It has been ten years since the last David Bowie album, a
distance that was pronounced enough that I paused for some personal reflection.
It was the kind of reflection that ends up putting an entire decade into perspective, a vast journey that seems forever ago, but feels like it just happened yesterday.
The record was Reality.
It’s an album that I’d recommend, with the disclaimer that much of its appeal
for me is based on very personal associations. I’ll save the specifics for a
proper review.
If you’ll recall, the fears of a retirement were valid
considering Bowie
had a heart attack towards the end of the run of the massive supporting tour
for Reality. It would have been a
tragic end to a career influential beyond words. Reality may be a decent late career offering, but it certainly
isn’t one that’s worthy of being the last studio statement of a hugely vital
catalog.
For me, reality was a crumbling marriage. When Reality was initially released, the
façade of my marriage was still in tact. By the time the Reality tour was wrapping up, I had quit my managerial job of eight
years, separated from my wife shortly afterwards and then proceeded to spent a
good deal of time living out a suitcase.
Luckily, that suitcase ended up in the parking lot of an
arena where Bowie
stopped for a show. The concert was great, but the therapeutic quality of the event
itself made the entire a personal milestone for me.
Reality meant it was time to move on.
Ten years later, I’m married again. It’s a better fit. Two
children take up a large portion of my life, and both are blessed with a love
for music, even if it’s not quite up to my standards. For example, neither of
them have any idea who David Bowie is, or show any desire to learn anything
about him. A connection was made when they discovered that they both know the
words to a Bowie
song (“Changes”) thanks to the placement of it in one of their animated movies
they watch.
The way music is consumed is vastly different from the year
that Reality was released. In fact,
one of the complaints about the new David Bowie record was how unnecessary it
really was. Music circa 2013 is single-driven. To suggest that anyone wants to
listen to an entire album is presumptuous.
Before a note was heard, he was already being chastised for
failing to recognize that nobody cares about a new David Bowie record.
Suddenly, a man who was always considered to be part of pop culture’s cutting edge
was now showing his age by sticking by a format seen as passé to the “experts”
of such matters. A new record would be met with the requisite attention and
then fall by the wayside. Unless a cash cow greatest hits tour is in the works
and the Labyrinth dude sings “Fame,” then we all need to get over this David
Bowie obsession.
The ammunition grew larger after the languid lead-off single
“Where Are We Now?” was released to an unsuspecting audience on Bowie ’s 66th
birthday. This hugely underwhelming teaser also did little to ease the
collective sigh of disappointment that came with the “No more tour, probably
forever” announcement.
The seeds of discontent firmly entrenched, the next shock
came with the first images of the cover of David Bowie’s twenty-forth record.
It’s a controversial repackaging of 1978’s Heroes,
the title crossed out and David’s stoic pose covered with a white box. In the
middle of the white space, the words “The Next Day” identify this sacrilegious piece.
It would be a struggle, wrestling with the fear that The Next Day would be as pointless as
the indicators suggested, verses the loyalty that one possesses with an artist
of this caliber.
Suddenly, a savior appeared. Its form came in a video, a
format that Bowie
certainly has experience with, but with no network to support an outlet for
such an endeavor, what exactly is the point?
The point is this: the video for “The Stars (Are Out
Tonight)” is a stunner. I sat in awe the first time I saw it, from a YouTube
stream of the video while at a friend’s, each one of us in minor states of
inebriation where David Bowie videos become points of strange occurrences and
mild hallucinations.
In fact, a quick burst of N2O had me floating in a most
peculiar way, and the next thing I know, it was time to leave the capsule and
promise an imaginary Bowie-head that I would indeed purchase The Next Day on the first day of its
release.
It just so happens that this purchase happened to be the
vinyl version, which just saw the light of day last week-about three weeks
after the album’s true release date.
The decision was more of an appreciation of the cover art.
As controversial as it is, it’s a remarkably bold decision. I wanted the bigger
package to absorb the artist’s choice, and I’m wonderfully taken by the
gatefold layout.
I also love the way The
Next Day is sequenced. The record has purpose and varying stages of high
and low tides. “Where Are We Now?” for example, is positioned as the first song
of side two-a critical position, and one where the song suddenly takes on a
different role, it’s themes more detailed and prevalent. It now ranks as one of
my favorite songs on the record, a huge turn from my initial reaction of
ambivalence.
In case you’re wondering, the three additional tracks tacked
on to the end of the vinyl version are noticeably of lesser quality than the
rest of the record. They sound completely out of place in terms of the
sequencing, but I have a strong suspicion that any one of the trio (“So She,” “Plan”
and “I’ll Take You There”) would get picked out in a line-up, no matter where
these also-rans ended up in the order.
Beyond these leftovers, the traditional sequence of the
14-song album is wonderful, but it’s more pronounced and it reflects The Next Day’s consistency much better.
The Next Day is
the best record since whenever. There are notable commercial moments (“Boss Of
Me” “Valentine’s Day”) that provide pop music with some much needed cleverness.
There are hints of David’s Berlin era (“Dirty
Boys” “Love Is Lost”) while other cuts touch on different Bowie creative peaks. With that being said,
this is firmly a late-career product-themes of time and age flow throughout the
record-that works very hard at making sure the self-reflection that ten years
can provide were duly noted and properly executed.
The record is warm, inviting, and a little uncomfortable in
certain moments. The dirge “Heat” ends the record, with a particularly haunting
refrain of “My father ran the prison.” It’s unsettling enough to warrant an
additional listen, and with each one a new reason to rank The Next Day as a golden years milestone becomes apparent.
In short, I’m glad that I survived the last ten years to see
another David Bowie record, and it’s good enough to hope the next one comes a
bit sooner.
No comments:
Post a Comment