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(EMI, 1984)Awful. AWFUL. Like Let’s Dance, but worse. Not only is a shockingly complacent Bowie sticking with that sterile saxes-n-synths sound, his pop songwriting has also seriously nosedived on the wannabe-hit “Blue Jean”; when a braindead failure like this is your album’s lead single, there’s trouble afoot. “Dancing With the Big Boys” sinks even lower, with nadir-scraping lyrics and jaw-dropping bloat (female backing vocals? Silly “deep voice” effect?! STOP IT PLEASE.). This stuff is so forgettable and without merit that it manages to defy lengthy comment. Grasping for very, very small comforts, at least we can be happy that the drums on “Blue Jean” sound halfway natural. Uh… congrats?
(RCA, 1983)Whoop-de-doo, it’s a pair of poorly-recorded and/or mixed live recordings from 1973 that are historically significant, perhaps, but not a whole lotta fun to listen to. Since the world needed another lousy Velvet Underground cover, Bowie and the Spiders From Mars strip “White Light/White Heat” of its tense, scuzzy excitement, turning it into faceless bar-band glam – a description that applies to plenty of the era’s Bowie rockers, by the way – that manages to rival Lou Reed’s Rock ’N’ Roll Animal version in terms of sheer dullness (don’t worry, Lou: you still win). Bah. Who put this cock in my rock? “Cracked Actor” makes a satisfying racket as it bashes along in its rudimentary way, but doesn’t differ enough from the studio version to give it any real worth. Why does this single exist?? Why does ANY live single exist?? Feel free to ignore it and its parent album (Ziggy Stardust: The Motion Picture) altogether, or just watch the concert video if you have some burning desire to experience old Ziggy on stage.
(EMI, 1983)With his move to EMI, David Bowie electrified the world – again! – by taking on the exciting new persona that he would maintain for more than a decade to come, “The Thin White Guy Who Releases Shitty Albums.” Maybe he wanted to prove something right out the gate to his new label (and his old one) (and himself?), because the Let’s Dance singles are as crass a grab for the mainstream, the charts, and the big bucks as you’re gonna hear: peppy, unchallenging, synthesizers up the wazoo, awful sax solos, rough edges all smoothed away and coated with production gloss… Yeesh. Take the blandest of his earlier rock ’n’ roll efforts, dress them up in expensive state-of-the-’80s studio nonsense (those fake-sounding drums…!!), and this is the result. It’s impossible to deny that “Modern Love” is catchy, but it’s still a little sad to see the difficult late-’70s Bowie – frustrating as he could be – disappear into those designer suits. Even his failures a few years prior were always at least identifiably HIM, which can’t be said for this numbingly straightforward bit of radio pop. He even pulls the ultimate cop-out with a live version of the A-side on the flip that sounds IDENTICAL TO THE STUDIO RECORDING. Except with cheering, of course. Oh boy. It serves to prove nothing more than how soullessly reproducible and plastic this material is. Thumbs down.
(RCA, 1980)
Time for another legendary Bowie Persona, and for this go-round it’s the unforgettable “Asshole In A Clown Suit.” Yet again, an artistic bulls-eye for Mr. B; yes sir, it looks like David’s successfully gone from Ziggy to Zippy! Oh… ZING!! ZING ZING ZING! Better call the jape-crisis hotline, Bowie, because you just got japed bigtime by a serial japist: ME! HAW! But seriously, folks, all my cleverness aside, this isn’t a bad single at all – even if the B does lazily recycle Lodger’s percussive “Run On” for some reason; ho-hum other than the tom-toms and the droning backing vox. Right? Now, I’m not the world’s biggest fan of the sproingy guitar (??) effect that pops up throughout “Ashes to Ashes,” but doggone me if this isn’t a catchy friggin’ song, and it’s got SO MANY DIFFERENT LITTLE SEGMENTS. I mean, it’s complicated stuff; it keeps changing and changing and changing! Weird! And the whole thing still works! If there’s gonna be an argument made for Bowie as a Smart Songwriter, “Ashes to Ashes” is the song to put on display. There’s also a perverse pleasure in hearing him trash his past by recasting Major Tom as a junkie in the chorus …which fact, he deadpans, we all knew about Tom all along. Did we?! I sure didn’t! If I had known, I woulda DONE something about it: laffed at the stupid weak junkie! And OK now lemme ask you this: Is there another pair of singles in your brainspace where the B-side of the first leads directly into the A-side of the second?? Cuz that tear-jerk remake of “Space Oddity” on the flip of “Alabama Song” is definitely setting the table for “Ashes to Ashes.” You’re a canny cookie, David, a canny cookie indeed.
(RCA, 1980)It’s surprises a-plenty on this post-Lodger, pre-Scary Monsters standalone 45. Surprise #1: Bowie takes a stab at “Alabama Song.” Unlike the Doors’ retrospectively self-parodic drunken circus version, Bowie’s hurtles forward with schizophrenic changes in tempo and mood, the general air being one of terror and disgust as he lurches his way through the song. Alternately jagged, swirling, and smooth, it’d be nightmarish if it wasn’t so dang campy in the self-aware, self-mocking posturing of the vocals. An extremely entertaining listen, and an admirable middle finger as a non-album single. Surprise #2: Bowie re-records “Space Oddity” on the B-side. Surprise #3: It’s fantastic! He sounds tired and beaten on here, emphasizing the heavy sadness of the lyrics, and the stark arrangement (acoustic guitar, bass, simple piano, minimal drums) lends a weight to the musical accompaniment that wasn’t present in the original. Blasphemous to say, perhaps, but this might actually be better than the familiar hit version. GASP. And as if all that wasn’t enough, as an extra-special bonus for all you freaky kids out there the sleeve folds out into a four-panel poster of our hero Davey looking weirdly fascistic!
(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.
(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.
(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.
(EMI, 1984)
