David Bowie: The Singles Collection
This has long been my favourite David Bowie compilation. Yes, it ends in 1987, but then, my "golden years" with Bowie ended there too. Of, course, I have all the subsequent stuff, but that was the classic era. This collection covers that wonderfully.
A well-known track that needs no introduction, Space Oddity capitalised on the fascination with the moon landing and achieved tremendous success. This song also marked the first significant recorded use of the stylophone, a playful instrument that contributed to the slightly electronic, morse-code-like sound in the background. It possesses a profound atmosphere, hauntingly depicting the solitary journey of poor old Major Tom floating endlessly in space. Interestingly, after this massive hit, Bowie seemingly vanished for almost three years before reemerging in 1972 as a new artistic entity in the eyes of many fans. While the album can be considered uneven, there are other hidden gems worthy of recognition.
The Hunky Dory album started with Changes, this now-iconic number on which guest pianist Rick Wakeman leads things off, augmented by Bowie's slightly tongue-in-cheek lyrics and an absolute killer hook of a chorus. All the dense, heavy intensity of the previous album was thrown off as Bowie developed an appealing light, airy pop sensibility. Lyrically, it deals with some quite philosophical themes about "turning to face the strange" amidst "impermanence" and berating of the previous generation in "where's your shame you've left us up to our necks in it..". So what's new - the same accusation is made by every generation. Of course, the song's title has proved to be an apt one to apply to Bowie himself when talking of his constantly re-invented image over the years. Surprisingly, it was a complete flop as a single yet subsequently is a song that everyone knows and is an obvious choice in any "best of Bowie" lists.
Starman was the one that gave the world Bowie’s iconic Top Of The Pops appearance, and what a great single it was too. Addictive, radio-friendly chorus, lots of contemporaneously-popular space imagery and that instantly recognisable morse code bit before the chorus kicks in, that was inexplicably lowered on many remasters over the years. It exists on the original single mix. The song is built around an acoustic guitar riff more in tune with the lighter, breezier feel of Hunky Dory than the electric riffs of this album. As Bowie's only successful single to date apart from 1969's seemingly one-off Space Oddity it would have seemed to many that Bowie was obsessed with singles about space and the galaxy, which was of course not the case if you knew more of his songs. As with Moonage Daydream there are lots of hippy-style lyrics in the song - "hazy cosmic jive"..."hey that's far out"..."let all the children boogie..."..."some cat was layin' down some rock 'n' roll..." that owed more than a passing debt to Bowie's friend Marc Bolan. Incidentally, on the live performance, Bowie sang "get it on rock 'n' roll.." as a nod to his mate Bolan, no doubt. I always wondered, when listening to this song, how one could "lean back on my radio..". How could you lean on a radio??
The iconic Ziggy Stardust is most memorable as Ziggy “jams good with Weird and Gilly”. Oh, that riff too - acoustic and electric guitars in unison, something that Bowie had begun to specialise in. It is a timeless classic. Again it is packed full of wonderful lines, like "he came on so loaded man - well hung and snow-white tan...", "with God-given ass...". The sexual and drug references were lost on most of us teenagers back then, I can assure you. The song is full of all sorts of images - the "leper messiah", "cat from Japan", "he was the nazz", "jiving us that we were voodoo.." and is just a delight from beginning to end. Just who were the introductory characters of "Weird and Gilly" I wonder? Previous band members or existing ones? Was "Ziggy" a unique, original character, or an amalgam of Bolan, Jagger, Jim Morrison etc? Whatever the answer was, one thing we knew for sure was that "Ziggy played guitar..".
Segued in from Ziggy's bleepy guitar ending, now we have another superb track in Suffragette City, with an equally iconic and recognisable Mick Ronson riff. It rocks even more than "Ziggy", being in possession of a fast-paced glam rock meets regular rock guitar-driven sound and one of Bowie's strongest rock vocals. His higher-pitched voice never made for a truly convincing rock delivery, but it suits him fine here. He also wanted a saxophone sound on the song, but this was created by a synthesiser in the end. It is also full of sexual imagery and an undercurrent of seediness runs through it. Bowie wants Henry, whoever he is, to leave him alone while he attends to his "mellow-thighed chick". Then when he is done, it is "wham bam thank you ma'am..". There is the same sort of Studio 54 vibe to it that was also on Hunky Dory's Queen Bitch. I always love hearing the guitar cut in to first one speaker then the other after the "wham bam thank you ma'am..." bit at the end.
John I'm Only Dancing - I loved this single back in 1972 when it came out. I was far too young at thirteen to pick up on the homosexual references, as most were. It passed the BBC censorship (but not in the USA). It became a top twenty hit here. It is a nice mix of a catchy acoustic intro/ongoing riff and some vibrant Spiders rock. I remember being blown away by how great the sound was when my father allowed me to play the single on his stereo. I still love hearing it today.
The original single mix dates from July 1972 and is the best one. A subsequent one was re-recorded in January 1973 using saxophone in place of the acoustic guitar riff. It is ok, but not as good as the original, neither is the 1979 remix which seems to tone down the sharpness of the acoustic guitar. For me, the original single version will always be the best - that crystal clear strummed acoustic intro and then the consecutive drumbeats leading into Bowie telling us that "Annie's pretty neat, she always eats her meat...". Hmm. Incidentally, I always used to think it was "Eileen's pretty neat...".
The Jean Genie was the Aladdin Sane album's first big hit single and it had crashed into our consciousness back in December 1972 before the album was released. I remember one evening at youth club and one of the other boys came running up to me, beside himself with excitement. "What do you think of David Bowie...?" he breathlessly enquired. I shrugged in the way thirteen year old boys do but still went out and bought the single the next day with my paper round money. 49p it cost. The boy who asked the question was Pete Trewavas, later to achieve fame as the bass player in Marillion. The song contains absolutely killer bits of Ronson-Bowie guitar-harmonica interplay throughout and is one of Bowie's bluesiest piece of rock thus far in his career. The riff was approximated by The Sweet for their number one single Blockbuster in January 1973. It was, according to both parties, a complete coincidence and also, The Yardbirds had used it in the sixties in their live covers of I'm A Man. Another coincidence, stated Bowie, was the whole "Jean Genet" thing that supposed that the song's title was something to do with the French avant-garde author. The song and the accompanying Top Of The Pops appearance subsequently cemented Bowie's position in popular culture, even more than Starman did. By late 1972, many people were talking about David Bowie. The Ziggy Stardust audience had ballooned, hugely. He was a superstar now.
Drive-In Saturday was the Aladdin Sane album's big "new" single (The Jean Genie being released several months before the album) - full of doo-wop harmonies, parping sax and great hook lines it blew us all away. As with so many of the Bowie compositions on the album, the imagery is positively overflowing as contemporary culture and icons are mixed with nostalgic themes - "people stared in Jagger's eyes and scored", "she'd sigh like Twig the wonderkid..." were definite references and then there was "Jung the foreman...". Who was he? Jung the philosopher? The "foreman", though, what was that about? What was "crashing out with Sylvian"? Bowie explained that song was set in a post-apocalyptic world where people had to learn how to make love again by using books. All very futuristic and strange. Whatever the meanings, it is an uplifting, almost anthemic sax-driven pastiche. It was originally offered to Mott The Hoople as a follow-up to the Bowie-penned All The Young Dudes but they turned it down, now confident enough to choose their own Honaloochie Boogie, which charted for them.
Life On Mars? This magnificent, truly iconic, fully orchestrated wonder of a song, one that is quoted by many these days in everyday conversations. "See the mice in their million hordes, from Ibiza to the Norfolk Broads". Bizarre lyrical imagery doesn't get much better, does it? Quite what it is about has been the subject of analysis ever since its release - who was "the girl with the mousy hair"? Or the "sailors fighting in the dancehall" as seen on the screen by the said girl? What film was Bowie thinking of, I wonder? It has always been South Pacific, for me. As well as the lyrics the song has some beautiful, dramatic piano on it and a real sense of melodrama. I love the way the song rises and falls between its cacophonous chorus and the gentle build up of its superbly expressive verses. The song was released as a single in the early summer of 1973, winning Bowie a whole load of new fans. The sleeve shown has Bowie in Ziggy get-up, of course, that the track itself and this album pre-dated.
Sorrow was the big hit single from the Pin Ups album of covers and a great track it is too. Bowie improves The Merseys’ original no end (one of the ones on the album that clearly out-does the original). The violin backing is sumptuous as are the harmonious backing vocals and, of course, Bowie’s excellent saxophone solo. This was the song we all liked on the album at the time, probably due to its exposure as a single. The single, incidentally, was 'b' sided by a cover of Jacques Brel's Amsterdam, dating from the Ziggy Stardust sessions. It remains one of Bowie's most loved but still lesser-known singles. It instantly takes me right back to the autumn of 1973.
The big - now iconic - hit from the Diamond Dogs album was Rebel Rebel, with its infectious scratchy, Stonesy riff played by Bowie on guitar, trying out his best Mick Ronson. The song's lyrics highlight gender-bending and had quite an effect at the time, more than you would imagine these days. To say "you don't know if you're a boy or a girl" in a song was actually quite ground-breaking. Anyway, it was, and is, a great song.
Rock 'n' Roll Suicide was the cataclysmic, melodramatic, valedictory ending of the Ziggy Stardust album, and, apparently, of Ziggy himself. Bowie brought the concept thing to a close in the most dramatic, theatrical style. From its first "time takes a cigarette..." line to "you're wonderful - gimme your hands..." the song is a perfect, evocative end to something very special that Bowie had created in that sub-forty minute album, that, while not wanting to go over the top about such a comparatively short piece of work, was quite artistically ground-breaking. We had not seen or heard the like. It was re-released as a single in 1974, hence its positioning here.
Now to the very Stonesy-sounding riffy intro of Diamond Dogs and the false "crowd" noises that make it sound like a live recording which are, incidentally, culled from The Faces' Overture & Beginners live album from the previous year. Bowie's scratchy guitar playing is to the fore on this six minute single which wasn't as big a hit as Bowie had become used to. The song introduces the listener to the Hallowe'en Jack character featured on the Diamond Dogs album.
The hit single from the David Live album, a cover of Eddie Floyd's Atlantic Soul classic Knock On Wood is chunkily powerful and nowhere near as bad as a few critics, including Mick Jagger, said it was at the time.
One of Bowie’s finest ever tracks here in the lyrically, musically and atmospherically remarkable Young Americans. Five minutes of pure Bowie magic. Still my favourite ever Bowie track. I never tire of hearing it, even after all these years. Just hearing that drum intro gets me every time. Then the sax comes in - magical. It is also jam-packed full of great, perplexing lines like "well, well, well would you carry a razor, in a case, just in case of depression..." or - "we live for just these twenty years, do we have to die for the fifty more?". Great stuff indeed. I could just carry on quoting from this song, there are so many great lines.
The sound is now clearly different to anything Bowie had ever done before. His band had main members who were largely white (apart from bassist Willie Weeks) and a background in rock and jazz, so they certainly weren't a bona fide soul band. They did seem to get the soul vibe, though, particularly saxophonist David Sanborn and Puerto Rican guitarist Carlos Alomar and there were soul musicians on congas and backing vocals, including a young Luther Vandross. It is not genuine soul. however, but it is a fine approximation and simply a damn fine record. "Ain't there one damn song that can make me break down and cry...". Indeed. This is up there as possibly my favourite ever David Bowie song.
An absolute Bowie classic and one that became the second big hit from the Young Americans album. Fame is a supremely funky Bowie/Lennon workout containing cutting lyrics about the fame game - "fame - what you want is in the limo - fame - what you get is no tomorrow...". Bowie seemed to be telling his own indulgent story right here, right now. The funk riff is magnificent on this and, impressively one of Bowie's idols, James Brown, paid him the compliment of using the very riff on his 1976 track Hot (I Need To Be Loved). Bowie was delighted by this, I am sure. Another impressive thing is the backing vocal "high voice to deep voice" descending scale that comes off to great effect both here and in subsequent live performances.
The appealing Golden Years was the Station To Station album’s hit single and it was a soulful throwback to the Young Americans album with its infectious vocals and polished, light funky backing. Bowie famously sung (mimed) this on the legendary US soul TV show Soul Train. It is a great song that you can’t help singing along to and one that sticks in the brain. It is chock full of hooks and is so nostalgic for me of the autumn of 1975. It remains a bit at odds with the Station To Station album’s other material, however. It sort of acts as Bowie’s goodbye to his short-lived soul era, to an extent. It pre-dates the album’s other songs by several months.
TVC15 is a very odd, vaguely funky song about people being consumed and eaten by their televisions. Yes, really!It has some irresistible hooks and, for me, is very Bowie, lyrically. That whole repeated and I must say highly addictive "transmission-transition" thing. Check out that bass line for a lovely warm depth. The saxophone backing too, is sublime, from Bowie himself.
The ground-breaking Low album's hit single, Sound And Vision, had some absolutely killer synthesiser hooks and almost invented "synth pop". It was a semi-instrumental with just a few lyrics - the "blue, blue electric blue" refrain that really caught on and had people singing along with it. From its opening rat-a-tat drum beat through its addictive bass to its swirling, rising synthesisers, this is a pleasure from beginning to end. "Don't you wonder sometimes - 'bout sound and vision...", sung smokily and sonorously by Bowie was a great line. I have to reiterate about the bass - George Murray's contribution is superb. An interesting bit of trivia is that the "doo doo doo" backing vocals were sung by sixties folk singer Mary "Those Were The Days" Hopkin, wife of the album's producer Tony Visconti.
Well, what more is there to be said about this cold war love song? "Heroes" has become one of Bowie's most famous song, its lyric used many times by many people in search of some uplifting "believe in yourself" inspiration (largely because of the chorus, as opposed to the verses, which are comparatively uneasy and wishing for things that may not happen - "standing by the wall.... swimming like dolphins..." etc). "You can be mean and I'll drink all the time", however, is just one more of many of the song's lyrics that show that the song isn't just a simple "we can make it against all odds" anthem. There is a lot of underlying ambiguity, cynicism and paranoia lurking within its spray-painted concrete walls. Back to the song as a whole, everything about it is superb - that wonderful synthesiser leading riff, Bowie's soaring vocal and, of course, Robert Fripp's marvellous lead guitar bursts.
Beauty And The Beast kicks the "Heroes" album off positively with some thumping drums, fast-paced, deep keyboard riffs, high-pitched backing vocals and a menacing-sounding vocal from Bowie. It is far denser, deeper, more industrial in sound than the vocal material on Low. This track exemplifies that change. This is far more industrial in sound, providing that post punk inspiration.
Boys Keep Swinging was the first actual single from the Lodger album. Along with D. J. they are both upbeat, commercially direct songs, if not quite the "Bowie classics" of some other hits, but I have to say that I always found this one a bit of a silly song, despite its often-acclaimed "camp" humour concerning traditional male roles. That said, every time I hear it I find I enjoy it and it brings back nostalgic memories of 1979 for me. The first time I ever heard it was in a pizza restaurant in Canterbury called Sweeney Todd's and I was eating a sausage and jalapeño pizza that was so hot that they gave you a free pint of beer. Funny how you remember things. Maybe eating that mega-hot pizza was something I could do "when I was a boy (sic)".
The Lodger album's second single, D. J. was a 1977-78 era Talking Heads-influenced number and is very catchy and singalong, particularly on the chorus. Once more, it is not like any other Bowie material, being quite blatantly poppy and synthy. Like Boys Keep Swinging, it is very evocative of 1979 for me.
The cover of Bertholt Brecht's Alabama Song has never appealed to me, however, despite its Teutonic, 1930s atmosphere.
The addictive, evocative and smoky-voiced Ashes To Ashes was a massive number one single in which the ghostly spirit of Major Tom was evoked. I know it is a hugely popular Bowie number but it has never quite hit the spot with me (in comparison to many others). The song had a now iconic accompanying video with Bowie dressed in a clown suit.
Another big hit. Fashion was a New Romantics' favourite with its infectious "ooh-wah" backing vocals and contemporary New York disco funk sound. That searing guitar on it was singularly impressive. Robert Fripp was back on duty, after having being replaced by Adrian Belew on Lodger. Pretty much everything about the sound on the song is top notch. Lyrically, however, the song is not quite the unbridled celebration of fashion culture that one may perceive it to have been. The line "It's loud and it's tasteless and I've heard it before..." betrays a Bowie becoming somewhat world-weary and cynical. The punters didn't detect that, though, and lapped it up like the very consumers Bowie was tiring of. One thing that has always irritated me mildly about it, I have to admit, is when Bowie sings "the-er-er dance floor...". First prize for nit picking for me there.
Scary Monsters And Super Creeps had that sort of commercially accessible, post punk vibrancy to them - the density of post punk combined with a pop/rock catchiness. It is very "Heroes" album-esque and quirky also featuring some great guitar runs and a pounding drum sound, as well as a winning chorus. It was very much the sound of the early eighties, Bowie-style.
Under Pressure, the studio-doctored duet with Queen and also a huge number one hit is here. It is incredibly infectious and I never tire of it, but it is not really as "Bowie" as the rest of the material present.
Wild Is The Wind was a gorgeous offering from 1976's Station To Station and was a cover of a Johnny Mathis easy listening song from 1956. Bowie does it absolutely beautifully, singing incredibly well over a sumptuous bass, acoustic guitar and gently shuffling drum backing. It sort of sits alone from the rest of the S to S album in a Lady Grinning Soul kind of way. It is lovely, truly lovely. When Bowie hits that high note on “I hear the sound of mandolins” it is spine-tingling.
Bowie appealed to the masses with the huge number one hit, Let's Dance. Bowie himself referred to the period as his “Phil Collins years". Produced by Chic’s Nile Rodgers and featuring blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughan, the music is a mixture of rubber-band bass-driven disco funk, searing lead bluesy guitar and punchy horn backing. A fusion like that had not really been heard before. The sound of the song has Rodgers' stamp all over it. Rather like with Ashes To Ashes, however, it has never been my favourite.
China Girl was notorious for its accompanying video Bowie rolling around in the surf with a Chinese beauty, this cover of an Iggy Pop song is introduced by Nile Rodgers' Chinese-sounding guitar intro. In the middle of the song, Bowie confronts his thin white duke era flirtation with fascism - "I wander into town, just like some sacred cow, visions of swastikas in my head, plans for everyone, it's in the white of my eyes.". This displays a refreshing honesty on Bowie's part. His "just you shu' you' mout'" Chinese accent part is a bit dodgy, however, or probably will be perceived so these days.
A powerful and catchy drum intro followed by a spoken part from Bowie launches us into Modern Love, one of the man's finest pop chart hits. Forget its perplexing call and response lyrics about "God and Man" and "get me to the church on time", it is still a barnstorming song and was performed to great effect at Live Aid in 1985. This was a poppy Bowie, the like of which we hadn't seen for the best part of ten years.
