David Bowie - Heroes

(RCA, 1977)

The music’s that same ol’ dramatic choo-choo chug-and-soar that you know/love, but HEY Bowie’s singing in some crazy gobbledygook! “Chante En Francais,” says the sleeve, whatever THAT means. Good joke, Dave! And good song, especially when you start howling in that pained voice a few verses in! Uplifting stuff. There’s also a third version of “Heroes,” released elsewhere, that’s sung in a made-up language called “German,” and I actually like that one best; the hard consonants give the vocals – Bowie’s finest, for my money (Euros) – an extra edge that further ups the emotional intensity. Listen to all three and judge for yourself, and then immediately throw them away in favor of the classic Wallflowers remake that anchors the smash-hit Godzilla soundtrack. Jakob: the talented Dylan.

The other side features the brief, near-instrumental “V2 Schneider,” which is more synthesized merriment, jaunty low-end giving it a bouncy levity not unlike that of “Autobahn.” Given that Kraftwerk happened to include a member named Florian Schneider, go ahead and connect those dots, Mr. Dot-Connector.

David Bowie - Fame

(RCA, 1975)

In 1975, David Bowie decided to surprise everyone, even those of us yet to be born, by ditching the glam racket, buying a suit, and recording an album of sleek, forgettable “soul” poop – a real cocaine soundtrack for swingers all across the land, even those of us yet to be born. But though it’s true I can only remember about three of its eight songs twenty minutes after taking it off the turntable (that hammy cover of “Across the Universe”…yech!), Young Americans gets bigtime kudos for including the deathless “Fame.” Now, is it underwritten? Sure. A little off-putting and whiny lyrically? Well, yes. Still, this is a truly dirty funk single that, unlike everything else on the LP from whence it comes, transcends distracting genre-dabbling to achieve GREATNESS on its own merits. Bowie and pals sound like they’re actually having a whole lotta fun in the studio, and there’s an easy, jammy looseness to this hard-edged ass-shaker that stands in contrast to the up-tightness I sense in too much of his music. Again: Dirty. Note that you’re better off with the LP version of “Fame,” since this single mix chops off about 45 seconds, making the track feel even less developed than it is.

The flip is “Right,” a sax-soaked bit of soul-funk that is a good example of the kind of shrug-worthy muzak that makes up most of Young Americans. Honestly, if I want to hear Bowie “do black,” I’d rather listen to his mid-’60s Pye singles (compiled on all sorts of LPs and CDs), which take a Motown-lite approach and are loads o’ laffs. Catchy, too, unlike this bloodless, expensive-sounding snoozer.

David Bowie - Space Oddity

(RCA, 1973)

RCA dragged “Space Oddity” out of the rubbish in 1973 and, ever savvy, wrapped it in an appropriately Ziggified sleeve (forget that foofy Barrett-loving folk-hippie of the song’s native ’69!) in order to squeeze more cash out of Bowie’s newfound mega-fanbase. It borders on novelty, but “Space Oddity” is one of the more emotionally accessible Bowie songs; where a lot of his material feels heartless and empty – are there many superstars who are less fun? – this one does a good job of connecting with the listener. The alienation of the lyric’s astronaut is handled deftly, and his passive acceptance of his fate at the song’s end is sad and slightly chilling, especially if, as “Ashes to Ashes” tells us a few years later, the whole thing’s actually about junkiedom. Musically, rich acoustic strumming and warm mellotron sell the package, sounding like a more pop-conscious spin on early King Crimson balladry. The label keeps things eerie by putting “The Man Who Sold the World” (from 1970) on the B-side, its mysterious lyrics suggestive of insanity or creeping panic – a skin-crawling classic. Bowie was always into image, but these two songs – especially when heard on this single, outside of the larger context of an era-spanning best-of – demonstrate how satisfying he could be before he allowed his play-acting to overwhelm and often suffocate his music.

Boo Radleys - At The Sound Of Speed

(SpinArt, 1993)

A British guy in his mid-30s recently laughed in my face when I told him I liked the Boo Radleys, and indeed, a decade after their breakup, the band seems to be reviled, forgotten, or simply ignored. Perhaps they did overstay their welcome, hanging in there long enough to be C-listers of – in order – the shoegaze, Britpop, and electronica-humping scenes, but their catalog contains plenty of rather rich pop, and I’d maintain that the hits do outweigh the mediocrities in the end. This early American release features a pair of songs that first showed up as B-sides to the UK “Lazarus” EP, and they give a fair, if brief, glimpse of the band’s basic strengths and limitations.

The Johnny-come-lately “At the Sound of Speed” takes a few superficial aspects of shoegaze – the layers of guitar, the start-stop tempos – and applies them to a commercial-minded rock/pop template. There are still enough surprises (trumpet?!) and mood shifts to keep it interesting, and the end result often sounds like a smarter, more ambitious, more competent Oasis. While overbaked and no masterpiece, it’s not nearly as bad as the favorable Oasis comparison may make it sound. The much quieter “Let Me Be Your Faith” feels far less forced, drifting along on watery psychedelic guitars and a near-pastoral understatedness that ultimately has greater impact than the A-side’s crafted posturing. Nice. When these guys weren’t bending over backwards to be what the marketplace wanted them to be, there were a lot of great songs – like “Let Me Be Your Faith” – to be had, and those peaks make it well worth any popster’s while to trawl the dollar bins for Boo Radley albums and EPs, or to even spring for Creation’s double disc of career highlights. It’s rarely mindblowing, but the group was smart enough and with-it enough to put together a solid decade’s worth of pleasant material, and that’s nothing to be sniffed at.

Bobsy - The End Of April

(Drive-In, 1999)

Wow, not bad! Singapore one-man-band Bobsy offers gentle acoustic pick ’n’ strum and appealing double-tracked vocals on this surprisingly moving, folksy lament for the end of something/anything. There’s a certain Byrdsian quality to its mournfulness that’s reminiscent of a tradition-minded McGuinn ballad, and it burrows deeper with each play. The similarly hushed, yearning B-side adds some glockenspiel (is it??) and maintains an admirable quality level, but it can’t reach the eyebrow-raising heights of the flip. Fair enough. Research indicates that this guy never released a follow-up, which is a shame, based on the impressive evidence heard here. Still, “The End of April,” even if it does end up a one-off burst of modest brilliance, is certainly a fine legacy and a finer listen. Check ’er out.

Black Tambourine - Throw Aggi Off The Bridge

(Audrey’s Diary, 1992)

Well I was washing my hands at work this afternoon when I happened to glance into the mirror and exclaim, “Hey! I don’t look nearly enough like a ten year-old girl!” And I didn’t! So I sprinted forth and entered the area haircuttery, which is, oddly enough, staffed by the former personal stylist for Joey Ramone (dat’s NYC, I s’pose). When I emerged thirty minutes later, I was a dead ringer for old pal Ramona Quimby, sure to be called “miss” at Starbucks and carded at bars all ’round the town for the next many months. And here I am at home, getting ready to review a Black Tambourine record, when it is with SHRIEKING MAD LAUGHTER that I realize I now bear an unsettling resemblance (hair-wise) to the luvlee lady of this fine rock band. Time to grow a beard! While I’m doing that, I’ll give this single – their second and last – some serious thought, follically linked to it as I am. Though the three songs on here were recorded during the same month as those on the “By Tomorrow” 7”, they show a sillier, punkier, rockin’er side of Black Tambourine that reminds me quite a bit of the Pooh Sticks in the total careening pop wackiness. Cluttered drumming, frenzied noise guitar, wonderful vocal melodies, and, best of all, death wishes for Stephen Pastel’s girlfriend sung with Pam Berry’s cheerful innocence on “Throw Aggi Off the Bridge.” Plus a rather crunching, trebly Love cover (“Can’t Explain”)! Wha?! Fun, the whole thing, start to finish. Please just buy that darn Complete Recordings comp already; there is no good reason not to own this music. Do you like my beard?

Black Tambourine - By Tomorrow

(Slumberland, 1991)

First a helpful collectorfreak note on the artwork, since this single was released with three different covers. There’s one with a tiger jumping through a glow-in-the-dark hoop (probably the rarest; mine is numbered 11/100), another with a girl splashing in a puddle (mine is hand-crayoned), and a third with a raindrop photo sleeve (oops, I don’t own this one). Find ’em all and love ’em all! Because the MUSIC is early-90s US pop underground at its best: Fuzz and reverb overlaid with roaring guitars, plus a hint of jangle underneath... strictly the good stuff. There’s some intriguing pre-Beatle girl-group influence at work as well, especially on the vocal patterns of the swinging “Drown” (and, to a lesser extent, the record’s lyrical concerns as a whole). Still, while catchy, concise, and inviting, these four songs are less cutesy than what European cousins like the Pastels or Vaselines were getting up to at the time, and a track like “Pack You Up” is downright dark shoegaze. Noisy pop simply doesn’t get much better than Black Tambourine, and these guys ’n’ gals were only around long enough to release two singles and a few stray tracks, all of ’em (plus a demo) now collected on the Complete Recordings CD/10”. Genius single, genius band. Really.