No. 192: Which David Bowie?

DAVID BOWIE By Tom Wills, March 2013

The portrait is for sale. hankbonesman@embarqmail.com

No. 192, David Bowie, March 2013, is notable for two reasons.
First, it is the largest face study that I have done to this point.
Second, it provided the perfect excuse to play the old vinyl and to order the new one, "The Next Day," in a splendid two-disc package. It should arrive sometime after March 28, the vinyl version release date.
It shall be an event!

"Turn to the left. Turn to the right. Fashion."

Truth be told, I didn't have much use for David Bowie in my high school years, 1976-1979. Perhaps "Station to Station," "Low," "Heroes" and "Lodger" were too sophisticated for the teenage  bedroom mind.
Turns out the first real listen I had at Bowie came in 1980, in the bedroom of a college buddy. He had "Hunky Dory" (1971) and was all excited about the "Queen Bitch" song. I thought it sounded a lot dated but thought it was OK because Rick Wakeman from Yes played piano. I bought the RCA "Best Buy" version for $4 and still think the real gem of the record is "Life on Mars."
Subsequently I learned that not one David Bowie record is like another. That, now, is why I keep listening.

The many faces of David Bowie.

He's been around, like one of his songs says: 26 studio albums, nine live, 46 compilations (!), five extended plays, 109 singles and three soundtracks.  Some are great, some are dreck. For example, no amount of endless repackaging can really save the first two records, "Space Oddity" (1969, sounds clean) and "The Man Who Sold The World" (1970, terrible sound), which have their moments but are overall boring. The science fiction themes were just beginning to take hold: Can you hear me, Major Tom?

The hair, which took two days, came in between babysitting duties.

"Hunky Dory" followed with more ch-ch-ch-ch-changes, leaving no one prepared for 1972's "Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars." Glammed-out with electric guitar on a hand-tinted front cover; on the back are these words: TO BE PLAYED AT MAXIMUM VOLUME.
"Five Years" still scares me. What if it were true?

Pushing thru the market square, so many mothers sighing
News had just come over, we had five years left to cry in
News guy wept and told us, earth was really dying
Cried so much his face was wet, then I knew he was not lying
I heard telephones, opera house, favourite melodies
I saw boys, toys electric irons and TVs
My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things to store everything in there
And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people
And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people
I never thought I'd need so many people
 

Ziggy reappeared the next year for "Aladdin Sane," a tougher record, with "Panic In Detroit" and "Watch That Man." Watch quickly, because ...

Can You Hear Me?

David then killed Ziggy for a whole new thing, breaking up the band and parting with guitarist-foil Mick Ronson. First was "Pin Ups," which I still consider a crappy covers album. But "Diamond Dogs" in 1974 impressed me because Bowie, having jettisoned his "Spiders from Mars" band, took up the guitar himself. Think of "Rebel, Rebel," a great loud song. The guitar work here is rough, ragged and strangely perfect. He proclaimed: "This ain't rock'n'roll. This is genocide." 

"You've got your mother in a whirl. She's not sure if you're a boy or a girl."

I got "Young Americans" (1975) on a Best Buy cheap-o disc but paid full buck for "Station to Station" in 1976, because that record is worth it. "Americans" has "Somebody Up There Likes Me" and "Win," and "Fame" -- a song I still hate.  It has John Lennon and Luther Vandross, plus the worst-ever version of "Across The Universe."

Low profile.

"Station to Station" is a short musical experience -- probably because I want the title song, "TVC-15" and "Golden Years" to last longer. Reportedly Bowie was so baked that he doesn't remember making the record.  I read he existed on red peppers, milk and cocaine. Love this album, having burned through three vinyl copies and one CD -- at maximum volume.

The pupil was blown out in a teenage fight over a girl.

The "Berlin Trilogy" of "Low," "Heroes" and "Lodger" introduced another, more inaccessible Bowie in 1977-1979. Terrifying music emerged as he was trying to shake his demons and habits, though some of it is his best: "Heroes," "Joe the Lion," "Breaking Glass," "Beauty and the Beast" and "Red Money."
He returned to the charts for his final RCA record, "Scary Monsters and Super Creeps," with "Fashion" and "Ashes to Ashes," where he revisits Major Tom -- the junkie.

The Next Day

I'm not really sure what happened next to spur a series of dance records: "Let's Dance," "Tonight" and "Never Let Me Down." I know he made a lot of money for himself and for EMI, and gave extremely miscast guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughan his commercial start. I liked "Modern Love,"  "Blue Jean" and "Day In Day Out" very much. I still don't like "China Girl" and generally find these records a shambles.
Of course change was in the wind: Tin Machine I and II, a group effort with Todd Rundgren's old cohorts the Sales brothers, and Reeves Gabrels, another amazing guitarist. Great records that most people hated, with loud and cruel tunes like "Heaven's In Here," "One Shot," "Crack City, "Baby Can Dance," "You Can't Talk" and "Goodbye Mr. Ed."  If you have a vinyl copy of Tin Machine II, I will buy it from you.

Watch That Man

The next 10 years, 1993-2003, found Bowie popping in and out of the market with more dance music, more space music, more hard rock, more "Looking For Satellites." Some songs about aging, some songs are about David Bowie.  I liked them all but can't say I memorized any chords or lyrics -- except for "Never Get Old," From the "Reality" album in 2003:

And there's never gonna be enough money
And there's never gonna be enough drugs
And I'm never ever gonna get old
There's never gonna be enough bullets
There's never gonna be enough sex
And I'm never ever gonna get old
So I'm never ever gonna get high
And I'm never ever gonna get low
And I'm never ever gonna get old

He took the next decade off and is now 66 years old.  Without warning in February he announced "The Next Day," all new songs recorded with old and new musicians and long-time producer Tony Visconti -- who was with him at the start. Indeed it is "The Width of a Circle."
The new vinyl will arrive on my front porch around April Fool's Day. I'm leaving a space here for a few more words about the record, which has received glowing reviews. So you'll have to check back.
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes ...

Hear it here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2nJHVNTHNw

Not Just A Rectangle

TOM WAITS Tom Wills, January 2012

This is a case of the picture and the frame fitting each other. It only took 14 months.

After the cleanup.

Tom Waits is No. 142. Drawn in January 2012, it is one of my favorites because of the craggy details. This one took a long time to produce. The original post for it is here: http://tomwillsproductions.blogspot.com/2012/01/wtf-music.html

At the time, Tom was framed in a black-and-white rectangle. The more I looked at that frame, the more it didn't fit. It seemed too "art deco" for this drawing. It has since found another home, here:  http://tomwillsproductions.blogspot.com/2012/12/no-182-bird-miles-three-deuces-club-1947.html

BIRD & MILES, No. 182, December 2012

Tom Waits lounged on top of the stereo equipment for more than two months, getting dusty and a little curled. I wanted a dark, crusty and heavy frame and eventually found one. It has an almost-purple stain to it, the glass is more than an eighth of an inch thick, and it was quite a piece of shit.

HAROLD AND MARY: Your grandkids don't care.

Now, I have no way of knowing who Harold and Mary were. If they loved their grandkids as much as I suspect, they were fine people.
But I can tell that their survivors are shitheads.
At one point in its lengthy life, this old frame held a lovingly compiled set of photos. Harold and Mary's grandchildren -- all 16 of 'em. (I counted the holes.)
Someone had taken the time to put together a very nice gift.  A keeper.  The centerpiece of the mobile home.
Think about it: Who would throw out such an heirloom? At least they had the good sense -- I hope -- to keep the photographs of little Billy Ray, Jeannie Sue and Frankie Lee, to name a few.
Or, maybe they're in a landfill.
At least I saved the frame.

Some moron from Harold and Mary's kin decided that it would be a good idea to use masking tape to create a star pattern across the glass, signifying: "This is glass. Don't break it."
Do you have any idea how hard it is to strip 40-year-old masking tape off of glass?  It fuses.  I went through a half-bottle of 91 percent isopropyl alcohol and wrecked three rags over a few hours. That stuff is flammable. Everything went to the garage overnight.

The final result was worth the effort. A nice, clean, heavy and almost-purple frame. A keeper, for sure.

Tom Waits and Keith Richards: Beautiful maladies.