blackstar," on Friday, his 69th birthday. It shot to No. 1 on the iTunes chart in the UK and No. 2 in the United States, underscoring his appeal even after decades in the music business.
Like his past releases, the work -- generally praised by music critics -- defied genres. The influential music publication NME called it an amalgamation of "warped showtunes, skronking industrial rock, soulful balladeering, airy folk-pop, even hip-hop."
An indelible mark
That in a nutshell was Bowie: There was hardly a musical style he didn't dabble in -- and indelibly leave his mark upon.
Since his breakthrough with "Ziggy Stardust," Bowie's reach was eclectic: glam rock, prog rock, pop rock, electronic rock.
And the results? Electric. To the tune of more than 130 million records sold. The album titles, including "Aladdin Sane," "Station to Station" and "Scary Monsters," are familiar to any music fan.
Though he didn't have his first No. 1 single in the United States until "Fame" in 1975, he'd already been making a mark with heavily played singles, including "Space Oddity," "Changes," "Suffragette City," "Rebel Rebel" and his first Top 40 hit, 1975's "Young Americans."
After that, he was almost as present on the singles charts as the album charts, with hits such as "Golden Years," "Under Pressure" (with Queen), "Let's Dance" (another No. 1), "Blue Jean" and "Never Let Me Down."
"David Bowie was one of my most important inspirations, so fearless, so creative, he gave us magic for a lifetime," tweeted rapper Kanye West, as news of Bowie's death made the rounds.
Changing looks
He was born David Jones, to a waitress and a nightclub owner in South London on January 8, 1947.
Though he began his musical life with his birth name, riding the mod wave of the mid-1960s, he changed to "Bowie" to avoid confusion with Davy Jones, the lead singer of the Monkees, who was enjoying serious pop success at the time.
That reinvention was the first of many. And his timing was often impeccable.
He released his song about a doomed astronaut, "Space Oddity," just days before the 1969 moon landing.
Four years later he killed off his most famous creation, the other-worldly "Ziggy Stardust," just at the point where it threatened to overwhelm him.
He soon transformed into the Thin White Duke, a cocksure but coked-out mad aristrocrat. While Ziggy was all arena rock, the Duke was chilled soul. While Ziggy gave him "Space Oddity," the Duke gave him yet another timeless classic, "Fame," a song co-written with John Lennon, one of his many admirers.
Such speedy changes could catch his fans off guard.
"I went to the 'Diamond Dogs' show (in June 1974) expecting something like Ziggy Stardust," fan John Neilson told NPR in 2014. "And then in October I expected to see something like 'Diamond Dogs,' and it was the soul revue. It might as well have been a completely different artist."
Bowie was as much observer as observed. In a 1974 interview with Dick Cavett, he said he started carrying a cane when he noticed his fans doing so.
"He was chameleon in many ways, as we know," stage and film producer Robert Fox told CNN's Christiane Amanpour. "But he could become a very ordinary-looking man. And sometimes I'd meet him in New York at a cafe, and people wouldn't recognize him. And they'd be sitting three feet from him. He could just -- he could fit in."
Taking a toll
Still, if it was all part of the package, the burden of living his art in public took a toll. By the mid-1970s, "Bowie was lost in a haze of cocaine addiction," wrote Ultimate Classic Rock's Frank Mastropolo. He finally holed up in Berlin and recorded the groundbreaking "Berlin" trilogy: "Low," " 'Heroes' " and "Lodger." (The quotation marks around the album title " 'Heroes' " were a deliberate ironic touch.)
"I had approached the brink of drug-induced calamity one too many times, and it was essential to take some kind of positive action," he said in an interview years later, according to Ultimate Classic Rock.
Musically, he kept one foot in the avant garde. On the song "Heroes," he half-sings, half-screams, with some of the atmosphere provided by white noise.
Others paid attention. Composer Philip Glass used "Low" and " 'Heroes' " as the subjects of symphonies in the 1990s.
"David Bowie was a true innovator, a true creative. May he rest in peace," tweeted uber-producer Pharrell Williams.
Despite the edginess, Bowie's work still resonated with the mainstream. "Heroes," in fact, later became a theme for many. The 2012 British Olympic team entered the stadium to the tune.
He even sang a Christmas song, "The Little Drummer Boy," with the most mainstream of American crooners, Bing Crosby, on a 1977 TV special. There were no theatrics, no frills, just Bowie's pure voice meshing with one of the oldest of the Old Guard.
The '80s and beyond
The 1980s were a great time to be Bowie.
Starting with his collaboration with Queen on "Under Pressure," he brilliantly reinvented himself to take full advantage of the music video era.
The 1983 "Let's Dance" album, produced by Chic's Nile Rodgers, became his most commercially successful album, its sound and his look influencing a new generation of musicians. The videos for the album's singles, including the title cut and "China Girl," were ubiquitous on the music video channel MTV.
Bowie, by then pushing 40, was as relevant as the era's power chord-slamming 20-somethings or synthesizer-playing Euro pop stars -- musicians for whom he'd paved the way.
Through it all, his Midas touch made classics of other people's songs. He produced Lou Reed's "Transformer," with its hit "Walk on the Wild Side," and Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life," among others.
"David's friendship was the light of my life. I never met such a brilliant person. He was the best there is," Iggy Pop tweeted.
He also innovated in the sale of his work. In 1997, he raised $55 million by promising investors income from his back catalog. The financial device, labeled the "Bowie bond," was later used for artists such as James Brown and Marvin Gaye.
Bowie's output thinned in the 1990s and the 2000s, but he was no less envelope-pushing. He experimented with heavy metal, with industrial rock, and with drum and bass.
Expanded horizons
Bowie's theatricality wasn't limited to performing on stage. In 1976 he played the lead in Nicholas Roeg's film "The Man Who Fell to Earth" as -- perhaps appropriately -- an alien. Four years later, he portrayed Joseph Merrick, who'd been deformed by a medical condition, in Broadway's "The Elephant Man."
Bowie continued acting through most of his life, often drawn to unusual characters. He played a vampire in 1983's "The Hunger," the Goblin King in 1986's "Labyrinth," Pontius Pilate in 1988's "The Last Temptation of Christ" and Andy Warhol (about whom Bowie had once written a song) in 1996's "Basquiat."
He wasn't above a little comedy, however. He had cameos in TV shows such as "SpongeBob SquarePants" and "Extras" and played himself in 2001's "Zoolander."
His androgynous look sometimes led to questions of his sexuality that, like his music, defied classification.
He told Playboy magazine in the 1970s that he was bisexual. He told Rolling Stone in the 1980s he had always been a "closet heterosexual."
He later clarified his experiences for the Telegraph.
"I was virtually trying anything. I really had a hunger to experience everything that life had to offer, from the opium den to whatever," he said. But, he added, he was "not a particularly hedonistic person -- I tried my best. I was up there with the best of them. I pushed myself into areas just for experiment and bravado, to see what would happen. But, in the final analysis, it's not really me."
'Zero to 60'
In 1992, Bowie married his second wife, model Iman. Their daughter, Alexandria, was born in 2000.
Bowie had some health problems in the early 2000s, including an emergency angioplasty in 2004.
He also stopped touring after the "A Reality" tour in 2003-04 and, until 2013's "The Next Day," he hadn't put out an album in 10 years.
But recent months had seen signs of a Bowie re-emergence. Aside from "The Next Day," he co-wrote the current stage play "Lazarus," based on "The Man Who Fell to Earth," and recorded and released "Blackstar."
As usual, he gave it his all.
"He'd just go from zero to 60 once we walked out of the control room and into the studio," drummer Mark Guiliana told Rolling Stone about the "Blackstar" sessions. "And his vocal performances were always just stunning, amazing."
Longtime producer Tony Visconti reportedly turned the tables on Friday, having fans sing "Happy Birthday" to Bowie over the phone during Visconti's live performance in New York.
Fox, who produced Bowie's musical "Lazarus" and knew the singer for 40 years, told CNN that Bowie was in good spirits when the pair met only weeks ago.
"He wasn't felling particularly well. I knew that I only had a brief moment," Fox said. "But he was impeccable as ever. His manners were impeccable. And he talked about the future of the show. He talked a little about the treatment that he was going to start. And he was optimistic and hopeful and positive as ever."
Bowie was always busy, always on to the next thing.
Twenty years ago, interviewed by Mick Brown of the UK Telegraph, he coolly assessed his past, but -- typically Bowie -- looked to the future.
At the time, he was reveling in the paintings of Damien Hirst and had plans for another project with producer Brian Eno. And there was no sense in waiting, he said.
"I don't like wasting time," Bowie told the paper.
Saeed Ahmed, Todd Leopold and Joe Sutton, CNN
David Bowie, Star Whose Fame Transcended Music, Dies at 69
Jon Pareles
Born: January 08, 1947 in London, United Kingdom
Died: January 10, 2016 in New York, New York, United States
Other Names : Jones, David Robert (British pop singer); The Thin White Duke; Ziggy Stardust
Nationality: British
Occupation: Rock singer
The New York Times. (Jan. 12, 2016): Regional News: pA24(L).
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 The New York Times Company
http://www.nytimes.com
Listen
Full Text:
David Bowie, the infinitely changeable, fiercely forward-looking songwriter who taught generations of musicians about the power of drama, images and personas, died on Sunday, two days after his 69th birthday.
His death was confirmed by his publicist, Steve Martin, on Monday morning. No other details were provided.
Mr. Bowie had been treated for cancer for the last 18 months, according to a statement on his social-media accounts. ''David Bowie died peacefully today surrounded by his family,'' a post on his Facebook page read.
His last album, ''Blackstar,'' a collaboration with a jazz quartet that was typically enigmatic and exploratory, was released on Friday -- his birthday. He is to be honored with a concert at Carnegie Hall on March 31 featuring the Roots, Cyndi Lauper and the Mountain Goats.
He had also collaborated on an Off Broadway musical, ''Lazarus,'' which was a surreal sequel to the 1976 film that featured his definitive screen role, ''The Man Who Fell to Earth.''
Mr. Bowie wrote songs, above all, about being an outsider: an alien, a misfit, a sexual adventurer, a faraway astronaut. His music was always a mutable blend -- rock, cabaret, jazz and what he called ''plastic soul'' -- but it was suffused with genuine soul. He also captured the drama and longing of everyday life, enough to give him No. 1 pop hits like ''Let's Dance.''
In concerts and videos, Mr. Bowie's costumes and imagery traversed styles, eras and continents, from German Expressionism to commedia dell'arte to Japanese kimonos to spacesuits. He set an example, and a challenge, for every arena spectacle in his wake.
If he had an anthem, it was ''Changes,'' from his 1971 album ''Hunky Dory,'' which proclaimed:
Turn and face the strange,
Ch-ch-changes,
Oh look out now you rock and rollers,
Pretty soon now you're gonna get older.
Mr. Bowie earned admiration and emulation across the musical spectrum -- from rockers, balladeers, punks, hip-hop acts, creators of pop spectacles and even classical composers like Philip Glass, who based two symphonies on Mr. Bowie's albums ''Low'' and ''Heroes.''
Mr. Bowie's constantly morphing persona was a touchstone for performers like Madonna and Lady Gaga; his determination to stay contemporary introduced his fans to Philadelphia funk, Japanese fashion, German electronica and drum-and-bass dance music.
Nirvana chose to sing ''The Man Who Sold the World,'' the title song of Mr. Bowie's 1970 album, in its brief set for ''MTV Unplugged in New York'' in 1993. ''Under Pressure,'' a collaboration with the glam-rock group Queen, supplied a bass line for the 1990 Vanilla Ice hit ''Ice Ice Baby.''
Yet throughout Mr. Bowie's metamorphoses, he was always recognizable. His voice was widely imitated but always his own; his message was that there was always empathy beyond difference.
Angst and apocalypse, media and paranoia, distance and yearning were among Mr. Bowie's lifelong themes. So was a penchant for transgression coupled with a determination to push cult tastes toward the mainstream.
Mr. Bowie produced albums and wrote songs for some of his idols -- Lou Reed, Iggy Pop, Mott the Hoople -- that gave them pop hits without causing them to abandon their individuality. And he collaborated with musicians like Brian Eno during the late-1970s period that would become known as his Berlin years and, in his final recordings, with the jazz musicians Maria Schneider and Donny McCaslin, introducing them to many new listeners.
Mr. Bowie was a person of relentless reinvention. He emerged in the late 1960s with the voice of a rock belter but with the sensibility of a cabaret singer, steeped in the dynamics of stage musicals.
He was Major Tom, the lost astronaut in his career-making 1969 hit ''Space Oddity.'' He was Ziggy Stardust, the otherworldly pop star at the center of his 1972 album, ''The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars.''
He was the self-destructive Thin White Duke and the minimalist but heartfelt voice of the three albums he recorded in Berlin in the '70s.
The arrival of MTV in the 1980s was the perfect complement to Mr. Bowie's sense of theatricality and fashion. ''Ashes to Ashes,'' the ''Space Oddity'' sequel that revealed, ''We know Major Tom's a junkie,'' and ''Let's Dance,'' which offered, ''Put on your red shoes and dance the blues,'' gave him worldwide popularity.
Mr. Bowie was his generation's standard-bearer for rock as theater: something constructed and inflated yet sincere in its artifice, saying more than naturalism could. With a voice that dipped down to baritone and leapt into falsetto, he was complexly androgynous, an explorer of human impulses that could not be quantified.
He also pushed the limits of ''Fashion'' and ''Fame,'' writing songs with those titles and also thinking deeply about the possibilities and strictures of pop renown.
Mr. Bowie was married for more than 20 years to the international model Iman, with whom he had a daughter, Alexandria Zahra Jones. They survive him, as does his son from his marriage to the former Mary Angela Barnett, Duncan Jones, a director best known for the 2009 film ''Moon.''
In a post on Twitter, Mr. Jones said: ''Very sorry and sad to say it's true. I'll be offline for a while. Love to all.''
David Robert Jones was born in London on Jan. 8, 1947, where as a youth he soaked up rock 'n' roll. He took up the saxophone in the 1960s and started leading bands as a teenager, singing the blues in a succession of unsuccessful groups and singles. He suffered a blow in a teenage brawl that caused his left pupil to be permanently dilated.
In the late 1960s, Lindsay Kemp, a dancer, actor and mime, became a lasting influence on Mr. Bowie, focusing his interest in movement and artifice. Mr. Bowie's music turned toward folk-rock and psychedelia. The release of ''Space Oddity,'' shortly before the Apollo 11 mission put men on the moon in 1969, gained him a British pop audience and, when it was rereleased in 1973 in the United States, an American one.
By then, with the albums ''Hunky Dory,'' ''The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars'' and ''Aladdin Sane,'' Mr. Bowie had become a pioneer of glam rock and a major star in Britain, playing up an androgynous image. But he also had difficulties separating his onstage personas from real life and succumbed to drug problems, particularly cocaine use. In 1973, he abruptly announced his retirement -- though it was the retirement of Ziggy Stardust, not of Mr. Bowie.
He moved to the United States in 1974 and made ''Diamond Dogs,'' which included the hit ''Rebel Rebel.'' In 1975, he turned toward funk with the album ''Young Americans,'' recorded primarily in Philadelphia with collaborators, including a young Luther Vandross. John Lennon joined Mr. Bowie in writing and singing the hit ''Fame.'' Mr. Bowie's 1976 album ''Station to Station'' yielded more hits, but drug problems were making Mr. Bowie increasingly unstable; in interviews, he made pro-fascist pronouncements that he would soon disown.
For a far-reaching change of environment, and to get away from drugs, Mr. Bowie moved in 1976 to Switzerland and then to West Berlin, part of a divided city with a sound that fascinated him: the Krautrock of Kraftwerk, Can, Neu! and other groups. Mr. Bowie shared a Berlin apartment with Iggy Pop, and he helped produce and write songs for two Iggy Pop albums, ''The Idiot'' and ''Lust for Life.''
He also made what is usually called his Berlin trilogy -- ''Low,'' ''Heroes'' and ''Lodger'' -- working with Mr. Eno and Mr. Bowie's collaborator over decades, the producer Tony Visconti. They used electronics and experimental methods, like having musicians play unfamiliar instruments, yet songs like '''Heroes''' conveyed romance against the bleakest odds.
As the 1980s began, Mr. Bowie turned to live theater, performing in multiple cities (including a Broadway run) in the demanding title role of ''The Elephant Man.'' Yet he would also reach his peak as a mainstream pop musician in that decade -- particularly with his 1983 album ''Let's Dance,'' which he produced with Nile Rodgers of Chic; the Texas blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughan also performed on the album. By 1989 Mr. Bowie was determined to change again; he recorded, without top billing, as a member of the rock band Tin Machine.
His experiments continued in the 1990s. In 1995, he reconnected with Mr. Eno on an album, ''1. Outside,'' -- influenced by science fiction and film noir -- that was intended to be the start of a trilogy. Mr. Bowie toured with Nine Inch Nails in an innovative concert that had his band and Nine Inch Nails merging partway through. Mr. Bowie's 1997 album, ''Earthling,'' turned toward the era's electronic dance music.
By the 21st century, Mr. Bowie was an elder statesman. He had been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1996. In 2001, he sang ''Heroes'' at the Concert for New York City after the Sept. 11 attacks.
His last tour, after the release of his album ''Reality,'' ended when he experienced heart problems in 2004. But he continued to lend his imprimatur to newer bands like Arcade Fire, joining them onstage, and TV on the Radio, adding backup vocals in the studio.
In 2006, he performed three songs in public for what would be the final time, at the Keep a Child Alive Black Ball fund-raiser at the Hammerstein Ballroom in New York.
His final albums were a glance back and a new excursion. ''The Next Day,'' released in 2013, returned to something like the glam-rock sound of his 1970s guitar bands, for new songs suffused with bitter thoughts of mortality. And ''Blackstar,'' released two days before his death, had him backed by a volatile jazz-based quartet, in songs that contemplated fame, spirituality, lust, death and, as always, startling transformations.
CAPTION(S):
PHOTOS: David Bowie and Mick Ronson in London on the ''Ziggy Stardust'' tour of Britain in 1972, which featured multiple costume changes. (PHOTOGRAPH BY REX FEATURES, VIA ASSOCIATED PRESS); David Bowie in 2002: left, in an outdoor concert in Kristiansand, Norway on the ''Heathen'' tour, and above with his wife, Iman, at the America Fashion Awards ceremony in New York. (PHOTOGRAPHS BY HEIKO JUNGE/EUROPEAN PRESSPHOTO AGENCY; SUZANNE PLUNKETT/ASSOCIATED PRESS); 1965: Before stardom, unaccessorized; 1969: ''Space Oddity'': a trajectory begins; 1973: The ''Ziggy Stardust'' period; 1976: ''The Man Who Fell to Earth''; 1983: ''Let's Dance,'' in Germany; 1987: The ''Glass Spider'' tour, France; 1995: ''Outside'' tour, Hartford.; 2002: The year of ''Heathen,'' in Paris
David Bowie, Master of the Music Video
Nate Chinen
Born: January 08, 1947 in London, United Kingdom
Died: January 10, 2016 in New York, New York, United States
Other Names : Jones, David Robert (British pop singer); The Thin White Duke; Ziggy Stardust
Nationality: British
Occupation: Rock singer
The New York Times. (Jan. 12, 2016): Arts and Entertainment: pNA(L).
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 The New York Times Company
http://www.nytimes.com
Listen
Full Text:
Among many other things, David Bowie was a pioneer and maestro of the music video: From the start of his career, he understood the possibilities of a fledgling format, the ways in which music and image could conspire to tell a richer, more complicated story. Whether in a narrative or purely expressionist mode, he brought acute visual poetry to the screen, helping to transform the music video from an afterthought -- a flat promotional tool -- into its own challenging (and ever-changing) artistic medium.
So while the Internet is awash with Mr. Bowie's vibrant performance footage -- don't miss his triumph at Live Aid in 1985 and a version of ''Young Americans'' taped for ''The Dick Cavett Show'' in 1974 -- there's a specific contribution he made to the music video, on its own terms. Here are five notable examples:
''John, I'm Only Dancing'' (1972)
Taped during an afternoon rehearsal at the Rainbow Theater in London, this low-budget promotional video, directed by Mick Rock, was an important prototype for the medium. Mr. Bowie and the Spiders from Mars perform against a black backdrop, intercut with writhing dancers; the song's gay subtext was provocative enough at the time to prevent the video from being broadcast on the BBC show ''Top of the Pops.'' Lester Bangs later declared this clip ''the very moment the modern idea of a video was born.''
[Video: David Bowie - "John, I'm Only Dancing" Watch on YouTube.]
''Life on Mars?'' (1973)
Another early clip directed by Mick Rock, and the essence of simplicity: This time the backdrop is white, and the focus is on Mr. Bowie alone, in his Ziggy Stardust persona, wearing his turquoise Freddie Burretti suit. Shot either full frame or in extreme close-up that accentuated the icy eye shadow around his famously mismatched eyes, Mr. Bowie is an otherworldly figure here, but also an intimate one, bringing the song's epic dimensions down to human (or humanesque) scale.
[Video: David Bowie - "Life on Mars?" Watch on YouTube.]
''Ashes to Ashes'' (1980)
For his sequel to ''Space Oddity,'' Mr. Bowie made what was, at that point, the most expensive music video ever. But its production cost (about $500,000 then) might be the least intriguing thing about ''Ashes to Ashes,'' directed by David Mallet. It features Mr. Bowie dressed as Pierrot, making self-references to his own image, in settings ranging from a padded room to a rocky shore (often shot in striking solarized color). He's accompanied at times by Steve Strange and other figures in the emerging New Romantic movement, which he helped inspire.
[Video: David Bowie - "Ashes to Ashes" Watch on YouTube.]
''Let's Dance'' (1983)
Mr. Bowie decided to film the video for this No. 1 hit in the Australian outback, setting much of the action in the bar of the Carinda Hotel, in New South Wales. He also chose to make it a comment on the struggle of Australia's indigenous people, and the racism he'd witnessed there. The video has had a powerful afterlife: Fans still make pilgrimages to the hotel, in the town of Carinda, and a new documentary short film, ''Let's Dance: Bowie Down Under,'' is expected out next month.
[Video: David Bowie - "Let's Dance" Watch on YouTube.]
''Lazarus'' (2016)
''Look up here, I'm in heaven,'' are the first words Mr. Bowie sings here. ''I've got scars that can't be seen.'' He's lying in a hospital bed, viewed from above, his eyes obscured by bandages. ''Lazarus'' -- a track from his final album, ''Blackstar,'' and also the title of his new theatrical musical -- lyrically concerns itself with mortality, and the video, released a few days before his death, deepens that resonance. But the sickbed scenes form just part of the picture: Mr. Bowie is also shown, pen in hand, at a writing table, engaged in the act of creation.
[Video: David Bowie - "Lazarus" Watch on YouTube.]
In Memoriam: Arts Desk remembers David Bowie
UWIRE Text. (Jan. 12, 2016): p1.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 Uloop Inc.
http://uwire.com/?s=UWIRE+Text&x=26&y=14&=Go
Listen
Full Text:
This arts and entertainment section is made up of young people. Most of us are students between the ages of 18 and 22.
We werenat alive in the a70s and a80s, we never saw Ziggy Stardust perform live or watch in real time as David Bowie shocked and awed audiences upon his debut. For most of us, the name aDavid Bowie,a has only been in our lexicon for around a decade.
We grew up with an older Bowie. One who seemed more subdued in appearance and whose hits were already being played on local aoldiesa stations.
It took some growing up to recognize that his influence is spread all around us. Some of us discovered him through friends and family while others took on some independent research to find out who this otherworldly man was.
Below are our Bowie stories and how discovering his music influenced our lives.
We feel his loss and that heavy weight of something great leaving us, no matter how fleeting of a time we knew him. And we felt, and will continue to feel, Bowieas influence on music, performance and pop culture for years to come.
Annie Albin:
Iave heard that large age gaps between siblings can sometimes make the youngest child feel like theyare growing up with a different family. With the help of David Bowie, I never felt like that. My siblings all grew up in the a80s and a90s, and they could all reference the same pop culture anecdotes that little late-90s, early 2000as me would miss out on. That is, until they showed me aLabyrinth.a I think they showed it to me thinking I would be confused, but I loved every second of it. I felt like I was able to fit in and crack the same inside jokes my siblings were making, simply because of a movie. It was my first introduction to Bowie, and from there I grew as a fan. I canat listen to aChangesa without thinking of spending my allowance money to buy it as my ringtone in middle school. aHeroesa takes me back to when I got my first car and would blast it through my stereo. Thinking of aMagic Dancea makes me feel like Iam eight again and on vacation with my siblings, singing along in our family minivan. Thanks, Bowie. Thank you for making music that holds a lot of my childhood memories, for that cheesy film and for helping me bridge the age gap with my siblings.
Keith Finn:
While Iam not proud to admit it, my first exposure to David Bowie was when I first saw the movie aShrek 2a in the summer after fourth grade. Thereas a scene in the movie where Shrek transforms from an ogre into a normal looking human and goes around the kingdom of Far Far Away to a cover of aChanges.a There was something in the lyrics that struck me, even at that age. Bowie states in the song, aTime may change me, but I canat trace time.a My mind and body were for sure going through changes around that time, but that phrase seemed to meld itself into my mind while I was going through that adolescent mutation.
Bowie himself went through many transformations. He brought an onslaught of genres to his art. The Starman delivered the folky stylings of aHunky Dory,a the conceptual rock of aZiggy Stardusta and the experimental side of aLowa and aHeroes.a For half a century, David Bowie entertained and instilled awe into those who saw and heard him. The only thing that didnat change about Bowie was the quality of music he made, as he released fantastic music until the day he died.
The world lost a great one with Bowie. Time may bring along another weirdo savant to take his place in the music realm he used to inhabit, but the impact David Bowie made on music is too large to be traceable.
Cait Wallingford:
I canat recall the first time I saw aLabyrinth,a but upon seeing David Bowie dance through scenes with such grace and poise, I fell in love. My brother laughed that I thought Bowie was only an actor with a great singing voice. After watching his music videos, listening to his CDs and vinyl records, jamming along each time, I became more entranced with his voice. Losing that magic isnat the best way to start my last year at the university, but I can only think of how great his wife, children, family and friends have been treated since the sad news. He will be continuing to animate my TV screen as I rewatch aLabyrintha tonight, clutching tissues to my reddening eyes and quoting him until the credits.
Gaby Martinez-Garro:
Since finding out about David Bowieas death at 4 a.m. this morning, I havenat been able to stop thinking about him. I racked my brain all day trying to remember my earliest Bowie memory-- my own aWhere Were You When You First Heard Bowiea story. Each time I thought I knew, I realized an even earlier memory of his music. Like most everyone, I found myself surrounded by his influence, even when I didnat realize it. Iad love songs as a kid and grow up to realize they were really Bowie songs. Or Iad love songs he was featured in (such as aUnder Pressure,a of course) but never think much of it.
I finally dove into his hits and popular songs in 8th grade. My friend and I would exchange CDs and she let me borrow his greatest hits. I was in love immediately.
I didnat listen to Bowieas deeper cuts until the end of my high school career and the beginning of college. Thatas when I fell in love with all of aHunky Dorya and aThe Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.a
Iam no expert on Bowie and I donat claim to be his biggest fan, but his influence on my life (and the lives of most everyone) is undeniable. His passing is painful and hard to grasp, but I look forward to getting to know him through his music and impact for the rest of my life.
Ben Buchnat:
Bowie was one of a kind. It is very rare that an artist can change so drastically and keep being so successful for so many years. David Bowie was one of those people. From the opening lines of aSpace Oddity,a to the funk-filled Queen collaboration that was aUnder Pressure,a to the almost foretelling of his death in aLazarus,a David Bowie was a genius. I was not the biggest fan, nor have I listened to all of his immense back-catalog. However, his influence canat be understated. He is the reason why so many were inspired to just be themselves and create. For that, Iall always be thankful.
Michaela Luckey:
In all honesty, I wasnat a Bowie fan until I watched aLabyrintha for the first time sometime in middle school. Amidst the trippy melee of puppets and teenage angst, Bowie stole my heart with those fantastic dance moves and whimsical lyrics. Full disclosure: Jareth the Goblin King was definitely one of my first sexual awakenings and I still love him to this day. As I got older, I grew to love Bowieas talent in all its genius, from Ziggy Stardust to aThe Man Who Fell to Earth.a Bowie meant a lot to tons of different people, but I think one of his greatest legacies is his openness with his bisexuality and gender nonconformity which helped pave the way for others in their personal expressions.
arts@dailynebraskan.com
We are following breaking news from the music world. Pop icon David Bowie has died after a battle with cancer
Born: January 08, 1947 in London, United Kingdom
Died: January 10, 2016 in New York, New York, United States
Other Names : Jones, David Robert (British pop singer); The Thin White Duke; Ziggy Stardust
Nationality: British
Occupation: Rock singer
CBS Morning News. 2016.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 CQ-Roll Call, Inc.
http://www.rollcall.com/about/
Listen
Full Text:
ANNE-MARIE GREEN: It`s Monday, January 11, 2016. This is the CBS MORNING NEWS.
Legendary and influential singer-songwriter David Bowie dies, following an eighteen-month battle with cancer.
Mexico begins extradition proceedings of notorious drug lord "El Chapo" Guzman to the United States. El Chapo was captured following a month`s long hunt after his latest escape from prison.
And the largest lottery jackpot ever. Wednesday`s Powerball drawing now worth an estimated 1.3 billion dollars.
Good morning from the Studio 57 newsroom at CBS News headquarters here in New York. Good to be with you. I`m Anne-Marie Green.
We are following breaking news from the music world. Pop icon David Bowie has died after a battle with cancer. He was sixty-nine years old. Mark Phillips is in London with a look at the singer`s groundbreaking career. Mark, good morning.
MARK PHILLIPS: Good morning. Well, the announcement was a brief one this morning. And it caused shock, not just in the music world but-- and the broader cultural world, but right around the world. In fact, such was the influence of David Bowie`s character and characters over the course of his career. He died yesterday, according to a family release on Twitter, surrounded by family and after--as you say--an eighteen-month battle with cancer. Reflections about David Bowie`s career have been coming, not just from the music world but from the political world, as well. The British prime minister called him a pop genius this morning, a master of reinvention who kept getting it right. And, indeed, any appreciation of Bowie`s life, any obituary has to deal with more than one character but with a series of rock and artistic characters he created over the course of his career beginning probably with the one people find most familiar, the Ziggy Stardust, Major Tom character, which was one of his major hits. But his influence and his career, excuse me, through two or three more decades of rock and pop is just beginning to be appreciated now with the shocking news that he has died.
ANNE-MARIE GREEN: Indeed, truly shocking. He just put out a-- a CD on Friday. Definitely, no one expected this. And very few people knew, I think, that he was battling cancer. Mark Phillips in London. Thank you very much, Mark.
END
[Copy: Content and programming Copyright MMXVI CBS Broadcasting Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Copyright 2016 CQ-Roll Call, Inc. All materials herein are protected by United States copyright law and may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, displayed, published or broadcast without the prior written permission of CQ-Roll Call. You may not alter or remove any trademark, copyright or other notice from copies of the content.]
Well, David Bowie became famous for the changes in his own character over his four-plus-decade career
Born: January 08, 1947 in London, United Kingdom
Died: January 10, 2016 in New York, New York, United States
Other Names : Jones, David Robert (British pop singer); The Thin White Duke; Ziggy Stardust
Nationality: British
Occupation: Rock singer
CBS This Morning. 2016.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 CQ-Roll Call, Inc.
http://www.cbsnews.com/cbsthismorning/
Listen
Full Text:
CHARLIE ROSE: Good morning. It is Monday, January 11, 2016. Welcome to CBS THIS MORNING. Rock legend David Bowie losses his secret fight with cancer. We remember the trailblazing artist who shaped culture with his music and ever changing persona.
NORAH O`DONNELL: A meeting between actor Sean Penn and El Chapo may have led to the Mexican drug lord`s capture. He could soon face justice in the U.S.
GAYLE KING: And we`re in Italy with the murder mystery involving an American woman.
CHARLIE ROSE: But we begin this morning with a look at today`s Eye Opener-- your world in ninety seconds.
DAVID BOWIE: I`m going to use rock and roll as a media. I wanted to be the instigator of new ideas.
CHARLIE ROSE: Pioneer artist David Bowie dead at sixty-nine.
(David Bowie signing)
MAN #1: The multitalented English singer, songwriter, producer, a driving force in pop culture, over the course of nearly fifty years.
(David Bowie signing)
DAVID BOWIE (Charlie Rose): I`m certainly a fulfilled man.
WOMAN #1: Mexico has begun the process to extradite drug kingpin El Chapo Guzman to the United States.
MAN #2: Authorities want to have a word with Sean Penn for a secret meeting with Guzman.
DONALD TRUMP (R-Presidential Candidate, NBC News): She is married to an abuser. A woman claimed rape, and all sort of things. I mean horrible things.
JOHN DICKERSON (FACE THE NATION): Secretary Clinton, what do you say, though, to those who say, a discussion of that portion of your husband`s career is fair game?
HILLARY CLINTON (FACE THE NATION): I think it`s a dead end, blind alley for them, but let them go.
WOMAN #2 (Seventy-third Golden Globe Awards HFP Association DCP Rights Inc.): The seventy-third annual Golden Globe Awards.
MAN #3 (Seventy-third Golden Globe Awards HFP Association DCP Rights Inc.): The Revenant took home top honors.
JULIANNE MOORE (Seventy-third Golden Globe Awards HFP Association DCP Rights Inc.): Leonardo DiCaprio.
LEONARDO DICAPRIO (Seventy-third Golden Globe Awards HFP Association DCP Rights Inc.): What an incredible honor.
MEL GIBSON (Seventy-third Golden Globe Awards HFP Association DCP Rights Inc.): You don`t need to leave your drink here. I`ll put you to sleep another way son of a (EXPLETIVE DELETED)
CHRIS WRAGGE: 1.3 billion dollars and counting. The biggest Powerball jackpot ever is up for grabs.
WOMAN #3: Crossing my fingers.
WOMAN #4: In California professional surfer Garrett McNamara wiped out on a fifty-foot wave.
MAN #4: He survived.
CHARLIE ROSE: All that--
MAN #5 (NFL/NEC Sports): Walsh just kick this off it is, no good, he misses it. The season can`t end like that. And the Seahawks are off to Charlotte.
MAN #6 (NFL/Fox Sports): Got it away. Adams wide open for the touchdown as Green Bay offense is rolling right now. Packers moving on.
CHARLIE ROSE: --and all that matters--
MAN #7: Vladimir Putin is at it again, showing off his muscle, throwing members of Russia`s judo team to the floor. Nobody is going to throw the president to the ground.
CHARLIE ROSE: --on CBS THIS MORNING.
WOMAN #5: Electrical fire is to blame for displacing a hundred people in south Tulsa.
WOMAN #6: It`s okay.
WOMAN #7: Oh, man. The building is on fire. I said, no, what? I got my three kids and we bounced out. No, we ain`t going to be in no fire, not today.
CHARLIE ROSE: Welcome to CBS THIS MORNING. We are remembering David Bowie, a rock star whose changes made him a legend.
(David Bowie singing)
CHARLIE ROSE: Bowie`s songs and stage presence influenced generations of musicians. He died Sunday after an eighteen-month battle with cancer. He had just turned sixty-nine.
NORAH O`DONNELL: The British born artist was a ground-breaking figure in music, fashion, and sex. Tributes are pouring in from fans ranging from fellow musicians to prime ministers, and even a Roman Catholic cardinal. Mark Phillips in London looks back at Bowie`s career, which he kept alive until days before his death. Mark, good morning.
MARK PHILLIPS (CBS News Senior foreign Correspondent): Good morning. Well, David Bowie became famous for the changes in his own character over his four-plus-decade career. And he leaves a world changed by what he did in ways few pop stars manage.
(Begin VT)
MARK PHILLIPS: For a man known for so many images this will be the last enduring one of David Bowie. The one from his latest album released last Friday on his sixty-ninth birthday.
(David Bowie singing)
MARK PHILLIPS: The deathbed imagery and lyrics seem to suggest he not only knew what was coming, he turned his death into his last artistic event.
(David Bowie singing)
MARK PHILLIPS: And this may be the first image of Bowie many remember.
(David Bowie singing)
MARK PHILLIPS: Bowie`s was a career that people first began to notice back in 1969, when people were being landed on the moon, that stopped, but Bowie continued.
(David Bowie singing)
MARK PHILLIPS: He didn`t just release songs he became the persona that performed them Ziggy Stardust in the seventies.
(David Bowie singing)
MARK PHILLIPS: And not just the songs, of course, but the ever-changing look, as he told Charlie Rose back in 1998. Bowie was always about more than just the music.
CHARLIE ROSE (Charlie Rose): Do you think of yourself, first, as a musician?
DAVID BOWIE (Charlie Rose): No. No.
CHARLIE ROSE: I mean music were your--
DAVID BOWIE: Actually, I find that the idea of having to say that I`m a musician in any way is an embarrassment to me, because I don`t really believe that. I`ve always felt that what I do is I use music for my way of expression. I don`t believe I`m very accomplished artist.
MARK PHILLIPS: Others will disagree. Bowie reinvented himself as he went along with Fame, which he co-wrote with John Lennon. He brought what he called plastic soul as a white British artist to Soul Train.
(End VT)
MARK PHILLIPS: You can pick whichever David Bowie you want to remember or, better still, Gayle, you can remember them all.
GAYLE KING: Yes. We can, Mark. So well said. You can remember them all. It was really nice to see the interview with him, Charlie, because you so rarely get to hear his voice.
CHARLIE ROSE: I know.
NORAH O`DONNELL: Mm.
GAYLE KING: It was nice to hear him.
CHARLIE ROSE: And-- and he was so authentic and true.
GAYLE KING: Mm-Hm.
CHARLIE ROSE: I mean it really was beyond the music for him. It was a sense of performance and a sense of understanding image.
GAYLE KING: And it`s interesting to hear the words of his latest music that was--
NORAH O`DONNELL: Yeah.
CHARLIE ROSE: Oh, wow.
GAYLE KING: --just released. The lyrics.
NORAH O`DONNELL: When did you--
GAYLE KING: During this time.
NORAH O`DONNELL: --made people stopped smoking on set?
CHARLIE ROSE: Yeah. That clip was with Sean Penn.
NORAH O`DONNELL: Oh, interesting. Very interesting.
GAYLE KING: It`s also-- big tie today. We will have more on David Bowie a little bit later on in this newscast.
Mexico officials this morning have started efforts to send the drug lord known as El Chapo to the U.S. for trial. U.S. officials confirmed that Joaquin Guzman`s meeting with actor Sean Penn in October help lead to his arrest. Guzman was captured on Friday after a six-month manhunt. Penn described their seven-hour meeting for a Rolling Stone article that was released over the weekend. Manuel Bojorquez is outside the Mexican prison where El Chapo is being held. Now, it`s the same prison he escaped from in July. Manuel, good morning.
END
[Copy: Content and programming Copyright MMXVI CBS Broadcasting Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Copyright 2016 CQ-Roll Call, Inc. All materials herein are protected by United States copyright law and may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, displayed, published or broadcast without the prior written permission of CQ-Roll Call. You may not alter or remove any trademark, copyright or other notice from copies of the content.]
A spokesman says Bowie died Sunday surrounded by family. He had quietly battled cancer for the last eighteen months
Born: January 08, 1947 in London, United Kingdom
Died: January 10, 2016 in New York, New York, United States
Other Names : Jones, David Robert (British pop singer); The Thin White Duke; Ziggy Stardust
Nationality: British
Occupation: Rock singer
CBS This Morning. 2016.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 CQ-Roll Call, Inc.
http://www.cbsnews.com/cbsthismorning/
Listen
Full Text:
NORAH O`DONNELL: Good morning. It`s Monday, January 11, 2016. Welcome back to CBS THIS MORNING. There is more real news ahead, including the messages in David Bowie`s final album. Rolling Stone`s Joe Levy helps us reflect on the rocker`s impact on music and culture.
But, first, here`s today`s Eye Opener @ 8.
MARK PHILLIPS: David Bowie became famous for the changes in his own character and he leaves a world changed by what he did.
MANUEL BOJORQUEZ: According to a U.S. law enforcement source, Mexican authorities worry El Chapo could bribe his way to another escape.
RIKKI KLIEMAN: The truth is any reporter, any journalist would have wanted this interview.
KEVIN FRAZIER: It was a busy night for the censors but also a big night for The Martian and Jennifer Lawrence.
JENNIFER LAWRENCE (Seventy-third Golden Globe Awards HFP Association DCP Rights, Inc.): Thank you, David. I love you.
MAJOR GARRETT: Donald Trump and Ted Cruz are battling for supremacy in Iowa. And Chris Christie, Marco Rubio, and Jeb Bush are fighting to be the mainstream alternative.
ALLEN PIZZEY: Italian police are going to move-- move faster this time. They`ve already seized Ashley`s cell phone and computer and are going through surveillance video in the area around the crime scene.
KRIS VAN CLEAVE: V2V is designed so that this car could talk to this car and every other car on the road. Now the Department of Transportation is taking a key step to making V2V a requirement for all new cars.
EVA LONGORIA (Seventy-third Golden Globe Awards HFP Association DCP Rights, Inc.): Hi, I`m Eva Longoria, not Eva Mendes.
AMERICA FERRERA (Seventy-third Golden Globe Awards HFP Association DCP Rights, Inc.): And hi, I`m America Ferrera, not Gina Rodriguez.
EVA LONGORIA: Yes. And neither, neither one of us are Rosario Dawson.
AMERICA FERRERA: No. Well said Salma.
EVA LONGORIA: Thank you, Charo.
CHARLIE ROSE: I`m Charlie Rose with Gayle King and Norah O`Donnell.
David Bowie is being honored this morning as a true original and the best there is.
(David Bowie singing)
CHARLIE ROSE: A spokesman says Bowie died Sunday surrounded by family. He had quietly battled cancer for the last eighteen months.
NORAH O`DONNELL: His latest album was released Friday on his sixty-ninth birthday. In a 1998 interview Bowie told Charlie his relationship to music was complicated.
(Begin VT)
DAVID BOWIE (Charlie Rose): I can`t really say that I enjoy music or painting and quite that-- I mean it`s not like sex or something which you can kind of really enjoy. There`s something really--
CHARLIE ROSE: I knew you--
DAVID BOWIE: --it`s important. There is something-- there`s something volatile, emotive, and something that makes me really quite angry about going through the process of both making music and-- and doing visual arts. And--
CHARLIE ROSE: But the visual arts are--
DAVID BOWIE: But, you know, I guess that`s my problem.
CHARLIE ROSE: No, but let`s deal with your problem. You changed the--
DAVID BOWIE: But if-- but if you deal with my problem. I might not be able to do these things again, you see. I am weary of analyses.
CHARLIE ROSE: Yes, Sir. But let me point out to you--
DAVID BOWIE: Yeah.
CHARLIE ROSE: --knowing your history and knowing your family--
DAVID BOWIE: Yes.
CHARLIE ROSE: --and knowing your background, you have always, always resisted any suggestion--I want you to look over this way when I`m talking.
DAVID BOWIE: I`m getting deeply into those eyes.
CHARLIE ROSE: Yes. I know you are.
DAVID BOWIE: Yeah.
CHARLIE ROSE: You are getting into those eyes, aren`t you?
DAVID BOWIE: Yeah.
CHARLIE ROSE: Now, why are you weary--
DAVID BOWIE: What is this about?
CHARLIE ROSE: You have always--
DAVID BOWIE: Yeah.
CHARLIE ROSE: --always resisted any notion that this creativity that you have comes from any sort of dysfunctional or--
DAVID BOWIE: You know--
CHARLIE ROSE: --madness out of family.
DAVID BOWIE: It-- it`s I think I`m off too (INDISTINCT) if-- if actually being an artist in any way, any nature is a kind of a sign of a certain kind of dysfunction, a social dysfunctional in many ways.
CHARLIE ROSE: Yeah.
DAVID BOWIE: It`s an extraordinary thing to want to do.
(End VT)
NORAH O`DONNELL: Mm.
CHARLIE ROSE: Joe Levy, a contributing editor of Rolling Stone is with us. Welcome.
JOE LEVY (Rolling Stone Contributing Editor): Good to be here.
CHARLIE ROSE: So talk about David Bowie.
JOE LEVY: Such an incredible artist. Despite what he might say about not thinking of himself as a great musician, we all did. But he was a curator.
CHARLIE ROSE: We did, because?
JOE LEVY: We did because he set the bar. He showed the way. So often, he blazed a trail. He was a curator. He looked around. He saw what was most interesting, most avant garde, most edgy in music, in fashion, in poetry, in stage performance.
CHARLIE ROSE: Yeah.
JOE LEVY: And he brought it into music changing time and time again, setting a wave for so many difference artists.
CHARLIE ROSE: Yes.
GAYLE KING: And Joe his-- his last-- his last album that he just released on his birthday, the lyrics, Lazarus-- "Look up here on Manhattan, I`ve got scars that can`t be seen. I`ve got drama that can`t be stolen, everybody knows me now." He knew.
JOE LEVY: This is an amazing thing to think about. He had battled cancer for eighteen months. He knew none of us did. This was private. It allowed him to craft a final statement, a statement about mortality as you`re pointing out--
GAYLE KING: Mm-Hm.
JOE LEVY: --and to let it be received without knowledge of that, to be evaluated as independently art on its own. And, now, just a few days later, it rises up. It serves the purpose of Lazarus. It rises up and takes the place of the man and we all acknowledge it is a remarkable thing, a fearless thing, an unusual thing to make art that faces down your own mortality in this way.
NORAH O`DONNELL: Why was there so much interest in the sexuality?
JOE LEVY: Well, you just saw a clip of him flirting with Charlie, so, perhaps, Charlie can best answer that. Because he was fearless there as well. He was a trail blazer in the early seventies, saying, I am bisexual, at a time when many people did not know what that word meant.
GAYLE KING: Right.
JOE LEVY: Let alone what it meant to be to feel that way, to act that way. He set his own impulses free and he blazed a way for many other people to do the same.
GAYLE KING: It`s interesting that people that are responding, Madonna says a great artist changed my life. First concert I ever saw. Kanye West, David Bowie was one of the most important inspirations so fearless, so creative. He gave us magic of a lifetime. So we had also some personas. How would you say he changed the music industry?
JOE LEVY: Well, think about this. There would be no Madonna, no Lady Gaga without David Bowie. He showed them how to make art, how to make celebrity out of everything around them but how great was his range? Kurt Cobain was a fan. Kanye West was a fan. We`re talking about a wide variety of different music across different generations. That is amazing.
CHARLIE ROSE: Yeah, I think the curating thing is such an important point.
JOE LEVY: Yes.
CHARLIE ROSE: Somebody who helps define where we are.
JOE LEVY: That`s exactly right. We now look at curation as so important to what we do around us because of the social media era but here is Bowie looking at Japan, looking at mime, looking at all these things that weren`t rock `n` roll and saying, it`s all rock `n` roll. All of life, everything is all part of my art. I`m going to give it to you. I`m going to arrange it in a way you`ve never seen before and it was jaw dropping.
NORAH O`DONNELL: Joe.
CHARLIE ROSE: Thank you.
NORAH O`DONNELL: Thanks.
GAYLE KING: Thank you.
CHARLIE ROSE: Yeah.
JOE LEVY: Thank you.
NORAH O`DONNELL: Nice to have you here.
A lawyer for the drug lord El Chapo says he will fight extradition to the U.S. This morning Mexico has started the legal process to send him here for trial. Joaquin Guzman was first arrested in 1993. That was followed by a series of escapes and recaptures. The world`s most wanted drug dealer escaped from Mexico`s top security prison in July 2015 but he was arrested on Friday.
GAYLE KING: American officials confirm a meeting between Guzman and Actor Sean Penn help lead to this arrest. Penn interviewed El Chapo back in October. The actor wrote about their seven-hour encounter for Rolling Stone magazine. The article`s just out. He described the notorious drug lord as ".entirely unapologetic."
END
[Copy: Content and programming Copyright MMXVI CBS Broadcasting Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Copyright 2016 CQ-Roll Call, Inc. All materials herein are protected by United States copyright law and may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, displayed, published or broadcast without the prior written permission of CQ-Roll Call. You may not alter or remove any trademark, copyright or other notice from copies of the content.]
David Bowie is dead at 69
CNN Wire. (Jan. 11, 2016):
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 CNN Newsource Sales, Inc.
http://news.blogs.cnn.com/tag/the-cnn-wire/
Listen
Full Text:
Byline: Saeed Ahmed, CNN
(CNN) -- David Bowie, whose ground-breaking sound and chameleon-like ability to reinvent himself made him a pop music fixture for more than four decades, has died. He had just turned 69 last week.
Bowie died Sunday after an 18-month battle with cancer, his publicist Steve Martin told CNN.
"David Bowie died peacefully today surrounded by his family after a courageous 18 month battle with cancer. While many of you will share in this loss, we ask that you respect the family's privacy during their time of grief," said a statement posted on his official social media accounts.
Neither his publicist nor the statement elaborated on what kind of cancer the singer was fighting.
Bowie's death has been the regular subject of internet hoaxes for the last several years. So the news came as a shock to fans and industry insiders when it was confirmed.
He had just released his latest album, 'Blackstar,' on Friday, his 69th birthday. It shot to no. 1 on the iTunes chart in the U.K. and no. 2 in the U.S., underscoring his appeal even after decades in the music business.
Like his past releases, the work -- generally praised by music critics -- defied genres. The influential music publication NME called it an amalgamation of "warped showtunes, skronking industrial rock, soulful balladeering, airy folk-pop, even hip-hop".
Indelible mark
That in a nutshell was Bowie: there wasn't a musical style he didn't dabble in - and indelibly leave his mark upon.
Since his breakthrough with 1972's 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars," Bowie's reach was electic: glam rock, prog rock, pop rock, electronic rock.
And the results? Electric.
He had his first No. 1 single in the United States with "Fame" in 1973 and followed that up with dozens of hits that still remain on heavy rotation on radio: "Let's Dance," "Space Oddity," "Under Pressure," "Rebel, rebel."
MORE TO COME
Saeed Ahmed, CNN
David Bowie, master of reinvention, is dead at 69
CNN Wire. (Jan. 11, 2016):
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2016 CNN Newsource Sales, Inc.
http://news.blogs.cnn.com/tag/the-cnn-wire/
Listen
Full Text:
Byline: Saeed Ahmed and Joe Sutton, CNN
(CNN) -- David Bowie, whose incomparable sound and chameleon-like ability to reinvent himself made him a pop music fixture for more than four decades, has died. He was 69.
Bowie died Sunday after an 18-month battle with cancer, his publicist Steve Martin told CNN.
"David Bowie died peacefully today surrounded by his family after a courageous 18 month battle with cancer. While many of you will share in this loss, we ask that you respect the family's privacy during their time of grief," said a statement posted on his official social media accounts.
Neither his publicist nor the statement elaborated on what kind of cancer the singer was fighting.
Bowie's death has been the regular subject of internet hoaxes for the last several years. So the news came as a shock to fans and industry insiders when it was confirmed.
"Very sorry and sad to say it's true. I'll be offline for a while. Love to all," his son, Duncan Jones, tweeted.
From a mop-topped unknown singer called David Jones, to his space alien alter ego "Ziggy Stardust," to his dapper departure as the Thin White Duke, Bowie married music and fashion in a way few artists have been able to master.
He was theatrical, he was flamboyant, he was without parallel in his showmanship.
With a voice that soared from a baritone to a falsetto, he spoke of carrying on against the odds. Of the terror in knowing what the world is about. Of turning and facing the strange.
His songs were a salve for the alienated and the misfits of the world.
Bowie had just released his latest album, 'Blackstar,' on Friday, his 69th birthday. It shot to no. 1 on the iTunes chart in the U.K. and no. 2 in the U.S., underscoring his appeal even after decades in the music business.
Like his past releases, the work -- generally praised by music critics -- defied genres. The influential music publication NME called it an amalgamation of "warped showtunes, skronking industrial rock, soulful balladeering, airy folk-pop, even hip-hop."
Indelible mark
That in a nutshell was Bowie: there wasn't a musical style he didn't dabble in - and indelibly leave his mark upon.
Since his breakthrough with 1972's 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars," Bowie's reach was eclectic: glam rock, prog rock, pop rock, electronic rock.
And the results? Electric. To the tune of more than 130 million records sold.
He had his first No. 1 single in the United States with "Fame" in 1973 and followed that up with dozens of hits that still remain on heavy rotation on radio: "Let's Dance," "Space Oddity," "Under Pressure," "Rebel, rebel," "Changes."
"David Bowie was one of my most important inspirations, so fearless, so creative, he gave us magic for a lifetime," tweeted rapper Kanye West, as news of his death made the rounds.
Changing looks
Born David Jones to a waitress and a nightclub owner in South London, Bowie began his musical life with his birthname, riding the mod wave of the mid-1960s. He changed to Bowie to avoid confusion with Davy Jones, the lead singer of the Monkees, which was enjoying serious pop success at the time.
He always had impeccable timing.
He released his song about a doomed astronaut, "Space Oddity," just days before the 1969 Moon landing.
Four years later he killed off his most famous creation, the other-worldly "Ziggy Stardust," just at the point it threatened to overwhelm him.
He then transformed into the Thin White Duke, a cocksure but coked-out mad aristrocrat. While Ziggy was all arena rock, The Due was chilled soul. While Ziggy gave him "Space Oddity," the Duke gave him yet another timeless classic, "Fame."
With Bowie, it was difficult to separate art from reality. And as the drug-taking took its toll, he holed up in Berlin and recorded the ground-breaking Berlin trilogy.
"David Bowie was a true innovator, a true creative. May he rest in peace," tweeted uber-producer Pharrell Williams.
But just when one thought one could write off Bowie as a peddler in theatrics, he shed his flamboyance for a no-frills, earnest appearance for a 1977 Christmas TV special to sing "The Little Drummer Boy" with Bing Crosby.
The awesome 80s
The 1980s were a great time to be Bowie.
Starting with his collaboration with Queen on "Under Pressure," he brilliantly reinvented himself to take full advantage of the video music era.
"Let's Dance" became his most commercially successful album, its sound and his look influencing a new generation of musicians - this time, the New Wave of pop.
Then it was time for another transformation - that of a movie star.
He played the lead in movies such as "Labyrinth" and "The Man Who Fell to Earth," did a three-month stint on Broadway as the "Elephant Man," and had cameos in TV shows such as "SpongeBob SquarePants."
Through it all, his Midas touch made classics of other people's songs. He produced Lou Reed's "Transformer," with its hit "Walk on the Wild Side," and Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life," among others.
His output thinned in the 1990s and the 2000s, but they were no less envelope-pushing. He experimented with heavy metal, with industrial rock, and with drum and bass.
His androgynous look always led to questions of his sexuality that, like his music, defied classification.
He told Playboy magazine in the 1970s that he was bisexual. He told Rolling Stone in the 1980s he had always been a "closet heterosexual."
In 1992, Bowie married his second wife, model Iman. They have a daughter together.
By the early 2000s, his health was failing too. He had an emergency angioplasty in 2004.
He re-emerged in 2013 to great fanfare with "The Next Day," and on Friday, released "Blackstar."
As the world mourns Bowie's death, fan Dean Podsta put it best:
"If you're sad today, just remember the world is over 4 billion years old and you somehow managed to exist at the same time as David Bowie."
Saeed Ahmed and Joe Sutton, CNN
David Bowie
Blackstar
Blackstar artworkCOLUMBIARCAISO • 2016
8.5
BEST NEW MUSIC
by Ryan Dombal
Senior Editor
ROCK
JANUARY 7 2016
Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Open share drawer
Blackstar has David Bowie embracing his status as a no-fucks icon, clutching onto remnants from the past as exploratory jazz and the echos of various mad men soundtrack his freefall.
David Bowie has died many deaths yet he is still with us. He is popular music’s ultimate Lazarus: Just as that Biblical figure was beckoned by Jesus to emerge from his tomb after four days of nothingness, Bowie has put many of his selves to rest over the last half-century, only to rise again with a different guise. This is astounding to watch, but it's more treacherous to live through; following Lazarus’ return, priests plotted to kill him, fearing the power of his story. And imagine actually being such a miracle man—resurrection is a hard act to follow.
Bowie knows all this. He will always have to answer to his epochal work of the 1970s, the decade in which he dictated several strands of popular and experimental culture, when he made reinvention seem as easy as waking up in the morning. Rather than trying to outrun those years, as he did in the '80s and '90s, he is now mining them in a resolutely bizarre way that scoffs at greatest-hits tours, nostalgia, and brainless regurgitation.
His new off-Broadway musical is called Lazarus, and it turns Bowie’s penchant for avatars into an intriguing shell game: The disjointed production features actor Michael C. Hall doing his best impression of Bowie’s corrupted, drunk, and immortal alien from the 1976 art film The Man Who Fell to Earth. Trapped in a set that mimics a Manhattan penthouse, Hall presses himself up to his high skyscraper windows as he sings a new Bowie song also called "Lazarus." "This way or no way, you know, I’ll be free," he sings, smudging his hands against the glass. "Just like that bluebird." Bowie sings the same song on Blackstar, an album that has him clutching onto remnants from the past as exploratory jazz and the echos of various mad men soundtrack his freefall.
Following years of troubling silence, Bowie returned to the pop world with 2013’s The Next Day. The goodwill surrounding his return could not overcome the album’s overall sense of stasis, though. Conversely, on Blackstar, he embraces his status as a no-fucks icon, a 68-year-old with "nothing left to lose," as he sings on "Lazarus." The album features a quartet of brand-new collaborators, led by the celebrated modern jazz saxophonist Donny McCaslin, whose repertoire includes hard bop as well as skittering Aphex Twin covers. Bowie’s longtime studio wingman Tony Visconti is back as co-producer, bringing along with him some continuity and a sense of history.
Because as much as Blackstar shakes up our idea of what a David Bowie record can sound like, its blend of jazz, codes, brutality, drama, and alienation is not without precedent in his work. Bowie’s first proper instrument was a saxophone, after all, and as a preteen he looked up to his older half-brother Terry Burns, who exposed him to John Coltrane, Eric Dolphy, and Beat Generation ideals. The links connecting Bowie, his brother, and jazz feel significant. Burns suffered from schizophrenia throughout his life; he once tried to kill himself by jumping out of a mental hospital window and eventually committed suicide by putting himself in front of a train in 1985.
Perhaps this helps explain why Bowie has often used jazz and his saxophone not for finger-snapping pep but rather to hint at mystery and unease. It’s there in his close collaborations with avant-jazz pianist Mike Garson, from 1973’s "Aladdin Sane (1913-1938-197?)" all the way to 2003’s "Bring Me the Disco King." It’s in his wild squawks on 1993’s "Jump They Say," an ode to Burns. But there is no greater example of the pathos that makes Bowie’s saxophone breathe than on "Subterraneans" from 1977’s Low, one of his most dour (and influential) outré moments. That song uncovered a mood of future nostalgia so lasting that it’s difficult to imagine the existence of an act like Boards of Canada without it. Completing the circle, Boards of Canada were reportedly one of Bowie’s inspirations for Blackstar. At this point, it is all but impossible for Bowie to escape himself, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try.
Thematically, Blackstar pushes on with the world-weary nihilism that has marked much of his work this century. "It’s a head-spinning dichotomy of the lust for life against the finality of everything," he mused around the release of 2003’s Reality. "It’s those two things raging against each other… that produces these moments that feel like real truth." Those collisions come hard and strong throughout the album, unpredictable jazz solos and spirited vocals meeting timeless stories of blunt force and destruction. The rollicking "'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore" gets its name from a controversial 17th-century play in which a man has sex with his sister only to stab her in the heart in the middle of a kiss. Bowie’s twist involves some canny gender-bending ("she punched me like a dude"), a robbery, and World War I, but the gist is the same—humans will always resort to a language of savagery when necessary, no matter where or when. See also: "Girl Loves Me," which has Bowie yelping in the slang originated by A Clockwork Orange’s ultraviolent droogs.
Though this mix of jazz, malice, and historical role-play is intoxicating, Blackstar becomes whole with its two-song denouement, which balances out the bruises and blood with a couple of salty tears. These are essentially classic David Bowie ballads, laments in which he lets his mask hang just enough for us to see the creases of skin behind it. "Dollar Days" is the confession of a restless soul who could not spend his golden years in a blissful British countryside even if he wanted to. "I’m dying to push their backs against the grain and fool them all again and again," he sings, the words doubling as a mantra for Blackstar and much of Bowie’s career. Then, on "I Can’t Give Everything Away," he once again sounds like a frustrated Lazarus, stymied by a returning pulse. This tortured immortality is no gimmick: Bowie will live on long after the man has died. For now, though, he’s making the most of his latest reawakening, adding to the myth while the myth is his to hold.
David Bowie: Blackstar
The arty, unsettling 'Blackstar' is Bowie's best anti-pop masterpiece since the Seventies
Jimmy King
By David Fricke
December 23, 2015
More News
The Inside Story of David Bowie's Stunning New Album
David Bowie Keyboardist Jason Lindner on Making 'Blackstar'
David Bowie Confirms New Album 'Blackstar'
All Stories
Three years ago, with little warning, David Bowie ended a decade-long break from studio releases with The Next Day. The second album he's released since that unexpected return to the limelight is an even greater surprise: one of the most aggressively experimental records the singer has ever made. Produced with longtime collaborator Tony Visconti and cut with a small combo of New York-based jazz musicians whose sound is wreathed in arctic electronics, Blackstar is a ricochet of textural eccentricity and pictorial-shrapnel writing. It's confounding on first impact: the firm swing and giddy vulgarity of " 'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore"; Bowie's croons and groans, like a doo-wop Kraftwerk, in the sexual dystopia of "Girl Loves Me"; the spare beaten-spirit soul of "Dollar Days." But the mounting effect is wickedly compelling. This album represents Bowie's most fulfilling spin away from glam-legend pop charm since 1977's Low. Blackstar is that strange, and that good.
The longest reach is up front, in the episodic, ceremonial noir of the title track. Bowie's gauzy vocal prayer and wordless spectral harmonies hover over drum seizures; saxophonist Donny McCaslin laces the stutter and chill like Andy Mackay in early-Seventies Roxy Music. The song drops to a blues-ballad stroll, but it is an eerie calm with unsettling allusions to violent sacrifice, especially given recent events. (No who or why is specified, but McCaslin has said the song is "about ISIS.") "Something happened on the day he died/Spirit rose a meter, then stepped aside," Bowie sings with what sounds like numbed grace. "Somebody else took his place and bravely cried: I'm a blackstar." His use of an ideogram for the album's title makes sense here – there is no light at the end of this tale.
The album includes a dynamic honing of Bowie's 2014 single "Sue (Or in a Season of Crime)" with less brass and more malevolent programming; the title song from his current off-Broadway musical production, Lazarus (that's Bowie firing those grunting blasts of guitar); and a blunt honesty at the finish. Bowie turns 69 on January 8th, the day Blackstar comes out. In "I Can't Give Everything Away," he states his case for the dignity of distance – his refusal to tour (so far) and engage with the media circus – against guitarist Ben Monder's lacerating soprano-fuzz guitar, a sly evocation of Robert Fripp's iconic soloing in 1977's "Heroes." "This is all I ever meant/That's the message that I sent," Bowie sings in a voice largely free of effects – clear, elegant and emphatic. This is a rock star who gives when he's ready – and still gives to extremes.
Review: David Bowie's 'Blackstar' Is Adventurous To The End
Facebook
Twitter
Google+
Email
January 11, 20162:15 PM ET
BARRY WALTERS
The cover of David Bowie's album Blackstar.
Courtesy of Columbia Records
It could've gone so terribly wrong.
According to Tony Visconti, David Bowie's longtime producer and mouthpiece for the final few years of his life, the English expat wanted to embrace manifold styles for his 25th album, ★, aka Blackstar, released last Friday. Pop's original chameleon had of course been doing that for 50-odd years, and so for this last time around, he aimed to omit the very music upon which he began. "The goal, in many, many ways," Visconti claims, "was to avoid rock & roll."
Enlarge this image
David Bowie's 27th album, Blackstar, was released on Friday, his 69th birthday. He died, following an 18-month battle with cancer, two days later.
Jimmy King/Courtesy of Columbia Records
There's a lot of that going around: Check the latest Coachella lineup beyond Guns 'n Roses. But rather than revisiting his synth-heavy Low/"Heroes"/Lodger trilogy like so many of his followers and he himself did on 2013's The Next Day, Bowie turned to a nearly forgotten genre that hasn't in decades attracted a superstar — jazz fusion. Having enlisted saxophonist Donny McCaslin and his trio — keyboardist Jason Lindner, bassist Tim Lefebvre and drummer Mark Guiliana — here augmented by another veteran on the NYC jazz scene, guitarist Ben Monder, Bowie updated the technical rigor and tonal fervor of '70s Miles Davis with the kindred adventurousness of electronic music.
The dexterity of the form set Bowie free to be as musically unconventional as he had so often been visually. McCaslin shares Bowie's taste for hybrids; he is perhaps the sole Grammy-nominated jazz soloist to cite Aphex Twin. On his last solo jam, 2013's Hydra, Monder conjures the prog-rock majesties of Yes at its most labyrinthine and sprawling. With seven songs totaling 41 minutes, Blackstar similarly stretches out sans compromise.
Bowie's leap into full-on jazz muso fantasia for his swan song may seem out of character unless you consider this: As much as he paved the way for punk, synth-pop and other now-ubiquitous forms where passion triumphs over training, Bowie had long championed virtuosos: The three records most responsible for translating his overseas success to the U.S., "Space Oddity," Young Americans and Let's Dance, featured, respectively, Rick Wakeman, Luther Vandross and Stevie Ray Vaughan — all of them years before they became stars. Along the way, he had worked with such diverse and distinctive players as Mick Ronson, David Sanborn, Earl Slick, Brian Eno, Robert Fripp, Adrian Belew, Roy Bittan, Nile Rodgers and Peter Frampton. Beyond that marquee, he employed such musician's musicians as Mike Garson, Carlos Alomar, Lenny Pickett, Reeves Gabrels, Tony and Hunt Sales, Lester Bowie, Gail Ann Dorsey, Tony Levin and Sterling Campbell. And he often highlighted these heavyweight cats — sometimes to the detriment of his least composed, most overproduced efforts like Never Let Me Down and Tin Machine II.
Although it also favors performance over melody, Blackstar is otherwise nothing like those. It's not even akin to "This Is Not America," Bowie's first jazz collaboration. That one-off 1985 single with the Pat Metheny Group was Bowie's most delicate, thoughtful, and well-written achievement during what he now refers to as his phoned-in "Phil Collins years." Blackstar, by contrast, is feral, instinctive, the most out-there dispatch from the guy who celebrated his 69th birthday last Friday and left this Earth on Sunday as rock's most radical superstar. You could use it to end a party that's gone on too long or impress a boomer neighbor whose taste hasn't changed since the heyday of Mahavishnu Orchestra; it's that brutal and finessed.
YouTube
Bowie himself honked sax, and so it makes sense that he would choose a parallel player and his band to further the most fertile, forward-leaning elements of The Next Day. As wise and world-weary as only Bowie in his 60s could be, that album drew on his past, right down to its cover art, to unintentionally emphasize an unfortunate point: Bowie's impossibly long plateau — when he set the standard for experimental pop during the '70 and early '80s while switching up his game like changing his costume — ended exactly when he became megafamous with 1983's Let's Dance. What makes Blackstar so startling is that it approaches the magnitude of Bowie's golden years without reminding us that he stopped routinely pumping out world-class songs on the level of "All the Young Dudes" and "Heroes." And it does that because Blackstar isn't about songs at all. Sometimes it's not even about David Bowie, except, when it is, undeniably, about David Bowie, like on the title track and "Lazarus." The latter is one of the new numbers mixed with the old in his current off-Broadway musical of the same name, which every theater critic, even the bright ones, has deemed inscrutable.
Blackstar resonates precisely because it favors emotion over meaning. Lyrically, it's harder to follow than 1974's famously obtuse Diamond Dogs, when Bowie first adopted William S. Burroughs' random cut-up approach and announced that his output wasn't rock 'n' roll but genocide. Having led the dystopian way for decades, Bowie had to go so far out on a nonsensical limb to invoke ineffectuality that on "Girl Loves Me," Lady Gaga's dada mixed Polari — old-school English criminal/showbiz/gay slang — with Nadsat, the fictional argot from A Clockwork Orange. Unlike Dogs, the result does indeed come across as gibberish except for a shell-shocked squeal of "Where the f*** did Monday go?" so ear-bending you can bet MCs will either soon be vying for sample rights or drop it in their mixtapes regardless. It's catchy not because it's written that way, but because Bowie here sounds utterly bonkers.
That bit and its walloping, hip-hop beat suggest Visconti wasn't just fishing for hipster cred when he told Rolling Stone, "We were listening to a lot of Kendrick Lamar." Crate-digging DJs have long feasted on abandoned jazz-fusion joints the way archaeologists dig bones; Bowie and Visconti returned the favor by generating their own 21st century post-post-bop amalgam. It's Lamar's sense of freedom — as well as his willingness to kick against the pricks — that surely served as spark.
When Bowie's buzz began, his theatricality — rooted not in African-American signifiers of authenticity but in such unapologetically hammy and idiosyncratically English actors as Anthony Newley — so rankled many American critics that some argued Bowie couldn't sing at all: They accused of him of being an impersonator of real vocalists and a faker of real feeling. But this same knack for transcending his ever-changing source material, imbuing it with pathos, and simultaneously playing it for scenery-chewing effect made him the first postmodern pop star; an achievement for which he has long been revered. That turned out to be a huge weight to carry, much less translate for an audience that swelled for his "plastic soul" when MTV, the ultimate platform for it, arrived.
Blackstar disengages with all that while reflecting on it. Having secretly struggled with cancer for the past 18 months, Bowie couldn't roar through the entire album while constantly generating his usual quotation marks. This didn't entirely halt his thespian razzle-dazzle, which he reprised with aplomb on "'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore." Equipped with Eric Dolphy-esque sax screams, it suggests Flying Lotus remixing The Threepenny Opera, right down to its Brecht-ian distancing effects of misogyny alternately colloquial and archaic: "Black struck the kiss, she kept my cock / Smote the mistress, drifting on."
But he did cut back on his proscenium-trained enunciation, instead moaning in head tones the showboating licks he long belted from his gut and then flipped with a self-aware flourish, like when he'd go toe to toe with Freddie Mercury or Mick Jagger. Age and illness gave Bowie's voice gravity, and McCaslin's sax wails when he could not, particularly on "Lazarus," which suggests the post-punk sorrows of Joy Division crossed with Serge Gainsbourg's bass-soloing chamber music. "I've got drama, can't be stolen," he knowingly boasts. "Everybody knows me now." Spectacle lingers, but it's centered on disquieting, dizzying sleaze that spirals like sludge down a drain. Rather than celebrating the celebrity that entrapped him and compromised his art, he likened it to satanic ritual, spiritual emptiness, theoretical constructs of the solar system and, ultimately, racial disconnect.
YouTube
"I'm not a white star / I'm a black star," he canted on the title track. A man married to a Somali-American woman couldn't sing those words and merely be evoking Major Tom one last time; it's likely he lied here to illustrate the uncomfortable truths of contemporary pop's minstrelsy. Printed black on black lyric sheets, his words once again reveled in alienation from the norm, the sort of identification that endeared him to Soul Train's audience the way Morrissey's fixation on sweet and tender hooligans charms a Mexican-American one. Males of alternate masculinities are their own minority; here Bowie's estrangement from his gender flashed with overt violence in his murder ode "Sue (Or in a Season of Crime)," where Guiliana skewers jungle's hyper funk with irregular beats and accents that emphasize ensemble performance, not studio-sampled perfection. Bowie seethes with resentment in his downcast "Dollar Days," the closest this rigorously abstract album comes to a conventional ballad. "I'm dying to push their backs against the grain / And fool them all again and again," he daydreams as the band reigns in its fury and the key gently descends.
Middle Eastern dissonance, Krautrock's post-war anxiety, European art song, post-punk dirge and black fusion groove from white jazzbos — they're all here in Bowie's polyglot funk farewell. Their darkness highlighted the rare moments when his tunes turned sweet, as they did in the lingering refrain of the culminating cut, "I Can't Give Everything Away." "Saying no but meaning yes / This is all I ever meant," he confesses before McCaslin takes his most emancipated solo, one that Monder echoes with slow-burning Fripp-ian flight in Blackstar's closing moments. There's always been joy caught up in Bowie's paradox; finally let loose here, it's simply ravishing, regardless of his usual lyrical ambiguity. Was he trying to suggest that the antagonism of his stance elsewhere on the album — and, indeed, throughout so many highlights of his career — was always intended as love? Not the side effects of the cocaine? Either way, even while staring down death, Bowie here reversed his claim on "Station to Station" so many years ago: It's never too late to be grateful.
David Bowie, Blackstar, review: 'extraordinary'
David Bowie in the video for Blackstar
David Bowie in the video for Blackstar
Neil McCormick, music critic
8 JANUARY 2016 • 12:01AM
With his new album, rock’s oldest futurist returns to his first love, says Neil McCormick
After a 10-year absence, David Bowie’s surprise return to music in 2013 was hailed as the most glorious comeback in pop history. A record-breaking V&A exhibition reminded us of the extraordinary scope of his career. The music he offered on his comeback album, The Next Day, sounded like a celebration of Bowie’s own past, swaggering and direct, crammed with echoes and motifs from his back catalogue – Bowie as self-mythologiser.
The niggling concern was that such retro references might reflect a lack of genuine inspiration though, and a kind of career end. In the light of his eagerly anticipated new album, Blackstar, however, The Next Day might better be viewed as a clearing of the decks.
But for his 27th studio album, has Bowie gone jazz? On first listens to Blackstar, released on January 8, Bowie’s 69th birthday, it certainly sounds like rock’s oldest futurist has dusted down his saxophone. They are tooting, parping, wailing and gusting all over the place, occupying rhythmic, atmospheric and lead parts, with guitars and keyboards intermingling in a weave of supporting roles.
The saxophone was Bowie’s first instrument, which he started learning in his pre-teens inspired by a bohemian, jazz-loving elder half-brother, Terry Burns. Bowie once said that, aged 14, he couldn’t decide if he wanted “to be a rock’n’roll singer or John Coltrane”.
David Bowie: the man who loved books
Even in his rise to rock fame, Bowie remained a creature of the jazz age, at least in the sense of the boundary-crashing freedom that characterises his work.
A new single, Lazarus, released today, may kick off in the vague realm of contemporary music, with spectral guitar and stuttering rhythms calling to mind the young British trio the xx, but it is not long before those saxophones are sighing and the beat is fragmenting.
Just about holding it together are the familiar tones of Bowie’s teeth-gritted, tight-chested whisper of a vocal, proclaiming it is “This way or no way / You know I’ll be free / Just like that bluebird / Now ain’t that just like me?” Sure sounds like jazz to me.
The ambience is dense and lush, shaped by odd chord variations, burblings of electronica and sudden interjections of strange sound effects. It feels as bold and weird as anything in Bowie’s back catalogue, sure to delight some and infuriate others.
An early version of Sue (Or In A Season of Crime) hinted at this new musical direction on his 2014 career compilation Nothing Has Changed. It mixed a jazzy melody to skittering drum’n’bass with a blizzard of horns, recalling the avant-garde experimentalism of Sun Ra and Ornette Colman.
Bowie recruited his core band from the 55 Bar, a venerable jazz club in New York’s West Village, not far from his home in SoHo, where he has lived since 2003 with his wife Iman and 15-year-old daughter.
He stopped by unannounced one Sunday night in 2014 to watch a quartet led by inventive saxophonist Donny McCaslin, featuring drummer Mark Guiliana, bassist Tim Lefebvre and keyboardist Jason Lindner.
Bowie would have been treated to a set of dazzling, freewheeling improvised instrumentals, with roots in the early Seventies jazz fusion of Miles Davis, Weather Report and the Yellowjackets. Bowie subsequently invited the band to secret recording sessions with long-serving producer Tony Visconti in January this year at the Magic Shop, a discreet, surprisingly small and very old school studio near Bowie’s home where he recorded The Next Day.
The album cover for Blackstar
The album cover for Blackstar
What Bowie has created with this hardcore jazz crew, though, is not something any jazz fan would recognise and is all the better for it. At its best, free jazz is amongst the most technically advanced and audacious music ever heard but it can be uncompromisingly difficult to listen to for the non-aficionado.
The improvisational elements that make it so gladiatorial and hypnotic live can make it over complex and inaccessible on record. Bowie’s intriguing experiment has been to take this wild, abstract form and try to turn it into songs. Blackstar is an album on which words and melody gradually rise from a sonic swamp to sink their hooks in. It is probably as close as free jazz has ever got to pop.
Only seven tracks and 42 minutes long, Blackstar is impressively hard to place in his back catalogue and feels completely self-contained. It has some of the off-kilter character of his late Seventies Berlin trilogy (Low, Heroes and Lodger) but little of their electronic flavour.
It is shot through with a late-life melancholy that sits intriguingly with the jazzy modulations. Beneath the swooning cinematic rush of Dollar Days beats a gorgeous, bittersweet piano ballad on which Bowie proclaims himself “dying to... fool them all again and again” but the phrase breaks apart until he sounds like he might be singing “I’m dying too.”
It is a song that evokes and then dismisses regret. “If I never see the English evergreens I’m running to,” Bowie sings, “It’s nothing to me.” On epic closing track, I Can’t Give Everything Away, Bowie sounds like he is grappling with his own mystery: “Saying more and meaning less / Saying no but meaning yes / This is all I ever meant / This is the message that I sent.”
What can it all mean? The man himself gives no interviews and apparently remains firm in his insistence that he will not tour again. Looking for clues in his music, we are confronted with inscrutability. A new Bowie co-scripted musical, Lazarus, opened off-Broadway last week, and is reportedly as impenetrable as it is lovely to look at.
Baffling is a word that comes up a lot in reviews. But Bowie is a rare act who is at his best when he is at his least accessible.
Lazarus is currently the hottest theatre ticket in New York. How wonderful if all of this actually represents an entirely new phase in Bowie’s extraordinary career. How fantastic to have an album as rich and strange as Blackstar that refuses to yield in a few listens.
It suggests that, like a modern day Lazarus of pop, Bowie is well and truly back from beyond.
David Bowie: Blackstar review – a spellbinding break with his past
4 / 5 stars
Taking a headlong plunge into electro-acoustic jazz, Bowie’s 25th album is lyrically inscrutable and thrillingly strange
David Bowie
Eyes front … the perpetually forward looking David Bowie
View more sharing options
Shares
15,510
Comments
449
Alexis Petridis
Thursday 7 January 2016 10.26 EST Last modified on Tuesday 14 February 2017 13.06 EST
As he reaches his 69th birthday, David Bowie finds himself in a rarefied position, even by the standards of the rock aristocracy. He does not give interviews, make himself available to promote new releases, or explain himself in any way. He does not tour the world playing his hits. In fact, he doesn’t do anything that rock stars are supposed to do. It’s behaviour that theoretically means a one-way ticket to oblivion, with no one but diehard fans for company. But since his re-emergence from a decade-long sabbatical with 2013’s The Next Day, it’s proved a quite astonishing recipe for success. Bowie’s scant public pronouncements are treated as hugely significant. His releases are pored over in a way they haven’t been since the days when his army of devotees would turn up at Victoria station to greet him off the boat train, a state of affairs abetted by the fact that, since his return, Bowie has reverted to writing the kind of elusive, elliptical lyrics that were once his stock in trade. Dense with mysterious references, the words on The Next Day and its follow-up alike have far more in common with the impenetrable mass of signifiers that made up Station to Station’s title track than, say, the Dad-misses-you-write-soon message to his adult son of 2002’s Everyone Says Hi.
David Bowie's Blackstar video: a gift of sound and vision or all-time low?
Read more
His 25th studio album concludes with I Can’t Give Everything Away, which seems to offer those attempting to unravel his lyrics a wry “best of luck with that” (“Saying no but meaning yes, this is all I ever meant, that’s the message that I sent”) while loudly trumpeting his own carefully maintained mystique. “I can’t give everything, I can’t give everything away,” he sings, over and over. It’s a beautiful, elegant song borne on clouds of synthesiser and decorated with a scrawly guitar solo, but it’s hard to avoid the suspicion that its lyrical admonishments aren’t going to make much difference: the bits of Blackstar that emerged in advance of the album have already been thoroughly examined for meaning.
The most compelling interpretation – bolstered by a remark made by Donny McCaslin, the New York jazz musician whose electro-acoustic trio forms the core of the backing band on Blackstar – is that the album’s opening title track is Bowie’s response to the rise of Isis. It seemed plausible: Bowie has always been fascinated both by messianic dictators – not least the relationship of their power to that of celebrity – and by the idea that the world is facing a future so terrifying that the thought of it, as he once put it, makes your brain hurt a lot. The theory was subsequently denied by Bowie’s spokesperson, which seems a shame: there’s a pleasing circularity to the idea of a muse that burst into life amid what the writer Francis Wheen called the “collective nervous breakdown” of the 1970s, apparently sparking up again amid the collective nervous breakdown of the present day.
Facebook Twitter Pinterest
But aside from Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi’s supposed elevation to the pantheon of Bowie bogeymen – thence to swap tips on global domination with Big Brother, President Joe and his murderous Saviour Machine, and the cannibalistic Hungry Men off Bowie’s debut album – and the reappearance of Thomas Newton, antihero of The Man Who Fell to Earth, amid the alternately gorgeous and unsettling drift of Lazarus, Blackstar frequently sounds like a slate-cleaning break with the past.
Bowie’s back catalogue is peppered with jazz-influenced moments – from his 1965 attempt to mimic Georgie Fame, Take My Tip, to Mike Garson’s improvised piano playing on the title track of Aladdin Sane, to his duet with Art Ensemble of Chicago founder Lester Bowie on the Black Tie White Noise track Looking for Lester. But Blackstar’s enthusiastic embrace of the genre feels as if it has less in common with his previous jazz dabblings than it does his headlong plunge into contemporary soul on Young Americans: designed as a decisive, wilful shift away from the past. Just as it seems highly unlikely that anyone who heard Diamond Dogs in 1974 could have predicted that, within a year, its author would be starring on America’s premier black music show, Soul Train, so it seems fairly safe to say that no one who enjoyed the relatively straightforward rock music of The Next Day thought its follow-up would sound like this.
Play VideoPlay
Current Time 0:00
/
Duration Time 4:03
Loaded: 0%
Progress: 0%
FullscreenMute
Facebook Twitter Pinterest
Lazarus, from David Bowie’s last album, Blackstar
More striking still is the synergy between Bowie and the musicians on Blackstar. You can hear it in Bowie’s whoop as McCaslin solos amid the sonic commotion of ’Tis Pity She Was a Whore. He sounds delighted at the racket they’re creating, and understandably so. Simultaneously wilfully synthetic and squirmingly alive, it has the same thrilling sense of exploratory, barely contained chaos found on “Heroes” or Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps), or in the tumultuous, wildly distorted version of the Spiders from Mars that rampaged through Panic in Detroit and Cracked Actor. Better still, it doesn’t actually sound anything like those records.
And you can hear it by comparing the album version of Sue (or in the Season of Crime) with the single released in 2014. The earlier version felt like a statement rather than a song; a series of ideas (drum’n’bass-inspired rhythm, Maria Schneider’s high-minded, uncommercial big-band jazz, a fragmentary lyric) thrown together to let the world know that Bowie wasn’t done with being avant-garde yet. It did that job pretty well, but never became a satisfying whole. On Blackstar, however, everything coalesces. The rhythm is sample-based and punchier, the agitated bass riff distorted and driving, the seasick brass and woodwind arrangement is replaced by sprays of echoing feedback, electronic noise and sax. It sounds like a band, rather than Bowie grafting himself on to someone else’s musical vision.
David Bowie
Facebook Twitter Pinterest
Over the years, rock has frequently reduced experimental jazz to a kind of dilettantish signifier: few things say “I consider myself to be a very important artist unleashing a challenging musical statement, I demand you take me seriously” quite like a burst of skronking free brass dropped in the middle of a track. But Blackstar never feels like that. Nor does it feel like it’s trying too hard, an accusation that could have been leveled at the drum’n’bass puttering of 1997’s Earthling.
Blackstar lacks the kind of killer pop single Bowie would once invariably come up with amid even his most experimental works – a Sound and Vision, a Heroes, a Golden Years – but only Girl Loves Me feels like a slog: lots of Clockwork Orange Nadsat and a smattering of Polari in the incomprehensible lyrics, thuddingly propulsive drums, no tune. Instead, you’re struck by the sense of Bowie at his most commanding, twisting a genre to suit his own ends. Dollar Days might be the most straightforwardly beautiful thing here, a lambent ballad that doesn’t sound jazz influenced at all. But it’s lent a curious, slippery uncertainty at odds with the bullish lyrical pronouncements (“If I never see the English evergreens I’m running to, it’s nothing to me”) by Mark Guiliana’s drumming, the emphasis never quite landing where rock-trained ears might expect it to.
The overall effect is ambiguous and spellbinding, adjectives that apply virtually throughout Blackstar. It’s a rich, deep and strange album that feels like Bowie moving restlessly forward, his eyes fixed ahead: the position in which he’s always made his greatest music.
• This article was amended on 19 January 2016 to correct the spelling of Nadsat.
Review: David Bowie Remains the Original Starman on ‘★’
7
SPIN Rating: 7 of 10
Release Date: January 8, 2016
Label: ISO / Columbia
Alfred Soto // January 6, 2016
EMAIL
SHARE
TWEET
REDDIT
david bowie
Finally, David Bowie’s recorded an album that comports with my idea of a David Bowie album in 2016: art-damaged ballads on which several excellent musicians flesh out tricky time signatures and unexpected chord progressions. Bowie croons a lot, mostly about bluebirds and evergreens and where the f**k did Monday go. Averaging 40 minutes, including a couple tunes that have gotten generous airings in the last 18 months, ★ (pronounced “Blackstar”) is what he should’ve released in 2013 instead of the staid, fusty The Next Day.
Fans will note the similarities between ★ and Outside, an impregnable 1995 experiment with clotted band arrangements containing some of Bowie’s most confident vocals, but whose stiff liner notes about fin de siècle art crimes are a sterling example of why the world hasn’t lost a prose writer. This time the old man hired experts: guitarist Ben Monder, Jason Lindner on keyboards, and, impressively, Grammy-nominated jazz saxophonist Donny McCaslin. A 68-year-old icon’s name may be in the songwriting credits, but it’s McCaslin and Monder who pull these songs into unexpected shapes. The results evoke John Coltrane’s 1963 collaboration with Johnny Hartman, the singer occupying a nocturnal world peopled with private fantasies and drafted in a purple demotic that the band can translate.
Take “Sue (Or in a Season of Crime),” anchored by Mark Guiliana’s unrelenting snares and Monder’s insistence on playing its main minor-chord riff while Bowie gives each word its weight as if he were Maria Callas in Covent Garden; his natural inclination to linger and the band’s impatience produce genuine tension. “Dollar Days” says farewell to several ideas of order in his most ghostly voice while McCaslin, against a chalky mix, scratches out a solo indebted as much to Wayne Shorter in Miles Davis’ “Prince of Darkness” as to Marty Fogel on Lou Reed’s “The Bells.”
This assumes, of course, that one cares about new work from David Bowie, whose ten-year silence was among the shrewdest moves in a shrewd career. He can still test the patience. When he wants to open his mouth and frighten us, he can unleash the vibrato on an unsuspecting pronoun. Despite expert camping, the title track, lodged like a splinter at the beginning of the sequence, strikes as too reliant on wintry rue. But when three-note fuzz guitar blasts answer each lyric in “Lazarus,” or Bowie harmonizes with himself on the nonsense lyric of “Girl Loves Me,” it’s hard to resist 40 years’ worth of craft resulting in so intriguing a record. ★ finds Bowie and longtime producer Tony Visconti as hungry as they ever were, and with no modern context into which the artist can insert himself (including rock) he’s free to do what he likes. Keep throwing darts in fans’ eyes.
David Bowie: Aladdin Sane
By Ben Gerson
July 19, 1973
A lightning bolt streaks across David's face; on the inside cover the lad is air-brushed into androgyny, a no less imposing figure for it. Though he has been anointed to go out among us and spread the word, we find stuffed into the sleeve, like dirty underwear, a form requesting our name, address, "favorite film and TV stars," etc., plus $3.50 for membership in the David Bowie Fan Club (materials by return mail unspecified).
More News
10 Great Forgotten Notorious B.I.G. Verses
Hear Coldcut Team With Lee 'Scratch' Perry, Junior Reid on Dub Anthem
Puff Daddy Posts Poignant Notorious B.I.G. Tribute
Review: The Shins' 'Heartworms' Is a Tender, Home-Brewed Charmer
Watch Linkin Park, Kiiara's Emotional 'Heavy' Video
All Stories
Such discrepancies have made David Bowie the most recently controversial of all significant pop artists — all of it owing to the confusion of levels on which he operates. His flamboyant drive for pop-star status has stamped him in many people's eyes a naked opportunist and poseur. But once it is recognized that stardom represents a metaphysical quest for Bowie, one has to grant at least that the question of self-inflation is in his case unconventional.
The twin impulses are to be a star (e.g., Jagger) and to be a star (e.g., Betelgeuse). The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars depicted an impending doomsday, an extraterrestrial visitation and its consequences for rock and society. Although never so billed, Ziggy was a rock opera, with plot, characters and musical and dramatic momentum. Aladdin Sane, in far less systematic fashion, works over the same themes — issuances from the Bowie schema which date back to The Man Who Sold the World. Bowie is cognizant that religion's geography — the heavens — has been usurped, either by science or by actual beings.
If by conventional lights Bowie is a lad insane, then as an Aladdin, a conjurer of supernatural forces, he is quite sane. The titles may change from album to album — from the superman, the homo superior, Ziggy, to Aladdin — but the vision, and Bowie's rightful place in it, remain constant. The pun of the title, alternately vaunted and dismissive, plays on his own sense of discrepancy. Which way you read it depends upon whether you are viewing the present from the eyes of the past or the future.
Bowie's program is not complete, but it involves the elimination of gender differences, the inevitability of Armageddon, and the conquering of death and time as we know them. Stardom is the means towards attaining a vantage point from which to foresee, and an elevation from which to lead. The awesome powers and transformations civilization associates with heaven and hell will be unleashed on earth.
Aladdin Sane
The title song is this album's "Five Years." Ominously, within parentheses after the title, are the dates "1913-1938-197?" The first two are the years before the outbreak of the first and second World Wars, respectively, and we have no reason to think that 197? represents anything but a year prior to the date of the third. The music is hothouse orientalism, jagged, dissonant and daring, yet also wistful and backward-looking. Phrases like "battle cries and champagne" evoke images of earlier, more romantic wars. The impatient chug of the machine (the electric guitar) gently clashes with the wilder, more extreme flailings of a dying culture (the piano). We have been deposited in the realm of Ives and Stravinsky.
Mike Garson's long piano solo is fabulously imaginative and suggestive, incorporating snatches of Rhapsody In Blue and "Tequila." Only a couple of words of the lyrics indicate over what point the song title's question mark must be hovering. The reference to sake, the Japanese drink, in the first verse, and the last verse's "Millions weep a fountain/just in case of sunrise" suggest the land of the rising sun as a potentially significant future locale. While writing this album, Bowie decided to tour Japan (where he has recently been performing), and Ziggy was described on the last album as "like some cat from Japan." The relationship of Aladdin's visitations to the outbreak of war is not clear. Is it his appearance, or our failure to embrace him, which plunges us into strife?
Although a good portion of the songs on Aladdin Sane are hard rock & roll, a closer inspection reveals them to be advertisements for their own obsolescence — vignettes in which the baton is being passed on to a newer sensibility. "Watch That Man," the album's opening number, is inimitable Stones, Exile vintage. Mick Ronson plays Chuck Berry licks via Keith Richard, Garson plays at being Nicky Hopkins, Bowie slurs his lines, and the female backup singers and horns make the appropriate noises. Like Ziggy, one of the subjects of Aladdin Sane is rock & roll (and its lynchpin, sex), only here it is extended to include its ultimate exponents, the Stones.
Taking up the warning he gave in "Changes" — "Look out you rock & rollers/Pretty soon you're gonna get a little older" — David presents "an old-fashioned band of married men/Looking up to me for encouragement." To emphasize the archaism of these fellows, there are references to Benny Goodman and "Tiger Rag." Jagger himself has become so dainty "that he could eat you with a fork and spoon."
"Let's Spend the Night Together" continues the Stones preoccupation. Here, one of the most ostensibly heterosexual calls in rock is made into a bi-anthem: The cover version is a means to an ultimate revisionism. The rendition here is campy, butch, brittle and unsatisfying. Bowie is asking us to re-perceive "Let's Spend the Night Together" as a gay song, possibly from its inception. Sexual ambiguity in rock has existed long before any audience was attuned to it. However, though Bowie's point is well taken, his methods are not.
"Drive-In Saturday" was conceived during Bowie's passage through the Arizona desert. It is a fantasy in which the populace, after some terrible holocaust, has forgotten how to make love. To learn again they take courses at the local drive-in, where they view films in which "like once before ... people stared in Jagger's eyes and scored."
"Panic In Detroit" places us right in the middle of a battered urban scape. Ronson deals out a compelling Bo Diddley beat which quickly leads into a helter-skelter descending scale. The song is a paranoid descendant of the Motor City's earlier masterpiece, Martha and the Vandellas' "Nowhere To Run." The hero is "the only survivor of the National People's Gang," the revolutionary as star (shades of Sinclair), Che as wall poster. By the end of the song, all that is left to claim his revolutionary immortality is a suicide note, an "autograph" poignantly inscribed "Let me collect dust."
Rock and revolutionary stardom are not the only varieties which are doomed. In his work Bowie is often contemptuous of actors, yet he is, above all, an actor. His intent on "Cracked Actor," a portrait of an aging screen idol, vicious, conceited, mercenary, the object of the ministrations of a male gigolo, is to strip the subject of his validity, as he has done with the rocker, as a step towards a re-definition of these roles and his own inhabiting of them. The homosexuality of "Cracked Actor" is not, as elsewhere, ground-breaking and affirmative, but rather decadent and sick. "The Prettiest Star," the album's other slice of cinematic life, again asserts the connection between secular and celestial stardom: "You and I will rise up all the way/All because of what you are/The Prettiest Star." But the song itself is too self-consciously vaudeville.
"Time" is a bit of Brecht/Weill, a bit of Brel. All the world's not a stage, but a dressing room, in which Time holds sway, exacts payment. Once we're on, as in all theaters, time is suspended and will no longer "In quaaludes and red wine" be "Demanding Billy Dolls" — a reference to the death of New York Dolls drummer Billy Murcia in London last summer.
The appeal to an afterlife, or its equivalent, which is implied in this song, using the theater as its metaphor, is further clarified in "Lady Grinning Soul." The song is beautifully arranged; Ronson's guitar, both six-string and twelve, elsewhere so muscular, is here, except for some faulty intonation on the acoustic solo, very poetic. Bowie, a ballad singer at heart, which lends his rock singing its special edge, gives "Lady Grinning Soul" the album's most expansive and sincere vocal.
One step further
The seeming contradictions intrinsic to this album and the body of the last four albums are exasperating, yet the outlines are sufficiently legible to establish the records from The Man Who Sold the World to Aladdin as reworkings of the same obsessions — only the word obsession smacks too much of psychological enslavement. Partly, the difficulty derives from the very private language Bowie employs; partly, I suspect, it is the function of a very canny withholding of information. Each album seems to advance the myth, but perhaps it is only a matter of finding new metaphors for the same message, packing more and more reality (in Aladdin's case, the America Bowie discovered on tour) into his scheme, universalizing it.
Aladdin is less manic than The Man Who Sold the World, and less intimate than Hunky Dory, with none of its attacks of self-doubt. Ziggy, in turn, was less autobiographically revealing, more threatening than its predecessors, but still compact. Like David's Radio City Music Hall show, Aladdin is grander, more produced: David is more than ever more mastermind than participant. Aladdin's very eclecticism makes it even less exposed, conceptually, than Ziggy. Three of the tracks, "Pretty As a Star," "Let's Spend the Night Together," and the related "The Jean Genie," are inferior, they lack the obdurate strength of the remaining songs, not to mention the perfection of Hunky Dory and Zigg
David Bowie
Aladdin Sane (40th Anniversary Edition)
BY MATTHEW FIANDER
2 May 2013
ALADDIN SANE MAY BE THE BEST EXAMPLE OF ONE OF BOWIE'S CENTRAL THEMES: THE ARTIFICE NOT AS SOMETHING TO BREAK THROUGH, NOT AS AN IMPEDIMENT ON THE WAY TO THE REAL, BUT THE ARTIFICE AS ITS OWN SORT OF REALNESS.PHOTO: BRIAN DUFFY
cover art
DAVID BOWIE
ALADDIN SANE (40TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION)
(EMI)
US: 16 APR 2013
UK: 15 APR 2013
AMAZON
ITUNES
It’s been 46 years since David Bowie put out his first record and we’re still trying to figure him out. We’re still trying because he’s still dodging definition at every turn. Just look at the cover of his latest album, The Next Day, an album that itself emerged from a decade or radio silence and health scares and even near-death rumors. Then there’s the cover shot from NME. If these are more overt, or rather more self-referencing versions of his love of costume, of hiding, of the artifice of performance, they still aren’t new ideas for Bowie.
Sure, Ziggy Stardust is his best, most famous stage and record alter-ego, but the 40th anniversary of Stardust’s counterpoint, Aladdin Sane, gives us a new opportunity to puzzle over this 1973 gem. Aladdin Sane feels both similar and utterly different from The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust, and it’s hard to tell which it is at times. It’s hard to tell if Sane, as his name implies, is more grounded than the astral-plane-like Stardust, or if he is indeed, a lad insane.
The record that finds Bowie donning the bolt of lightning is tricky to pin down, trickier than Stardust by a long shot. They both play with rock tropes, but Ziggy Stardust was an invitation to visit another, fully-formed world. We were the guests and Stardust the host, strutting confidently through a consistent, fascinating world, not waiting for us to keep up. Aladdin Sane is a much more scattershot set, as steeped in traditions as its predecessor but far more restless with them, far happier to disconnect and jump around so that we never quite catch Bowie head on here. We never quite get a feel for his persona is about as he flits from party to party and location to location.
It’s also an album full of people who aren’t what they seem. The man from “Watch That Man” certainly “talks like a jerk” but Bowie also warns against confronting him because “he can eat you with a fork and spoon.” Another man in the song “paints holes in his hands,” impersonating Jesus Christ while also only being defined by his love of another man’s work, namely Benny Goodman. On “Drive In Saturday”, the couple the song focuses on hides as well. The man’s “name was always Buddy” but the phrasing makes it feel like a nickname to hide an identity, while his date might “sigh like Twig the Wonder Kid”, but she has no organic gestures of her own. In “Cracked Actors”, Bowie insists to someone “show me you’re real”, while on “Time” he posits the title entity as the one in control of all these personas, all these motions. “His script is you and me, boy,” he sings, hinting at not so much predestination as filling a role. The people that are clearly defined here, namely Aladdin Sane and the woman from “Lady Grinning Soul” fare no better than these other “actors”. Sane is alone, left to wonder “Who’ll love Aladdin Sane?” while “Lady Grinning Soul” will love you, for a night. She’ll expose herself to you, the only person here who does it seems. Though she wears cologne – another mask – it’s when the “clothes are strewn” that the picture of her is complete. But when she does that “she’ll be your living end” and there’s an ominous note to this, to the woman who will “lay belief on you.”
That, in the end, this belief also signals an end – perhaps even death – it’s no wonder the rest of the album jumps around from scene to scene, partying hard one moment and the next moment scraping fame out of rebellion (“Panic in Detriot”). It’s an album that doesn’t expose the series of masks and distractions but rather bolsters them. The music itself does this as well. “Watch That Man” is a rollicking blues-rock tune, the kind of song that would fill the party dance floor, even as the worry and paranoia of this particular party mounts. “Drive-In Saturday” has a romantic sway, those perfect “bah-bah-bah” backing vocals, that streetlight sax, but the woman is “uncertain if she likes him / but she knows she really loves him.” The music on “Panic in Detroit” seems shadowy and dangerous enough, though Bowie himself seems downright zealous about this panic, too busy getting autographs to flee the melee.
There are moments where the music does expose some subterranean elements. “Aladdin Sane” has that perfectly untethered piano work by Mike Garson, bubbling to the surface as unruly as Aladdin Sane’s surging reservoir of desire. The lovestruck lightness of “The Prettiest Star” does show the one thing in the past that seems to genuinely stick here, the love for that title star. Even Bowie’s take on the Stones’ “Let’s Spend the Night Together” is almost rote, but the way he speeds up the hook in the chorus implies a desperation, perhaps a knowledge of the “living end” coming in the last song.
Still, these songs don’t provide clarity so much as muddy the waters further. These aren’t about getting at what’s under the artifice so much as reminding us the artifice is there, that it is strong enough to keep those things hidden, if not entirely then effectively enough that won’t fully explicate them. This is the power of the best of Bowie’s work, and if Aladdin Sane isn’t his best record, it may be the best example of one of his central themes: the artifice not as something to break through, not as an impediment on the way to the real, but the artifice as its own sort of realness. Following Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane is a much more difficult character, a symbol in search of things to symbolize. These also fall into a series that both predates them (1969’s Space Oddity, 1970’s The Man Who Sold the World) and follows them with records named Diamond Dogs, Young Americans, “Heroes”, Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps), and so on. They’re all records named after symbols, the mask presented to us not as the thing that hides the face but rather the face itself. If these are Bowie’s most fascinating moments – along with other albums like Low, which fractures but never exposes – it’s interesting to note that his self-titled debut sounds little like the artist he’d become. It’s also interesting to note that later albums with more straightforward, real-world titles like Let’s Dance and Tonight fall utterly apart. It’s when Bowie is hidden that he shows us the most, that his music is at its best. Aladdin Sane is the best example of this thread of his career, and perhaps a better place to look for a new angle on Bowie in 2013 over the self-conscious looking over his shoulder he does on The Next Day. Aladdin Sane can tell us more about David Bowie than David Bowie can.
ALADDIN SANE (40TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION)
Rating: 9/10 stars
David Bowie
Nothing Has Changed (3-CD Deluxe Edition)
Nothing Has Changed (3-CD Deluxe Edition) artworkCOLUMBIALEGACY • 2014
8.8
BEST NEW REISSUE
1 / 3 Albums
Nothing Has Changed (3-CD Deluxe Edition) artworkNothing Has Changed (2-CD Edition) artworkNothing Has Changed (Double-vinyl Version) artwork
by Douglas Wolk
Contributor
ROCK
NOVEMBER 20 2014
Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Open share drawer
Twenty-five years after 1989's career-spanning Sound + Vision box set, David Bowie has assembled a new retrospective, Nothing Has Changed, which comes in three different versions, each with a cover image of Bowie regarding himself in a mirror. This is Bowie as he wants us to encounter him, as a practitioner of fine art whose interests have occasionally, improbably, marvelously intersected with pop of the moment.
To pick a few selected works from an artist's career is to construct an argument about that artist. Every curator knows that, and David Bowie is nothing if not a curator. The first great Bowie best-of was 1976's Changesonebowie LP, whose argument was that he was a mamapapa comin' for you, a rocker too strong and too glittery to be pinned down. (The 1981 Changestwobowie LP and the 1990 Changesbowie CD, stabbed in its gut by the dreadful remix "Fame '90", tried to extend that premise.) Bowie's initial attempt at a full-career assessment was the 1989 Sound + Vision box set, revised and updated in 2003. In both forms, it's a bunch of hits and album tracks and rarities clumped together, an impressive show of range whose failure is that it assumes, rather than argues, that he's a rock god and that therefore anything he does is interesting.
Twenty-five years later, coinciding with an actual touring museum exhibition of the apparatus around his music, Bowie has assembled a new retrospective. Nothing Has Changed—a very sly title, as a riposte to Changesonebowie and "Changes", especially since it's also a lyric lifted from his 2002 song "Sunday"—comes in three different versions, each with a cover image of Bowie regarding himself in a mirror. That's a sharp gesture too: he's never been shy about his fascination with his own mercurial self, shedding his skin again and again and then carefully preserving it to wriggle into again later. (This is not the first time he's done the "multiple versions of a greatest-hits set" trick, either: 2002's Best of Bowie had twenty different track lineups, depending on which country you bought it in.)
The weakest of the three versions of Nothing Has Changed is the chronologically sequenced 2xCD version. It's basically just a slight revision of Best of Bowie, compressed to throw in five later songs including the newly recorded oddity "Sue (or In a Season of Crime)". The first disc starts with his commercial breakthrough "Space Oddity" and ends with its sequel/repudiation "Ashes to Ashes", which is a nice bit of symmetry. Mostly, what we get is Bowie as he's understood by oldies radio, although we're seven tracks in before he really starts to toughen up (with "Ziggy Stardust").
But the second half of the 2xCD version covers three times as many years as the first, and suggests that Bowie was a temporarily interesting trend-follower whose fade-out has been slowed by his being repeatedly propped up and dragged into modernity by big-name collaborators: Queen, Pat Metheny, Pet Shop Boys, Trent Reznor, James Murphy. This Bowie's sense of tune eventually abandons him and never returns. After the look back in sorrow of "Absolute Beginners", halfway through the second disc, he's coasting on his rep; it's just one decent comeback attempt after another, with "Sue" at the end as a sort of I-give-up-but-here's-something-new-anyway gesture. That's a reasonable case to make; it also misses most of what's magical about this particular artist.
The 2xLP version of Nothing Has Changed makes a simpler and happier argument, that this is a dude with a lot of big hits and a peculiar arty streak. It's a non-chronological set, mostly songs that you might want to play if you were DJing a party—three out of 20 are the singles from Let's Dance. The sides have something like thematic unity: Bowie the dancefloor-filler and lighter-waver, Ziggy/Aladdin the glam spaceman, David the magisterial vocalist and pop experimentalist (this is where "Sue" lands), and You-Know-Who the introspective eminence grise (concluding with last year's "Where Are We Now?"). You could do worse.
The 3xCD Nothing Has Changed, though, is the jewel among the three variations on the same core material. Its masterstroke is that its 59 tracks appear in reverse chronological order. To end a greatest-hits with "Sue" is to remind listeners that there's a good moment to hit the stop button. To begin it with "Sue"—the longest track on the whole thing—smacks us to attention. This is Bowie as he wants us to encounter him, as a practitioner of fine art whose interests have occasionally, improbably, marvelously intersected with pop of the moment. "Sue", written and recorded with Maria Schneider and her jazz orchestra, announces its intentions from the moment Bowie's actorly baritone warbles in: it's the latest in his line of homages to Scott Walker, the double whose guise is the one role he's never been able to play. (The artistic relationship between Bowie and Walker—so similar, so different—is a complicated topic on its own; the comprehensive Bowie blog Pushing Ahead of the Dame includes a pair of brilliant posts about it.)
For at least the rest of its first disc, the 3xCD version reframes latter-day Bowie as an alternate-universe version of Walker, a solemn avant-gardist who keeps trying to rocket out beyond pop and keeps being drawn back into its gravity well. That makes his later work a lot more interesting, it turns out. This is a Bowie who never runs out of fresh ways to gaze back at himself in the mirror. There are three tracks here from his never-released 2001 album Toy: reworked versions of a pair of songs from his youth, and the lovely obscurity "Your Turn to Drive", which is as close as he's ever come to dreampop. And it's hard to miss the science fiction that's never totally left his lyrics when James Murphy's remix of "Love Is Lost" (with its quotation from "Ashes to Ashes") appears next to "The Stars (Are Out Tonight)" and "New Killer Star", and just down the hall from Pet Shop Boys' reworking of "Hallo Spaceboy" (which itself incorporates a William S. Burroughs-style cut-up of lines from "Space Oddity").
The edited and remixed versions of Bowie's post-1995 singles that populate the first disc are all distinct improvements on their original versions; you'd be forgiven for wondering if 1999's dismal Hours... was as good as it seems here. Single mixes are the meat of the rest of Nothing Has Changed too, because the metric for inclusion even on the longest version is, more or less, which songs were some kind of hit. (Although it's worth noting that a collection of Bowie's U.S. Top 40 singles would be 10 songs long and end with 1987's "Day-In Day-Out" and "Never Let Me Down", neither of which appear here. We do get "The Man Who Sold the World"—which was never a single and didn't appear on a major Bowie compilation until 1997—and "All the Young Dudes", a hit for Mott the Hoople whose studio recording Bowie didn't even release until the mid-90s.)
Nonetheless, there's some curation going on here. Nothing Has Changed is a version of Bowie's career in which his circa-1990 hard rock quartet Tin Machine never happened (that's just fine, actually). Cultural currency and UK chart success are no guarantee of inclusion: there's no "D.J.", no "Cat People (Putting Out Fire)", no "Suffragette City", no "John, I'm Only Dancing", no "Queen Bitch", and don't even ask about "The Laughing Gnome". Undignified moments like the Labyrinth soundtrack and "Real Cool World" have been expunged from this particular record (although somehow "Dancing in the Street" wasn't—the musicless version of that one is preferable.). The "Berlin trilogy" of albums is represented by one quick blast apiece ("Boys Keep Swinging" into "'Heroes'" into "Sound and Vision", shoulder to shoulder in glory). But its swift, forceful backward flow through Bowie's waves of reinvention and discovery is worth more than any kind of completeness would be.
What the 3xCD museum tour of Nothing offers instead is a treat in its final chamber. It keeps on zooming past "Space Oddity" to Bowie's juvenilia, the five years' worth of grasps at the brass ring that preceded Major Tom's rocket to the stars. (David Bowie Is, the actual museum show, also includes his youthful presentiments of what would come later.) Here, again, the reverse chronology works marvelously. "Silly Boy Blue" anticipates the voice we've been hearing all the way from "Sue" on back; "Liza Jane" (the recorded debut of "Davie Jones") and "You've Got a Habit of Leaving" are the work of a teenager learning to play a more complicated version of dress-up. And "Can't Help Thinking About Me", the first single for which he tried on the David Bowie name, becomes a key to the whole exhibition: a beautiful young Narcissus, shedding his identity for the first time, and already looking back on what he's left behind himself.
David Bowie
Nothing Has Changed
BY EVAN SAWDEY
10 December 2014
NOTHING HAS CHANGED, DESPITE THE EXACT NATURE OF ITS TARGET DEMOGRAPHIC BEING UP FOR DEBATE, REMAINS A THRILLING GO-TO FOR THE SEMI-CASUAL THIN WHITE DUKE OBSERVER, AND IS ABOUT AS DAMN CLOSE TO PERFECT AS A BOWIE ANTHOLOGY CAN GET.PHOTO: JIMMY KING
cover art
DAVID BOWIE
NOTHING HAS CHANGED
(SONY LEGACY)
US: 17 NOV 2014
UK: 17 NOV 2014
AMAZON
ITUNES
Back in 2002, EMI decided to release the definitive go-to David Bowie compilation. But, because it’s Bowie, the label went about defining the legacy of one of rock music’s most seminal artists in the most peculiar of ways.
In short, if you bought The Best of Bowie, check the top left corner of the CD inlay and see what flag is represented there, as that will define what track list you got. Given that Bowie has had international hits for decades upon decades, EMI released no less than 12 different versions of The Best of Bowie, making specialty tracklists for the US/Canada, the UK, Belgium, Hong Kong, Mexico, and so forth, each one laser-focusing on the songs that were hits in that specific region. Some versions were single-disc, some were double, Hong Kong’s was triple (that third disc mainly focused on dance remixes). Following previous compilation high-points Changesonebowie (from 1976) and 1989’s iconic Sound + Vision, it appeared that, for the most part, Bowie’s legacy was now well-defined. The Best of Bowie only missed cuts from 2003’s Reality, but, let’s be honest, no one’s shedding glitter-specked tears over that.
Yet Bowie took everyone by surprise with the release of 2013’s surprisingly divisive The Next Day, and now, just in time for the 2014 holiday season, comes one of the most curious compilations to emerge in some time: the triple-disc retrospective called Nothing Has Changed. Roughly the price of a single CD, Nothing Has Changed is a bold slice of career revisionism: it has all the hits, but also has new material, including the seven-minute, jazz-accented single “Sue (Or in a Season of Crime)”. It has a lot of gimmes for casual fans exploring Bowie for the first time—bunches of radio edits and single versions, along with the Pet Shop Boys remix of “Hallo Spaceboy”—but it contains some genuine rarities to boot. These perks range from the hard-to-find version of “All the Young Dudes” Bowie recorded prior to Mott the Hoople turned it into a hit all the way to his absolute earliest release “Liza Jane”, a 1964 single credited to Davie Jones and the King Bees. In short, there is something for everyone here.
While there does exist a two-disc version of Nothing Has Changed—which is in chronological order and emphasizes all the big hits, running from “Space Oddity” to “Sue”—the reverse-chronological nature of the three-disc version makes for a fascinating aural experience, as by starting with songs like the hazy Berlin remembrance “Where Are We Now?” and James Murphy’s incredible remix to “Love is Lost” (which takes a small room full of applause and turns the clapping into a looping percussive beat), a Bowie neophyte can really get a sense of the the man’s out-there weirdness very early on, as the first disc contains no “easy hits”. The warm synth workout of “Thursday’s Child”, the confused Trent Reznor collaboration “I’m Afraid of Americans”, and the drum-n-bass techno workout “Little Wonder” all give us the boundary-pushing (and, at times, trend-chasing) nature of Bowie’s latter-day whims and impulses. His status as one of rock’s elder statesmen allows him a breadth of freedom that results in some fascinating works as well some notable failures. Even more incredible? The fact that “Let Me Sleep Beside You” and “Your Turn to Drive” from the rare Toy sessions also make their way onto this first serving—although, one may argue, their inclusion comes at a bit of a price.
The second disc (Middle Bowie?) features a bevy of hits, ranging from all the big stunners from 1983’s Let’s Dance to, ahem, “Dancing in the Street” with Mick Jagger. Some may snipe over a couple of fan-favorite exclusions, such as that infamous Bing Crosby Christmas duet, the Tarantino-revivied “Cat People (Putting Out Fire)”, and the Labyrinth soundtrack cut “Underground”. However, “Loving the Alien”, “Blue Jean”, “Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps)”, “Under Pressure” with Queen, and “Ashes to Ashes” all show up.
If any real criticism can be levied against this disc, it’s that when taking in that mixture of chart successes versus fan favorites, it’s damn near disappointing to find that when regarding “The Berlin Trilogy”, only one cut apiece is culled from those three seminal albums: “Sound and Vision” from Low, the title track from “Heroes”, and “Boys Keep Swinging” from Lodger. While no one will argue against the notion that those LPs weren’t always the most accessible of Bowie’s works, having the luxury of three entire discs of space and a lead-off single that’s a seven-minute jazz exercise, the lack of deeper cuts like “Always Crashing in the Same Car” from Low—which, arguably, is a more telling indication of Bowie’s personality than the rare cuts from Toy are—is ultimately a bit of a disappointment, minor a quibble as it may be.
As for Nothing‘s third act, which covers everything prior to “Golden Years”, it’s really tough to think of any improvements outside of the possible inclusion of “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide” and “John, I’m Only Dancing” (for those who really wish to make a case for “The Laughing Gnome”, you are more than welcome to). Then there’s “Drive-In Saturday”, “Rebel Rebel”, “The Jean Genie”, “Starman”, “Fame”, “Life on Mars?”, and, of course “Space Oddity”. It’s all there, albeit some with some slightly-updated mixes from 2003 and 2007, even if most the changes are negligible at best.
The real get, however, outside of under-appreciated tracks like “Silly Boy Blue” and the rare “In the Heat of the Morning” from the 1970 bizarro comp The World of David Bowie, are the three “pre-fame” cuts that make their way here. The latter group includes the jangly folk-pop strummer of “Can’t Help Thinking About Me”, the nervy throwback “You’ve Got a Habit of Leaving” from his early band the Lower Third, and, most amusingly, the surf-rock strut of inaugural single “Liza Jane”. On these tunes Bowie is really playing with his influences, even if he’s not really synthesizing them into anything incredibly distinctive at this point in his career. Still, hearing these embryonic rock ‘n’ roll sketches so far removed from the soul experiments of “Young Americans” or even the galloping post-rock yearning of “The Stars (Are Out Tonight)” makes for an incredible experiment. Hearing Bowie’s evolution in reverse-chronological order actually makes for a compelling experience, as the influences slowly reveal themselves as each successive track dives further back into his vault. This process shows the growing pains and wild successes in his artistic evolution.
With this string of five obscurities closing out Nothing Has Changed, one is forced to come to the conclusion that, despite the album’s bold title (itself derived from a lyric from 2002’s Heathens), actually, everything has changed. His aesthetics, his styles, his voice, and his impeccable songwriting chops have gone through too many revolutions to mention, having left several lifetimes’ worth of personas and seminal albums for fans to parse for years and decades to come. Nothing Has Changed, despite the exact nature of its target demographic being up for debate, remains a thrilling go-to for the semi-casual Thin White Duke observer, and is about as damn close to perfect as a Bowie anthology can get.
NOTHING HAS CHANGED
Rating: 8/10
David Bowie
Reality
Reality artworkSONY • 2003
7.3
by Eric Carr
Contributor
ROCK
SEPTEMBER 16 2003
Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Open share drawer
"There is a reason the present begrudges the past," writes Harlan Ellison; I won't pretend to be wise enough ...
"There is a reason the present begrudges the past," writes Harlan Ellison; I won't pretend to be wise enough to know what that reason is, but I believe that statement to be true, regardless. The evidence is plain in just about anyone beyond a certain age, the all-consuming, epic oldness where a person can say "when I was your age" without a trace of irony. It hits some people as early as twenty or so, when they suddenly find themselves on the downhill side of life, confronted with a bleak realization that things were a whole lot greener back when they were still climbing (or before they knew any better, at least). Some people, they just never stop climbing; it's rare, but it happens.
A great many of David Bowie's fans, with each successive year, slowly but surely creep into the former category even as Bowie himself manages to still act like a card-carrying member of the latter. "I'm never never gonna get old," he proclaims on the Toys 'R' Us-inspired "Never Get Old", and to his credit, he makes yet another convincing argument. With one exception (the hokey, one-foot-in-the-grave Hours), Bowie-- even in his advanced age (by fresh-faced rock standards), even after almost a trillion records-- has never dwelled unduly on his past. If anything, while people will always hold him up to his past accomplishments, his career has floundered more than once out of his desire for self-conscious avant-gardism and an almost schizophrenic need to reinvent his persona. What last year's Heathen implied, and what Reality seems to prove, is that those days are over; never looking back, and no longer focusing ahead, Bowie has finally joined us all in the present, mind-young as ever but old enough not to make a show of it.
And then, if you'll grant this indulgence, there's me, the one who's supposed to be writing about him: "Plain Ol' 'Dave'" baffles me. Bowie's work is traditionally seen in a terrifically damaging binary-- common law states that if his work isn't brilliant, it's terrible; that's obviously wrong, since there're plenty of gray areas to be found in Bowie's oeuvre, but it's easy as hell to fall into the trap. Not much can stack up to Hunky Dory or Scary Monsters, after all. But then he goes and releases, consecutively, the two most earnest, unpretentious albums he's ever dreamed up, and the Pocket Dichotomy that had been used so frequently to dismiss Outside, Earthling, and others, is now terminally, irrevocably broken. Heathen looked like it might've been a holding pattern on the way to greater heights, but only for rising from the ashes of Hours; Reality shows that instead, Bowie is not aiming for an unattainable Ziggy-caliber alien classic, but is simply going to rock like any other human, in a pleasantly mild, non-conformist manner.
This is as close as Bowie has ever come to simply "pretty good" in his storied career. A zealous few will say that he's just further ahead of the curve than anyone can see, but if that's so, then what lies ahead is MOR rock and roll, with producer Tony Visconti's unobtrusive, light-handed electronic flourishes as gloss; no way-- he's too talented to be overtly influenced or obviously faddish, but that doesn't mean he's breaking ground. That's not an insult. I feel the biggest strength of this album is how relaxed it is, how well this anti-pose suits Bowie. It's freed him to craft some of the finest original material he's done in quite a while; Heathen best expressed his singular vision through the compositions of others, but Reality's original material easily overshadows its covers.
In particular, the George Harrison-penned "Try Some, Buy Some", though a kind tribute to Bowie's recently deceased contemporary, might be the album's only real mistake. Sappy, vacant lyrics and plodding, waltz-timed orchestration give a feel similar to a more fleshed-out version of the Morrissey cover "I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday", but without any the self-referential poignancy invested in the latter. The deep-space broadcast of "Pablo Picasso" is a substantial improvement, in terms of covers, with its echoing trills and white-funk syncopation and the intense surrealism of hearing the words "Pablo Picasso never got called an asshole/ Not like you," come from Bowie's mouth, but David promised that Reality would "rock", and he proceeds to do so even more effectively elsewhere.
Hard-edged dynamics are supplied to direct, aggressive rhythms on numerous tracks like the supremely nervous, desperate "Looking for Water" and less obviously on the epic jazz kick "Bring Me the Disco King", but only "New Killer Star" feels like more than an exercise with slightly dusty rock standbys. It opens the album with a bassline etched indelibly within our genetic make-up, instantly recognizable and irresistible, and once the hook is set, a deluge of static-hazed background singers, weird robo-choruses, and a shaky treble riff that easily marks the album's finest moment simply spew forth from the speakers, overwhelming all but the most cynical of Bowie's detractors. At least, that's what I predict.
Also worthy of mention is the stark contrast provided by "The Loneliest Guy". It sounds like the title to a forgotten Dudley Moore flick, and may sound somewhat like disingenuous fame lament coming from Bowie, but the song itself will dispel those thoughts. Nearly a cappella, with bare hints of strings and stray piano chords fading in from other rooms, Bowie instead offers that he's "the luckiest guy/ Not the loneliest guy/ In the world/ Not me," but does so with such mournful uncertainty that no easy reading of the song is possible; it seems surprisingly human, bittersweet, and altogether far more real than its name implies. It's startlingly out of place, sandwiched between "Never Get Old" and "Looking for Water", so much so that it almost implies sarcasm, but that's fitting, as this is as eclectic and puzzling album as Bowie's ever made. He's not always at the top of his game, but Bowie's musical ideas, not filtered through any sort of trend-grab, are unfailingly unique, and that alone should cement his continued role as vibrant, modern artist for years to come.
David Bowie: Reality
By Anthony DeCurtis
September 10, 2003
As a young subversive, David Bowie played with Sixties verities about gender, identity and rock & roll itself, insisting that truth was nothing but another mask. Now fifty-six and a revered figure himself, he's searching for some version of truth — or, as this album title puts it, Reality — and it turns out he was right the first time. To his mixed dismay and amusement, meaning comes and goes. "I still don't get the wherefores and the whys," he sings over the roaring guitars of the title track. "I look for sense, but I get next to nothing/Hoo, boy, welcome to reality."
More News
10 Great Forgotten Notorious B.I.G. Verses
Hear Coldcut Team With Lee 'Scratch' Perry, Junior Reid on Dub Anthem
Puff Daddy Posts Poignant Notorious B.I.G. Tribute
Review: The Shins' 'Heartworms' Is a Tender, Home-Brewed Charmer
Watch Linkin Park, Kiiara's Emotional 'Heavy' Video
All Stories
And Reality turns out to be an intriguing place. As on last year's Heathen, Bowie ponders life after 9/11 — he lives about a mile from Ground Zero — and his role in a world that has trumped all his apocalyptic fantasies. Part of that role, at least, is rocking hard. With co-producer Tony Visconti, Bowie toughens up his sound, sawing at the edges of Jonathan Richman's "Pablo Picasso" and, on "New Killer Star," reclaiming the insinuating guitar propulsion he'd loaned to Lou Reed when he produced Transformer. On a quieter note, his version of George Harrison's "Try Some, Buy Some" becomes a waltzing memorial to a fellow spiritual searcher. Reality closes with "Bring Me the Disco King," a surreal ballad that runs close to eight minutes. It's another of Bowie's ambivalent farewells to the era in which he wreaked such havoc "in the stiff, bad clubs/Killing time in the Seventies." The difference is he now knows that time is killing him, and all of us, and that the Disco King, that master of revels who promised eternal life on the dance floor, is nowhere to be found.
Lazarus review – Bowie musical lands in London, but does it really make the grade?
0 Comments
Michael C Hall as Newton and Amy Lennox as Elly in Lazarus
Michael C Hall as Newton and Amy Lennox as Elly in Lazarus CREDIT: ALASTAIR MUIR
Dominic Cavendish, theatre critic
8 NOVEMBER 2016 • 10:00PM
It feels like the height of disrespect and ingratitude to do anything other than bow low before Lazarus.
This is David Bowie’s musical-theatre epitaph. It was his idea; he contributed a rough story outline and new songs, sourced others, too, from his gilded back-catalogue. His final public appearance was the show’s opening night at the New York Theatre Workshop on December 7 last year.
The grief at news of his death from cancer in January was as deep as it was widespread. It’s still there; it’s still raw. In bringing Lazarus to a specially constructed (cavernous 900-seater) pop-up venue in the city of Bowie’s birth, the motives of producer Robert Fox (whom Bowie approached in the first place) are not those, I think, of the cash-in merchant.
Michael C Hall in Lazarus
Michael C Hall in Lazarus CREDIT: ALASTAIR MUIR
Attendance isn’t, to be sure, a free gift. But mounting the whole thing over here is about giving us Brits the chance to see what the fuss was about in Manhattan. The curiosity value, then, is high, but artistically, I’m not so sure – a lot of factors conspire against Lazarus being as much a pleasure as a commemorative duty.
Bowie’s big idea was to do something based on Thomas Newton, the extra-terrestrial hero of Walter Tevis’s 1963 sci-fi novel The Man Who Fell to Earth. Bowie starred as Newton in the 1976 Nicholas Roeg film version – immortalising his otherworldliness in celluloid and lending rock-star glamour to this unageing humanoid who, despite making millions as a businessman, never finds his feet or a means of getting home, succumbing to alcoholism after being experimented on while held captive in a hotel.
If anyone was entitled to investigate the story further (Tevis died in 1984), it was Bowie. But in taking it forward, jumping years ahead to a confining New York apartment in which a reclusive Newton is still knocking back the liquor, Lazarus gives insufficient sense of what has gone before and far too little indication as to where it’s going, besides his yearning to get “back in the stars”.
Michael C Hall as Newton and Sophia Anne Caruso as Girl in Lazarus
Michael C Hall as Newton and Sophia Anne Caruso as Girl in Lazarus CREDIT: ALASTAIR MUIR
Our indulgence is required to allow a fit between the music and Irish playwright Enda Walsh’s cryptic script. The opening number Lazarus – the third track on the final album Blackstar – begins with the words “Look up here, I’m in heaven”. They make us think, immediately, of Bowie; their relation to the earthbound Newton (straight-cut looks and a Bowie-esque lilt from Michael C Hall) is less apparent.
Whether it is the trio of new songs, or the fresh interpretations of familiar numbers, the particular dramatic resonance of any given lyric is hard to discern. And who are these characters flitting in and out of the apartment with non-naturalistic, ghost-like ease? Some – such as Newton’s assistant Elly, who models herself on his mourned, blue-haired lover Mary-Lou, or the malevolent Valentine – don’t seem to be figments of his perturbed mind. Others, such as a blonde-haired Girl, are distinctly ethereal presences; it’s hard to engage head or heart when there’s so much enigma.
Belgian director Ivo van Hove has made a brave choice in giving us a beige (ugh!) set to look at for nearly two hours, with a less than lovely hinterland of blokey musicians looming behind the apartment windows. The video projections are surprisingly rudimentary given Bowie’s avant-gardism.
Was I disappointed? Yes. But just hearing (live and loud) some of those classics, Life on Mars, Absolute Beginners, Changes, Heroes and above all the weepie Where Are We Now? causes a mist of emotion-steeped reverie to descend. For some, that’ll be enough.
Lazarus is playing at the King's Cross Theatre, London until January 22. To book, visit tickets.telegraph.co.uk or call 0844 871 2118.
Review: David Bowie's 'Lazarus' Cast Album Features Final Three Songs
Rob Sheffield's take on soundtrack to iconic songwriter's musical
The cast album to David Bowie's 'Lazurus' features his final three songs. Jimmy King
By Rob Sheffield
October 26, 2016
David Bowie spent much of his final year on this planet working on a musical, Lazarus, based on his 1976 sci-fi movie The Man Who Fell to Earth. Written with Irish playwright Enda Walsh (Once), it seemed like a curious use of his time – but as we know now, it was part of his elaborate farewell gesture. Lazarus worked poignantly onstage – especially the climactic scene where alien Michael C. Hall (from Dexter) and his angel daughter swim like dolphins through puddles of milk while singing "Heroes," before he blasts off in his rocket back to his home planet.
The Lazarus soundtrack has the title song, already familiar from his still-astounding Blackstar, along with three new Bowie songs. The other 18 tracks are theater pros doing his hits ("Changes," "All The Young Dudes") or deep cuts ("It's No Game," "Always Crashing in the Same Car"), recorded the day after his death. The songs have already been defined by the master – if you've heard Bowie sing "Life on Mars," not to mention Barbara Streisand or Lorde, you probably won't play this version twice. But the cast sometimes brings fresh nuance – especially "Absolute Beginners," where Hall and Cristin Milioti revive a long-forgotten Eighties movie theme as a doo-wop wedding hymn.
The real attraction is the three new Bowie tracks, recorded during the Blackstar sessions with the same great jazzy band and producer Tony Visconti. While he intended them for the musical, not his album, they're a chilling last transmission. Bowie comes on violent and threatening in the industrial "Killing a Little Time," snarling, "I've got a handful of songs to sing/To sting your soul, to fuck you over." "When I Met You" is pop charm, with a Lindsey Buckingham quiver in the guitar twang. But the real prize is "No Plan," where Bowie croons an eerie torch song about drifting into space, floating over New York City – "There's no music here/I'm lost in streams of sound." It's a crucial part of Bowie's long goodbye to a world that wasn't quite ready to let go of him.
Lazarus: David Bowie musical receives mixed reviews on London transfer
9 November 2016
From the section Entertainment & Arts
Share
Michael C Hall in LazarusImage copyrightJAN VERSWEYVELD
Image caption
Michael C Hall stars as alien visitor Thomas Jerome Newton in Lazarus
David Bowie musical Lazarus has opened in London to mixed reviews - with some critics giving it five stars, and others just one.
The show, a collaboration between the late musician and Enda Walsh, is based on the story of The Man Who Fell to Earth.
Bowie played the alien visitor in a 1976 film of the same name.
The Times described Lazarus as "pretentious rubbish" and "nonsense on stilts".
And Telegraph critic Dominic Cavendish admitted to being "disappointed".
Directed by Ivo van Hove, the show features around 20 Bowie songs - old and new - and tells the story of the humanoid alien Thomas Jerome Newton and his attempts to return to his home planet while being haunted by memories of an old lover.
Lazarus had its world premiere in New York almost a year ago, where Bowie made his last public appearance before his death in January.
It has now relocated to London's King's Cross Theatre, a large pop-up venue next to the train station.
'Disappointingly earthbound'
Cavendish said of the opaque plot: "It's hard to engage head or heart when there's so much enigma."
But he added that hearing some of Bowie's classics, played by an on-stage band, "causes a mist of emotion-steeped reverie to descend. For some, that'll be enough".
Ann Treneman was less generous in The Times, saying "its aim is to obscure and mystify, as if we are watching underwater" and that it is "like an interminable music video from the Nineties" - her solitary star, she writes, is for the musicians and actors.
Lazarus only fares slightly better in the Evening Standard, with Henry Hitchings musing that "perhaps the most devoted Bowie fans will find layers of meaning here that blow their minds", but that in his opinion "this isn't a mesmerising experience and it mostly feels disappointingly earthbound". He gave it two stars.
SOPHIA ANNE CARUSO (GIRL), MICHAEL C HALL (NEWTON)Image copyrightJAN VERSWEYVELD
Image caption
The live band is praised for their performance during the show
In the Guardian, Michael Billington struggled to find a word for the genre, settling on "part sci-fi story, part rock concert, part video installation, part study in alienation".
But while he admired Michael C Hall - star of Dexter - in the central role, he admitted Lazarus did not move him and that he "felt a sense of alienation" from the whole production.
Nick Wells in the Radio Times awarded five stars, saying "you can't help but be intrigued by the fascinating performances and underlying context".
He said the reworked songs, including classics Changes and Heroes, "sound great", adding: "At times dream-like in quality, you feel not everything may even be meant to be understood. But in a way, it doesn't really matter. The overall effect is captivating, tense, and emotional."
'Wild energy'
Ian Shuttleworth, writing in the Financial Times, gave four stars, and said "a proper Bowie musical was never going to be succinctly explicable", writing: "Put it this way: Grease it ain't. The Bowie dimension explains and grounds much of this head-spinning evening."
Whatonstage.com also awarded four stars, with Sarah Crompton writing: "This is a show full of wild energy, magical effects and overwhelming music. Its themes are pertinent and potentially deeply moving.
"But what it lacks is any real narrative arc; there's a concept where its heart ought to be, an emptiness that all its outstanding qualities cannot hide."
In another four-star review, The Stage's Mark Shenton said that while he did not always know what was going on, the show "in which a man contemplates shaking off his life on earth, is a kind of eerie premonition, a settling of Bowie's own existential reckoning".
Quentin Letts' verdict, in the Daily Mail, was that Lazarus was "evocative in a slightly batty way, but without those songs and the Bowie brand it might have struggled to find a producer".
Lazarus is at King's Cross Theatre, London, until 22 January 2017.
'Lazarus': Theater Review
2:00 PM PST 11/8/2016 by Stephen Dalton
FACEBOOK
TWITTER
EMAIL ME
COMMENTS
Johan Persson
From left: Amy Lennox, Michael C. Hall and Sophia Anne Caruso in 'Lazarus'
Ground control to major weirdness. TWITTER
1/22/2017
David Bowie’s alt-musical collaboration with Ivo van Hove and Enda Walsh, which premiered off-Broadway late last year, moves into a bigger space for its London transfer.
Almost a year after its off-Broadway premiere at New York Theater Workshop, David Bowie's experimental stage musical has just opened in the city of his birth, a homecoming farewell performance that the late art-rock legend never got to make himself.
Staged in a purpose-built temporary space in the rapidly redeveloping area around King's Cross station, Lazarus is playing to larger crowds in London, with a nightly capacity of 900 compared to around 200 in New York. Led by Michael C. Hall, the core cast has made the transfer across the Atlantic, though most secondary roles are now filled by Brits, the live band lineup has been expanded, and Alan Cumming's fleeting video cameo dropped.
He may have lived outside Britain for the last 40 years of his life, chiefly in Switzerland and America, but Bowie remains a beloved national treasure in his homeland. Since his shocking death in January, his name has rarely been out of the domestic news, with his legacy celebrated in musical tributes, books, art exhibitions and street murals. The goodwill toward him in London is palpable, which is handy for Lazarus, because this is a show which demands the indulgence of fans rather than the rigor of critics. While ticket sales are already brisk for its 13-week run, reviews are likely to be as divided here as they were in New York.
Michael C. Hall and Sophia Anne Caruso in 'Lazarus'
READ MORE
'Lazarus': Theater Review
Conceived in partnership with Irish playwright Enda Walsh and Belgian director Ivo van Hove, Lazarus is a sequel of sorts to Nicolas Roeg's cerebral 1976 sci-fi drama The Man Who Fell to Earth, which starred Bowie as extra-terrestrial exile Thomas Jerome Newton. Though elliptical and opaque, Roeg's film did at least follow a clear narrative arc. Newton's alien landed on Earth with a long-term plan to amass great wealth as a business tycoon, then build a rocket and return to save his dying planet. But he was defeated by political interference and his own weakness for alcohol.
Lazarus explains this backstory with a clunky chunk of exposition, but in truth any connection between the two dramas is tenuous. The story, by Walsh and Bowie, is more surreal stand-alone fable than coherent coda. Years after the events of the movie, Newton (Hall) is now an alcoholic recluse drinking away his gin-soaked days in his stylishly minimal East Village loft apartment. While pining for his blue-haired lost love Mary Lou, he half-hallucinates a cast of angels and demons, including the malevolent Valentine (Michael Esper, charismatic and scene-stealing) and the unnamed Girl (Sophia Anne Caruso, overly kooky). An American Psycho and a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, both with murky designs on Newton.
Meanwhile, Newton's emotionally fragile assistant Elly (Amy Lennox, stepping in for Cristin Milioti, who originated the role in New York) splits from her boorish husband and makes a play for her boss, donning an electric-blue wig in an apparent bid to replace Mary Lou. This creates some striking visual motifs, including a chorus of blue-haired doppelgangers, but little dramatic tension. As various characters scream, cry, die and apparently come back to life, it becomes increasingly hard to engage emotionally since nothing real seems to be at stake. By the end of this hallucinatory pageant, I half expected Newton to emerge from the shower and reveal it had all been a dream, Bobby Ewing style.
David Bowie
READ MORE
BBC Orders 'David Bowie: The Last Five Years'
Handsome and chiseled, Hall gives a radiant, poised, athletic performance as Newton, though he lacks the other-worldly aura that a flame-haired, translucent-skinned Bowie brought to the role onscreen. Hall’s boozy fallen star could just as easily be an updated version of Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard, or Wilde’s Dorian Gray, or even a parallel-universe version of Bowie himself, who spent much of the mid-1970s in a drink-sodden, druggy haze in Los Angeles and New York. The singer certainly considered this alien asylum seeker to be his most autobiographical role. After all, Walter Tevis partly wrote the 1963 novel on which the film is based as an allegory for his own battles with alcoholism.
For Bowiephiles, Lazarus resonates with allusions to the man himself, intentional or otherwise. Most literally, Bowie's face flashes across the video screen at several points, and a pile of his albums sits prominently on the stage. More subtly, Hall appears to co-opt some of the rocker’s more famous poses into his performance, including the sleeve image from Heroes and Bowie's stooped, twisted approximation of Joseph Merrick in The Elephant Man, his sole Broadway acting role in 1980.
While Bowie was appearing on Broadway, Mark David Chapman shot John Lennon just a few blocks away. The killer had a ticket to see The Elephant Man the next night, and Bowie later claimed he was "second on his list." It may be a fanciful leap, but there are faint echoes of Chapman in Valentine, the smiling assassin in Lazarus, who charms his way into Newton's apartment with murderous intent. If Walsh and Bowie had worked more of these teasing real-life parallels into the text, they might have created a more emotionally engaging velvet goldmine of self-referential clues rather than this uneven, eccentric, spaced-out oddity.
Michael C. Hall and Sophia Anne Caruso in 'Lazarus'
READ MORE
'Lazarus': First Performance Since David Bowie's Death Leaves Audience Members in Tears
Lazarus does have some winning cards up its sleeve. Van Hove and his regular designer Jan Versweyveld make imaginative use of video projection, using out-of-sync footage of the action occurring onstage to invoke Newton's fractured mental state, assailed by fragmentary echoes of past and future events as he was in the film. They also conjure up some eye-catching visual stunts, flooding the stage with sinister black balloons at one point.
But the show's key selling point, of course, is Bowie's catalog of classic songs. Backed by a nine-piece band, who remain mostly visible behind transparent screens at the rear of the stage, the cast perform 17 numbers old and new including "Changes," "Life on Mars?," "All the Young Dudes," "Absolute Beginners" and "Valentine's Day." A brooding rearrangement of "The Man Who Sold the World" drags a little, while "Heroes" lacks punch in its power-ballad form. But otherwise this music stands up well even without its author's direct involvement. The cast largely resist doing Bowie impressions, though some stylistic similarities are unavoidable.
The clumsy integration of music and drama, however, is more problematic. Songs emerge from the action almost arbitrarily, with scant thematic relevance. "It's No Game (Part 1)" is accompanied by a terrific set-piece vignette featuring a dancing geisha girl who bursts from Newton's giant TV screen, but it adds nothing to the story. And while Hall's solo rendition of "Where Are We Now?" is achingly lovely, it comes backed by dreamy video footage of Berlin, foregrounding Bowie's memories over Newton's. Like most of Lazarus, it pleases the senses but makes little sense.
Lazarus is a god-awful strange affair, perhaps because it was assembled in haste by a man who knew he was dying. But, in fairness, it does at least feel like a fitting testament to the real Bowie, who peppered his career with pretentious missteps and failed avant-garde experiments, rather than the infallible art-rock genius he has become over the past 11 months of posthumous canonization. A more conventional jukebox musical, referencing Bowie's own life in a more naturalistic manner, would probably fill larger theaters and earn warmer reviews. It will happen. In the meantime, thousands of longtime fans like me will indulge him one last time in this bittersweet hometown swan song.
SEE MORE
David Bowie's Career Through the Years
Venue: King's Cross Theatre, London
Cast: Michael C. Hall, Amy Lennox, Michael Esper, Sophia Anne Caruso, Gabrielle Brooks, Richard Hansell, Tom Parsons
Director: Ivo van Hove
Playwrights: David Bowie, Enda Walsh
Music & lyrics: David Bowie
Set & lighting designer: Jan Versweyveld
Costume designer: An D’Huys
Sound designer: Tony Gayle
Video designer: Tal Yarden
Choreography: Annie-B Parson
Music director: Henry Hey
Presented by Robert Fox and Jones/Tintoretto Entertainment
David Bowie
Heathen
Heathen artworkCOLUMBIAISO • 2002
7.8
by Eric Carr
Contributor
ROCK
JUNE 16 2002
Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Open share drawer
I'm tired of attending funerals for David Bowie's career. I mean, they're always pleasant, catered affairs, and ...
I'm tired of attending funerals for David Bowie's career. I mean, they're always pleasant, catered affairs, and the chance to hobnob with a star-studded crowd of washed-up mourners like Lou Reed and Iggy Pop is undeniably great, but David never actually shows up. Critics have tried to write him off for more than a decade, and his work has been mostly sub-par even longer. But somehow, some way, he's managed to scrape together enough of the old Bowie charm on every release to keep alive the hope that he might just have one final hurrah left in him. Unlike some of his contemporaries (I'm looking at you, Iggy), he might, conceivably, still have a fighting chance. But while everyone's busy measuring his latest work against the towering legacy of Ziggy and the Spiders and looking ahead to his next last gasp, it would be easy to overlook that Heathen is the best Bowie release in years.
But so what? Bowie committed the unpardonable sin of being too good, too soon. For an artist to produce an album as exquisitely relevant and inventive as Hunky Dory is rare, but to follow it with the colossus of Ziggy Stardust, and even Aladdin Sane, Low, and Scary Monsters-- he made genius sound so easy. With those first few groundbreaking albums, though, he utterly screwed himself. The shadow of his early work will follow him forever, and having hit the twilight of his career after tripping and falling over that 1987 snot-rocket, Never Let Me Down, it has loomed larger than ever. Heathen will surely be condemned by those who cannot forgive him for his past greatness, and will likely be loved by a few who still imagine strains of "Space Oddity" beneath its refrains. It's hard to shake the thought that even thirty years later, some people still seem to be expecting another Ziggy.
Yet Heathen doesn't herald a second coming for David Bowie-- not by a longshot. The youthful urgency of his early work is long gone. But that hasn't stopped him from making an album that is easily his best work since the halcyon days of faux-cockney accents and gender bending theatrics a la Scary Monsters, and that's good news. Bowie seems to have finally realized that he's just been trying too damn hard. Where 2000's Hours was a brooding, wrist-slitting account of Bowie's laments about growing old and irrelevant, Heathen is the sound of acceptance. He's relaxed, even serene, and the songs clearly reflect this with a nonchalant charm reminiscent of the Bowie of old.
This is not a particularly cheery record: "Sunday" is a somber, almost sinister chant that builds into an ascending chorus of warm synths and percussion-- a tense, minimal remix of the best moments of Earthling, if you will. In what will surely be the song most often quoted by record critics, "Slip Away," Bowie muses: "Some of us will always stay behind/ Down in space it's always 1982/ The joke we always knew," a brief moment of smiling recognition at the state of his career, fans, and detractors in the wake of his past glory days. Gorgeous and sad, it evokes the simplicity of the past as Bowie sings of "sailing over Coney Island" to a lone piano melody and a compelling Moog-y electronic refrain.
"Slow Burn" is the strongest of Bowie's original material on Heathen-- a moody, bouncy piece with a bass/sax combo that vaguely elicits a 60s pop undercurrent with guitar work from Pete Townshend (yeah, that Pete Townshend!). Townshend's help here is appreciated, mostly because it means the guitar isn't being played by Reeves Gabrels. If Bowie had considered bringing him in earlier, he could have avoided the horror of a car crash like Hours' "The Pretty Things Are Going to Hell." Fortunately, Townshend's guitar noodling never steps into the realm of being entirely gratuitous, and as with all the best songs on Heathen, Bowie's vocals are wisely left to dominate.
But oddly, it's the covers that are truly the highlight of the album. Bowie tries his hand at the Pixies' "Cactus" (a move which might make the album's title sound ironically appropriate)-- but take a deep breath. Everything's going to be okay. Mercifully, he handles the song very faithfully, and actually does it justice. He's a far cry from Black Francis, but Bowie's voice is so amazingly distinctive that it almost sounds like a different song. He then moves on to Neil Young's "I've Been Waiting for You." I don't know what's caused the current rash of Neil Young covers lately, but at least Bowie's old enough to make this sound a little more natural than most might. Bowie hasn't touched rock 'n' roll like this in years, and that he can still carry it off this well is a pleasant surprise.
Heathen's piece de resistance, though, is the phenomenal cover of "I Took a Trip In a Gemini Spaceship" by The Legendary Stardust Cowboy. Name-based alter ego issues aside, this song is smooth. It's got a fast-paced electronic rhythm to quicken the pulse, and dulcet tones to soothe the ear-- nothing but laid-back electropop fun from start to finish. It's the kind of thing they'll be playing in the lounge of the International Space Station in about ten years or so, assuming the capsule doesn't get pimped out as an orbiting bachelor pad for N*SYNC or something stupid like that.
Bowie is obviously never going to recapture his trend-setting finesse of yesteryear, but at least he seems okay with that. And that's this record's greatest strength. Back when he was busy reminding everyone how out of it he really was by touring with Trent Reznor, he started to play "The Man Who Sold the World" and I actually heard a kid, maybe only two years younger than me, say, "Oh, cool. He's covering a Nirvana song." If that's not a warning sign, I don't know what is. Yes, David, the music world is moving on without you, but you can't end things with Heathen-- some of us, myself included, are still waiting for that final blaze of glory. Before you go, you've got to let the kids know what they missed out on.
Back to home
David Bowie: Heathen
By David Fricke
May 22, 2002
The most immediate pleasures on Heathen are all covers. David Bowie has exquisitely hip taste, and he attacks the Pixies' "Cactus," Neil Young's '69 ruby "I've Been Waiting for You" and the Legendary Stardust Cowboy's sci-fi valentine "I Took a Trip on a Gemini Spaceship" with the same sharp-dressed zest that he brought to the Easybeats and Pretty Things hits on 1973's Pin Ups.
More News
Hear 2 Chainz Unleash Wild Verses on Two New Songs
10 Great Forgotten Notorious B.I.G. Verses
Hear Coldcut Team With Lee 'Scratch' Perry, Junior Reid on Dub Anthem
Puff Daddy Posts Poignant Notorious B.I.G. Tribute
Review: The Shins' 'Heartworms' Is a Tender, Home-Brewed Charmer
All Stories
The rest of Heathen is the sound of Bowie essentially covering himself — to splendid, often moving effect. The album sparkles with hindsight: the Low-like electrofrost of "Sunday"; the Martian-calliope coda of "Slip Away," played by Bowie on a Stylophone, the antique synth featured on 1969's "Space Oddity." In "Slow Burn," guest guitarist Pete Townshend channels Robert Fripp's cool signature riff from 1977's "Heroes" through Who's Next-style amp rage. And Bowie co-produced Heathen with Tony Visconti, the ears at the board for most of Bowie's best LPs from 1970 (The Man Who Sold the World) to 1980 (Scary Monsters).
The poignancy is in the heartbeat audible beneath the old tricks. "I believe my little soul has grown," Bowie claims in "Afraid," a high-speed jolt of Hunky Dory-flavored strum and strings, and he seems to mean it. This is his least affected album in a decade, a relief after the overreach of 1995's Outside (operatic grunge) and '97's Earthling (watery jungle). Heathen is also Bowie stripped bare. His great concept roles — Major Tom, Ziggy Stardust, the Thin White Duke — were all lost souls, trapped in space or circumstance. Bowie works here without masks, deepening the sultry gravity of his voice with open yearning in "Slip Away" ("Life on Mars?" reset in the nutty sweetness of the 1980s cult-TV hit The Uncle Floyd Show) and the icy waiting song "5:15 All the Angels Have Gone." A loose theme runs through these songs, covers included: the search for guiding light in godless night. But the real story is Heathen's perfect casting: Bowie playing Bowie, with class.