Blackstar (★)

January 8, 2026

But, lo, as you would quaffoff his fraudstuff and sink teeth through that pyth of a flowerwhite bodey behold of him as behemoth for he is noewhemoe. Finiche! Only a fadograph of a yestern scene.

James Joyce, Finnegans Wake.

1.

The David Bowie Is exhibit opened in London in March 2013 and closed five years later, its last port of call the Brooklyn Museum in the spring and summer of 2018.

In the Brooklyn Museum, before you reached the Bowie gallery, you saw a Gilbert Stuart portrait of George Washington, hung on a wall to give Washington command of the room, as if he stood atop a pitcher’s mound. When I went, there were children running around the painting. For these kids, I imagine there was no great difference between George Washington and David Bowie. Both now live in museums, keeping company with tapestries, suits of armor, and uncomfortable wooden chairs.

There was something more akin to the pharaoh’s tomb to the Bowie exhibit, with its treasures under glass and ceremonial costumes fitted to mannequins, some of which had Bowie death-masks for faces. Walls hung with objects of obscure significance except to the initiated: a set of heavy keys, which looked as if they opened wine cellars and priest holes; an elegant hairpin-sized cocaine spoon. Paintings and preserved telegrams. Handwritten notes mounted like butterflies in cases that you had to shoulder through the crowd to see.

After circling the rooms, you were pooled into the last, where the far wall had rows of screens showing loops of performances—Mick Rock’s “Space Oddity” video, a Reality tour “Heroes,” the Top of the Pops “Starman.” Costumed mannequins watched the show from state boxes.

Geoffrey Marsh, who co-curated the exhibit with Victoria Broackes, said that after all their work, he still had no idea who David Bowie really was. The man had escaped his memorial. There was close to nothing in the exhibit on Bowie’s family, and his friends were only there in work they had done for him. Apart from a few photos, his youth’s representatives were magazines, book jackets, film clips, LP covers; the first set piece was the Bromley bedroom where he’d dreamed up the life whose leavings would fill a museum wing.

“It’s an archive about a character,” Marsh told Dylan Jones. “It’s about this construction…I don’t think I ever got to the heart of it, the reason he did what he did.”

This was apparently Bowie’s aim—he’d feared that an exhibit of his life would seem grandiose, and while he originally planned to help curate it, at some point he pulled back, making a public statement that he’d have no connection with David Bowie Is besides being a supplier of goods. (The truth of that statement is questionable: Marsh had the sense of Bowie orchestrating things from “behind a screen, like the Wizard of Oz.”) He would just be another visitor. Bowie and his family had a private viewing in London. Broackes handed him a pair of headphones and watched him walk around his life.

The Brooklyn exhibit had a unique section. The Blackstar case held two rows of loose-leaf papers and notebooks, all of it work: lyric sheets, tracklists, sketches for costumes, the “Blackstar” bible that Bowie wields in the song’s video. This case was the last thing you saw before the exit. If you were distracted or exhausted, you could have missed it.

2.

DB review

The last three years of Bowie’s life run from the surprise release of “Where Are We Now?” on his sixty-sixth birthday to the release of Blackstar on his sixty-ninth, two days before his death, and while his play Lazarus was running at the New York Theatre Workshop. The mind can’t help but consider it to be one design. His Acts of the Apostles: resurrection, a time of last visitations, then a final farewell, with Blackstar as the Feast of the Ascension.

Tug at a thread, though, and the idea of some master-plan goodbye frays apart. Blackstar was meant to come out in autumn 2015. Its release was delayed because its videos (particularly “Lazarus”) weren’t completed. To avoid the release being neglected during the Christmas season, it was decided that Blackstar would come out on Bowie’s birthday. Nor was Blackstar meant as his last album: Bowie was working on writing the next one and researching and drafting a post-Lazarus play (which we now know was to be a musical set in 18th Century Britain, The Spectator). “I can’t stop it. It’s coming full force and I’m just creating and creating and creating,” as he reportedly wrote in an email to the director Floria Sigismondi.

Blackstar was conceived as a wilder, funnier Heathen—another album that he’d make with Tony Visconti as a side-road adventure, a dark vacation from his standard rock, with a unifying concept of spiritual and bodily decay. Visconti recalled that in the early 2000s he and Bowie had kicked around ideas for albums to do after the Reality tour, including an “electronica” record where “he’d make up a group name. He wanted to have more fun and not have the pressure of releasing another David Bowie album for a while.”

Given that he’d started cancer treatment by late 2014, he wrote much of Blackstar as a hedge: this could be the last album, let’s dress it as such, but I pray it’s not going to be. And then it was. One of Bowie’s “Last Albums” was finally the end. Even he couldn’t keep rolling sevens.

3.

still a mystery as to what the word in parentheses is (“VEVEPEKENAN”??)

“Blackstar” was planned from the start as two sections (“a two-part suite rather than two different songs,” as the keyboardist Jason Lindner recalled) that would be married in the studio with a “freeform middle bit,” as per Bowie’s emails to the band. Guitarist Ben Monder recalled Bowie’s instructions: “‘We’re going to do a section and it’s going to dissolve and morph into the next section,’ which is more like a pop tune, ‘then it’s going to morph back into the original thing with a stronger beat’.”

Where “Station to Station” has a three-part structure, an ominous opening section leading to a manic middle part which bursts open to a romping finale, “Blackstar” is circular, ending as it had begun. “We looked at [“Blackstar”] sonically as a film,” said Erin Tonkon, Blackstar’s assistant engineer. “The thread that ran through it all was David’s backing vocals with reverbs and delays. It all sounds completely different, but it’s a cohesive piece of music.”

Bowie thoroughly demoed the opening section (“the first part of it, with all of the droning stuff, is sticking to David’s plan,” bassist Tim Lefebvre said). As he had on much of the album, Mark Guiliana approximated on his drum kit the beats that Bowie had programmed (“I play some embellishments and some fills here and there, but the core groove is true to the demo”), using a tuned-down and dampened snare and a kick drum that’s often overdubbed with Lindner’s Moog Voyager: the kick beats sound like samples. While he stays within Bowie’s structure, Guiliana courses with energy, always looking to break free. It’s part of a wider dislocation in the opening section—everyone is moving at their own speed, like ships of different sizes navigating a river together. Monder finger-picks contemplative lines on guitar; Donny McCaslin darts in and out, playing shards of melodies. Lindner is the backdrop artist, contrasting the warmth of his Prophet ’08 with some colder, more industrial synth pads from his Prophet 12.

Into this coalescing world falls Bowie, in a chorale of himself, his two lead vocal lines having an interval of a fifth between them. He’s in his declamatory, liturgical voice, as on “Sue.” We’re hearing the opening of a mass. “In the villa of Allmen,” as he originally wrote for his opening line. “Stands a solitary candle.” He wails a wordless response, amen to Allmen. He changed the name to Ormen (if still singing it at times like “Allmen”), which prompted internet sleuths to unearth all known connections to Ormen, from a 1966 Swedish film (The Serpent!) to a village in Norway. But Ormen is also a response to, and a correction of, his original idea. The villa of all men is now where “men” is one choice, and the other half of the “or” conjunction is hidden.

4.

McCaslin recalled Bowie once telling him that “Blackstar” was about ISIS, and its recording coincided with ISIS’ peak territorial gains in Iraq, Syria, and Libya and its peak media attention (e.g., the March 2015 issue of The Atlantic, see above). Bowie never told this to anyone else involved in the sessions. He could have been having some interpretive fun (“here’s another clue for you all/ the Walrus was ISIS”), or talking through some ideas he’d later discard.

But it’s easy to imagine him being fascinated by the terrorist group—ISIS as a tentacled organization that lives in night and shadow until it strikes. It was something out of “Panic in Detroit,” although much of the 21st Century could be a Bowie song from the Seventies. In his rough draft lyric, there are some scratched-out lines: “I’m not a christstar…shia/ I’m not a jewstar… sunni.”

The lines in “Blackstar” that most suggest the ISIS concept are in the second verse: the day of execution at the Villa of Ormen, where the women kneel and smile when the axe falls.

It’s Ormen as an incarnation of Georges Rodenbach’s purgatorial Bruges (see “The Informer” and “Dancing Out in Space“). “Bruges-la-Morte, the dead city,” Rodenbach wrote in his novel. “A sensation of death emanated from the shuttered houses, from windows blurred like eyes in the throes of death.” A cloistered city where passion is clandestine, where residents keep small mirrors on their window ledges: “little reflecting traps that, unbeknownst to passersby, capture their antics, their smiles and gestures… transmitting all of it to the interiors of houses where someone is always keeping watch.”

The verses have the same cycling progressions, chords changing on the last beat of every measure, then again on the first beat of the next. McCaslin takes a solo, and the song seems poised to open up in his wake. Instead, the opening ceremony loop returns, with Bowie locked into his invocations and amens. The band quiets down, as if falling to sleep.

5.

It’s one of Bowie’s greatest fake-outs. Until now, “Blackstar” has kept to the shadowy path of “Sue” and “Lazarus.” But now comes a key change, a “string” line on keyboards, and a gorgeous, fragile-sounding Bowie vocal, like a shaken sun emerging after the rains have passed.

The transition is roughly thirty seconds of guitar, bass, saxophone, and vocals that sound as if they’ve gone through a sandstorm, and drums murmuring and freefalling before a keyboard progression announces the new regime. It was improvised in a single take. The band was asked to “somehow dissolve this into the next section of the tune,” Monder recalled, and “somehow we did that dissolution perfectly on the first attempt, and that’s what you’re hearing on the album—no punching-in or anything.” Each player trails off in their own way, then they come back together. It’s as if the audience has gone out to the lobby, then resumes their seats in time for the next act.

After a break (whether of a few hours or a day—by most accounts, it was the former), the band cut the second section, the “pop song” segment of “Blackstar.” In F# major, it has Lefebvre playing a looser bassline (“some Sixties Serge Gainsbourg-inspired stuff and some Justin Meldal-Johnsen kinda busy pick-bass stuff”) to complement Guiliana, who keeps to a simple pattern, building up reserves.

The last man in the villa has been put to the sword. His spirit leaves his body and someone else takes his place: a sly cut-up who sneaks into the song. Wait a sec, doc, like Bugs Bunny breaking up a black mass. The sacrificial victim dusts himself off, laughs at the crowd. He tromps on the altar, knocks over the sacred relics. “I am large, I contain multitudes,” Walt Whitman once wrote. To hell with that, the singer says. I’m one thing, and nothing else. Not the Thin White Duke. Not a Marvel star, not a pop star, not a film star, just one thing.

There’s an army of reasons why Bowie chose the name “Blackstar” (see the list below), and one was likely the term’s astronomical sense. “We talked about black stars as a force that drives you out and drags you back in,” as Jonathan Barnbrook recalled of a conversation he had with Bowie about the album. Bowie had been fascinated by black holes for decades: the aliens who announced themselves to Ziggy Stardust were the “black hole jumpers,” for instance.

But there’s a difference. Black holes have an event horizon beyond which nothing can escape their gravity. To reach that point, they must collapse past a radius that’s a sort of “point of no return,” where not even light escapes its pull. A black star is something else, a more recent theory: a developing black hole stuck in a limbo in which the collapsing star never gets smaller than a certain radius, so that light can still escape and so the black star never becomes enveloped in an event horizon. As a group of scientists who theorized on black stars in a 2009 Scientific American article wrote:

The gravitational field around it is identical to that around a black hole, but the star’s interior is full of matter and no event horizon forms… If a black star could be peeled layer by layer like an onion, at each stage the remaining core would be a smaller black star… The black star’s collapse may one day stop just short of forming an event horizon.

Or a black star may collapse at incrementally slower and slower and slower rates, inching ever closer to an event horizon yet never forming one.

“I’m a blackstar,” Bowie sings. I’m what lies between the promise and the reality, always changing, always collapsing, never arriving.

6.

Another trail to follow. On a sketch sheet of Bowie’s “Blackstar” lyric, there’s a parenthetical, “(Lucy),” in the margin of the first “villa of Allmen” stanza.

Bowie was listening to Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly in the latter stages of Blackstar, while writing lyrics and cutting vocals. And on Butterfly, “Lucy” is a Lamar character. His tormenter: Lucifer, voice of temptation and greed, as heard on Lamar’s “For Sale?”: “Lucy gon’ fill your pockets/ Lucy gon’ move your mama out of Compton…Lucy just want your trust and loyalty.” “I see it all around, man,” Lamar told an interviewer at the time. “It’s not just the positive energy that speaks to me. It’s the negative, too; it’s the evils, too—Lucy is me coming to a realization of the evil.” Later on Butterfly, at the end of his track “I,” Lamar declares “black stars can come and get me!”

Is the mid-section of “Blackstar” Bowie playing with the idea of doing a Lamar-esque character? “Lucy” as the forces being summoned in the opening section, and now in the circle is a no-fucks-given figure who stands there, mocking any wishes you ask him to fulfill. Some of Bowie’s scrapped lines for this section were “I got no gas, I don’t have coke…I’m not a no-show, I’m not a go-to…I’m not a black mark…I’m a blackstar on my way up….goldstar rockstar rappstar.” Midway through the song, at the center of it all, “Blackstar” starts to groove.

Also in rotation during the track’s making was D’Angelo’s Black Messiah, released at the tail end of 2014, and this section of “Blackstar” seems indebted to it, in the way Bowie sings “I-can’t-an-swer-why” on one fat note that he makes sound like a roaming melody, in the snap of the rhythm section (Lefebvre called D’Angelo’s Voodoo as being key among his influences, as it has been for a generation of jazz musicians), in the way the ominous monk voices of the opening section are now a call-and-response team.

When “Blackstar” drifts into its final section, resuming the key of the opening section but now with a more swinging beat, it’s the sound of a transformed music, of a revivified music. Lefebvre described his playing in the last part in various interviews as “sort of a Sly Stone or Pino Palladino mode, playing loose fills over the top of it… certain bars are pretty jagged but they kept it all… that humpy kind of eighth-note thing.”

The ceremony starts again. The same lines are recited, the same movements are made at the altar. Loops and loops of motion, like the jittering dancers of the “Blackstar” video. But something is new. Something has gone and something else is there in its place. “Blackstar” starts to crumble from within.

Its last minute slows in tempo, with Monder using the shimmer effect on his Strymon blueSky Reverberator pedal (“it has that upper register sheen to it and all of those nice overtones”). McCaslin is a small flock of birds, his flute and clarinet and saxophone notes pecking and squawking. A synthesizer starts up in response, excitedly, making contact, but then there’s a hard close. Project cancelled.

7.

There are other interpretations, of course.

“Blackstar” is an Elvis Presley homage. A 1960 Western directed by Don Siegel, Flaming Star was the post-Army Elvis’ return to “serious” film acting, with Presley playing a half-Kiowa, half-Texan renegade (poster tagline: “The White Man’s Song Was on His Lips… But an Indian War Cry Was in His Heart!”). Originally called Black Star, the film’s title change meant that Presley’s theme song had to be scrapped, as he now needed to sing “Flaming Star.” The original recording was only available on bootlegs until the Nineties.

“Black Star” is Presley’s “Because I Could Not Stop for Death”: a horseman spies doom in the sky and rides faster, trying to keep his black star behind him. “There’s a lot of living I gotta do,” he implores, but no one’s listening. Likelihood: Bowie and Presley shared a birthday, he’d covered Presley before, the lyric has obvious resonances. If it was a subconscious reference, Bowie’s subconscious deserves a posthumous award.

A black star is a cancerous lesion. “Black star” specifically applies to a lesion on the breast (also called a radial scar) that’s generally benign or precancerous. Someone Googling on the morning of Bowie’s death likely came upon it and eureka: Bowie was secretly telling his fans that he had cancer. Likelihood: Too inaccurate, too pat.

“Black star” is the name of Saturn for “ancient religions.” “Saturn is referred to as Black Star in ancient Judaic belief,” as per an unsourced line on Wikipedia that has spread through the internet like a norovirus. It’s complete hooey, conflating all sorts of things, such as the belief that worshiping a black cube (such as the Kaaba in Mecca) is to worship the alchemical symbol for Saturn. Likelihood: Low. That said, this is the writer of “Station to Station” and “Loving the Alien” we’re talking about.

“Blackstar” refers to a government space conspiracy. In March 2006, the trade magazine Aviation Week and Space Technology published an article that claimed the US government was running a secret orbital spaceplane program known as Blackstar, a program yet to be verified or acknowledged in the two decades since. Likelihood: Low. Though, again, it’s Bowie.

A black star refers to: Episode five of the first series of Peaky Blinders (2013) where gangster Tommy Shelby plans a “black star” day on which he’ll eliminate his rival (almost certainly); Talib Kweli and Mos Def’s hip-hop group, named after Marcus Garvey’s shipping line, which was also referenced in a host of magnificent reggae songs, e.g., Fred Locks’ “Black Star Liner” and Culture’s “Black Star Liner Must Come” (possible); a Greek anarchist group active around the turn of the 21st Century (too random); leadoff track of Avril Lavigne’s 2011 Goodbye Lullaby and the name of her first fragrance (epic if so); a series of crime novels by Johnston McCulley from a century ago (“the Black Star had terrorized the city for the past four months. Whenever a master crime was committed a tiny black star had been found pasted on something at the scene of operations”) (not random enough); title of a 1969 novel by Morton Cooper described by The Crisis as “a black girl’s search for identity in a white world she cannot understand or control” (could be the Rosetta Stone to the whole album); “Chemosh, or black star, who was reputed God of the Moabites,” as per Iconography: A Tract for the Times, an 1852 treatise by “Vigil” (Bowie probably did read this); a short-lived 1981 cartoon in which astronaut John Blackstar is swept through a black hole into another universe, where he becomes the champion of the “Trobbit” people in their fight against the cruel Overlord (another possible Rosetta Stone).

Villa of Ormen = “Lover of Iman.” Likelihood: A sweet sentiment, but you know that he would’ve done a proper anagram.

8.

There were no Bowie music videos of real significance in the years after ‘hours…’. He said at the time that making them was a waste of money, as they wouldn’t get played. Then in 2013, with YouTube and his website as his personal MTV, he returned to video. As he no longer toured or gave interviews, his videos became his music’s primary supplement.

Johan Renck directed the “Blackstar” video, drawing from Bowie’s sketches. For instance, having a trio of dancers wriggle and convulse came from Bowie noticing how in Max Fleischer cartoons of the Thirties (like Popeye), animators would put marginal characters into loops of motion, repeating actions in the background of a scene for half a minute. The video also has a young woman with a tail (Renck recalled Bowie saying that he thought the idea of gender was changing; this was his attempt to symbolize it); a planetscape out of Georges Méliès’ A Trip to the Moon; a jeweled skull in an astronaut’s helmet, like a Fabergé saint’s relic; an empty town that’s basically the Goblin City of Labyrinth; a trio of crucified scarecrows who start bumping and grinding.

Bowie played three characters. A blind, bandaged figure who sings the opening section, whom he dubbed “Button Eyes” (see “Lazarus”) and whose look he’d designed anticipating that he could lose his hair via his medical treatments. An imposing figure, brandishing a blackstar bible like a country preacher, and posing as if he’s in the vanguard of a Chinese Cultural Revolution propaganda poster: he’s the rationalist/control element (he never sings). And finally a soft-shoe artist dancing up in the brain-attic (a set with a similar triangular design as the artist’s loft in David Mallet’s “Look Back In Anger” video), who takes the middle section. Cut the symbolism any way you’d like. The idea of “Bowie” severed in thirds: dying mortal, immortal scamp, dictatorial ego.

Some of the video was stunning and eerie, some of it was silly (a coven summons a Lovecraftian demon out of Seventies Doctor Who; the demon attacks the bumping-and-grinding scarecrows for the video’s climax—you remember that this is the man who did the Glass Spider tour). The “Blackstar” video is the song’s preset interpretations. Use what Bowie gives you, or break it up and rework it, or drag it into the recycle bin and start fresh.

9.

Blackstar was the digital equivalent of Tony Visconti’s analog editing heroics on Scary Monsters. McCaslin’s group said they were stunned upon hearing the album. Some tracks they expected to hear weren’t there, some pieces that seemed destined for the scrapheap instead had been quarried for a lead riff or solo passage. The master mix of Blackstar drew on everything from Bowie’s home demos to in-studio “mistakes” to late-in-the-day overdubs. As McCaslin said of the Blackstar sessions, “David and Tony were gathering information, laying it down, then the two of them would comb through everything.”

Some of the title track’s most striking instrumentation was owed to improvisations, such as McCaslin’s flutes in the outro (“something I had added on an overdub day, when I was there just overdubbing flute parts”) and Ben Monder’s repetitive guitar line, which Bowie and Visconti promoted to a motif and Bowie used as the basis of his vocal melody.

With Bowie’s vocals completed by early June 2015, Bowie and Visconti planned to mix the album at New York’s Electric Lady but learned that the room they wanted was booked by British engineer Tom Elmhirst, who was mixing Adele’s 25 and Frank Ocean’s blond at the time. It was a final bit of serendipity— Bowie asked Elmhirst to mix Blackstar, with Bowie and Visconti showing up each afternoon for critiques. Elmhirst’s work, done in about ten days, was a finishing coat. He made the album’s seven tracks flow together sumptuously (he soldered “Blackstar” and segued “Dollar Days” into “I Can’t Give Everything Away”), and created a narrative in the mix, with the last two pieces mixed more softly (almost “blurred” in at times) than the more dynamic Side One tracks.

“Blackstar” kept changing. Like “Bring Me the Disco King,” it debuted in a remixed form—a fragment used in the opening titles of The Last Panthers. A trailer aired a month before the single’s release. For Last Panthers, Visconti and Bowie took a verse from the third section of “Blackstar” and added different guitar tracks and effects than those heard on the album.

And upon learning that iTunes wouldn’t allow a user to purchase “Blackstar” individually if it was over ten minutes, Bowie whacked around a minute’s worth to get the track down to 9:57. “It’s total bullshit,” Visconti told Rolling Stone. “But David was adamant it be the single, and he didn’t want both an album version and a single version, since that gets confusing.” So “Blackstar” is both an intricately-designed piece of music and has a few last-minute edits—e.g., the cut at 9:00 and the abrupt disappearance of McCaslin’s saxophone at 7:42—done to conform with Steve Jobs’ edict for a pop single.

10.

Though I imagine most have heard Blackstar on CD or via download or streaming, Bowie’s ideal form for the album was its LP release, with its Barnbrook-designed five-point-star cutaway gatefold cover and a thick, glossy paper stock that loves fingerprints. According to McCaslin, Bowie originally wanted Blackstar to have a vinyl-only physical release, and a worksheet in the David Bowie Is exhibit lists sequenced sides for a two-LP set (one provisional side: “Blaze”/ “Lazarus”/ “’Tis a Pity She Was a Whore”/ “No Plan”).

“I wanted to make it very much a physical object,” Barnbrook said of the Blackstar LP, in late 2015. “Vinyl is in an interesting place at the moment, similar to letterpress, where the craft and tactile quality of it is everything. So that’s why the cover is cut away and you can see the physical record—the opposite of the digital download. I wanted to give it the feeling that it contained something quite threatening.”

The LP is a souvenir book from the farewell tour that never happened. Solidly black, with even its lettering a lighter shade of black, it’s the paper and vinyl embodiment of the title track, as imposing as the monoliths of 2001: A Space Odyssey. A dense light-absorbing square, an event horizon at 33 1/3 rpm (its CD cover has a white background with black images—the universe beyond). “The role of the LP cover is different today,” Barnbrook said in a 2016 interview. “(It) has to complement all this, be robust on different technologies, quickly identifiable and stand up to all the noise around it.”

On the LP’s back cover, track times are as prominent as titles: each strip of time (9:57, 4:40, 6:22) the price of a song. Barnbrook worked hideaways into the LP sleeve and booklet: a photograph of Bowie overlaid with a matrix of lines that Barnbrook said was the “depression a star makes in spacetime”; the starfield photograph in the inside gatefold, with a constellation of a “starman” figure. Stars that appear when the gatefold is held up to direct light. Using ultraviolet creates 3-D effects and, allegedly, Shroud of Turin-esque images of Bowie’s face on the spinning vinyl.

Album and song title are officially ★ (Unicode +2605). Bowie had thought future typography letterforms would become the new hieroglyphics, with emojis in texts as a harbinger. “People [are] creating whole narratives out of them, as well as using them in everyday communication,” Barnbrook recalled him saying of emojis. “Will there be a time when we use only these to express thought?”

His last album cover doesn’t show his face or his name (or so it seems). A hard break with tradition. A Bowie album cover almost always has a photo or drawing of him, his name, and its title (almost always a song). The Next Day began the process by obscuring his face. On Blackstar, Bowie is the man who isn’t there: you have to know how to look for him. B O W I E appears in star symbols. He’s handed over his name to the future.

11.

To compare “Blackstar” to “Station to Station” is inevitable—he must have intended some correspondence, if only for his listeners, between two of his epic songs. Roughly the same length, they hold the same position on their respective albums.

“Station to Station” was the work of a worn-out, addicted, lonely man who was exiled in a city that he hated, who dreamed of transformation and escape while fearing that it was too late. “Blackstar” was made by someone whom the writer of “Station to Station” could never have imagined being: a family man whose circle was confined to people whom he loved and trusted. A man who could stand outside of the personae he’d created, could even take a walk around them in a museum. Look, there’s the coke spoon, the koto, the wasp-waisted suits that he can’t imagine ever having fit into. The Thin White Duke Bowie could have conceived of something like “Blackstar,” but he never could have made it: there are too many jokes, for one thing.

It’s as if Bowie’s covering a packed-up self, playing a Variation in the Style of Thomas Jerome Newton.

To chronicle the music of David Bowie is to chronicle a decline in rock music. A decline, because it’s not the decline of rock by any means. There are great rock musicians today; there will be others when you and I are dead. But the centrality of a certain type of rock music, particularly one that was marketed to the working- and middle-class white youth of the late 20th Century, has fallen away. Rock music may well mean less to many young people today. The myths no longer have the same kick. Rock ‘n’ roll closed as many doors as it opened; it oppressed as much as it purported to liberate—we have only just begun to come to terms with how many people, particularly young femmes, were exploited in the age of the rock star. The subject of this essay is one of many with an allegation of abusing their power and celebrity at the time. If young people today have passions stronger than a love of rock music, if they can see through the star-maker machinery, well, all power and strength to them.

And with the end of rock as a centerpiece of youth culture, there are fewer chances of a “David Bowie” coming along again. He’d lived by tacking and weaving, going to obscure corners of the map, returning with what he’d picked up along the borders. Still, he’d needed the map. Perhaps we no longer do. David Bowie today is a language, a set of precepts and responses, a code that anyone with the requisite amounts of style, guts, shamelessness, and weirdness can access. Unlike his music, it’s in the public domain.

“Blackstar” is the dissolution of “David Bowie,” a commercial enterprise created by an ambitious London suburbanite around 1965. Time to move on. Take your passport and shoes, he says. Get some pills for the plane. I’ll take you there, but I’m not coming with you. In the grand Bowie tradition, “Blackstar” is sillier than it seems and more sublime than it should be. “I’m the great I Am,” he sings, an audacious moment in a life of them. Bowie as Yahweh (“I AM THAT I AM,” as Yahweh boomed at Moses), one who’s cashed in his shares.

12.

Notes for The Spectator, ca. 2015 (DB Archive)

Beyond Blackstar, No Plan, the unreleased outtakes from the Blackstar sessions (which Visconti said in 2016 he thought might appear in a deluxe set one day), and the recent revelation of Bowie’s idea for an 18th Century musical, there remain five last songs.

These are the demos that Bowie made at home, in his final months in New York (as per Visconti). Were these meant for The Spectator? No one but his those in his inner circle have heard them, and perhaps not even them. The question is whether we, as an audience, should hear them one day.

There’s the argument for history. If we found five last poems by Keats written before his death, should we not read them? A Kafka story? A half-finished Woolf manuscript? The world grows rounder with new “lost” works; our knowledge of the artist broadens. Hasn’t my blog, haven’t my books, been a rummaging through a magician’s cabinets, guessing what went into his tricks, where he stole from, which ones worked, which blew up in his face? To hear his last demos, to guess where Bowie planned to go next, to imagine the music that he’d never get make: it would be invaluable.

Then there are the artist’s intentions to consider. Bowie rarely made sketch work public, hardly ever released demos (even the posthumous archive box sets have been guarded in what they reveal). If he was ailing and not up to par when he made these recordings, what good would it do for us to hear them? Shouldn’t we remember him as he’d wanted us to—the creator of a strong, meticulously-designed album?

A final perspective. There are five new David Bowie songs, songs that we know nothing about, not even their names. We may never hear them, but we know that they exist. Let them be unheard. Let this be our gift to the future. There will never be a last David Bowie song if there are always five more to come. The end of the David Bowie story is that it doesn’t end. There will always be another chapter to write. An old-time ambassador, may he forever keep pushing ahead.

Recorded: (backing tracks) 20 March 2015, Magic Shop; (flute overdubs) ca. April 2015; (vocals) 2-3 April, 15 May 2015, Human Worldwide.

David Bowie: lead and backing vocal; Donny McCaslin: tenor saxophone, alto flute, C flute; Ben Monder: guitar; Jason Lindner: Wurlitzer, Prophet ‘08, Prophet 12, Mopho X4, Moog Voyager, Micromoog, clavinet; Tim Lefebvre: bass; Mark Guiliana: drums; Tony Visconti: string synths. Produced: Bowie, Visconti; engineered: Kevin Killen, Visconti.

First release: 20 November 2015 (UK #61, US #78).

Sources: Above all, Nicholas Pegg’s The Complete David Bowie. Leah Kardos’ Blackstar Theory is an essential guide to this period.

Quotes: Dylan Jones, David Bowie: A Life (“the reason he did what he did…handed him headphones”); Rolling Stone, 11 February 2016 (“coming full force…not have the pressure”); Rolling Stone, 4 December 2015 (“two part suite”); DownBeat, May 2016 (“morph into the next section”); Forbes, 26 February 2018 (“cohesive piece of music”); Premier Guitar, 15 January 2016 (“sticking to David’s plan…somehow dissolve this…busy pick-bass stuff”); Modern Drummer, 26 February 2016 (“groove is true to the demo”); Rolling Stone, 25 November 2015 (“He told me it was about ISIS,” says McCaslin. (McCaslin’s ISIS assertion is news to Guiliana and Visconti, who say they have no idea what the song is about.”) Also the source of Visconti, “total bullshit…adamant it’d be the single”; Irish Times, 13 April 2016 (“we talked about black stars”); Uncut, January 2016 (“David and Tony were gathering information…robust on different technologies”); Kendrick Lamar, MTV News interview by Rob Markman, 31 March 2015 (“I see it all around, man”); The Observer, 20 January 2016 (“added on overdub day”); Elmhirst quotes are mostly from an interview with the Grammys website, 15 May 2017; Creative Review, 26 November 2015 (physical object…quite threatening”).

And black star theory! Carlos Barcello, Stefano Liberati, Sebastiano Sonego and Matt Visser are the authors of “Black Stars, Not Black Holes,” in Scientific American, October 2009. I remain grateful to Deanna Kerry, who was an atmospheric physics graduate student when I originally wrote this piece in 2018, and clarified the theory and improved my none-more-layman’s understanding of black stars.


And Then, It Was Xmas Again

December 22, 2025
DB xmas

Do They Know It’s Christmas? (Live Aid, 1985).
Bowie’s 2013 Christmas “Elvis” Message.
Peace on Earth/The Little Drummer Boy.
Peter and the Wolf.
The Snowman.
Feed the World.

Another year, another Christmas. And we’re about to hit a big anniversary—10 years after Blackstar, 10 years without Bowie. As he once sang, time will crawl. But it also will run at a good clip if you’re not keeping track of it.

I hope you all have had a good year, or at least a middling one. Middling is okay sometimes! In case you missed it, Rebel Rebel was reissued some months ago, with loads of new material and a better cover. While it may be too late now to get it for Christmas, there’s always New Year’s. For those of you who bought the book: thank you so much. I hope you found some new things to enjoy in it.

My other project, 64 Quartets, is moving along. The Four Tops series ended this past summer, and if you like the band Wire, I’m currently doing an odd variation on the “A-Z” format with them (Buzzcocks will take over the series briefly, early next year; a few other punk quartets will do the same later on, too).

Happy Christmas to all of you. Health and happiness and love to you, your families, your friends, your pets. Here’s to 2026.


Rebel Rebel: A New Version

June 4, 2025

Presenting: The second edition of Rebel Rebel: The Songs of David Bowie, 1963-1976, which will go on sale on Tuesday, 8 July 2025, and which can be pre-ordered right now. This site gives you some options, from Bookshop to Barnes & Noble, Powell’s to Walmart (e-books are available for pre-order, too).

Why a new edition? From the introduction:

A decade’s passage between editions has meant more songs to chronicle, mostly outtakes and demos from the late Sixties and early Seventies. Bowie’s death also opened the gates of reminiscence. See the memoirs of John Hutchinson, Phil Lancaster, Woody Woodmansey, John Cambridge, Dana Gillespie, Ava Cherry, Earl Slick, Mary Finnigan, Suzi Ronson, Geoff MacCormack, and so on. See the auctioning of apparently every demo that Bowie cut in the Sixties. Along with the ongoing releases of career and archival box sets, this gave me a much clearer picture of Bowie’s early work than I had in the early 2010s, when I wrote the original book.

Newcomers include:

I Never Dreamed
It’s True My Love
I Live in Dreams
How Can I Forget You
I Want Your Love
Bunny Thing
Your Funny Smile
Mother Grey
The Reverend Raymond Brown (Attends the Garden Fête on Thatchwick Green)
Angel, Angel Grubby Face
Goodbye 3d (Threepenny) Joe
Run Piper Run
Love All Around
Animal Farm
Jerusalem
Hole in the Ground
So Long 60s
King of the City
It’s Gonna Rain Again
The Young Americans Medley
and a greatly-expanded entry on The Man Who Fell to Earth‘s “lost” soundtrack.

I went through all of the song entries, updated them (sometimes slightly, sometimes massively), tidied up and corrected all sorts of things, and, hopefully, made it a better book.

Also, on a superficial note: I think it looks nicer than the original! A few photos:

At long last, a matching set
My thrashed-up copy of the original, and its successor
Chapters now kick off with style

If you pick it up, I hope that you enjoy it. Thanks.


Do You Remember Yesterday? Young Americans at 50

March 7, 2025

It could have been Lulu in Memphis. David Bowie began working with Lulu in the summer of 1973, producing her takes on “The Man Who Sold the World” and “Watch That Man,” and now he envisioned making a full soul record with her.

But his frustrations upon trying to get Mick Ronson and Trevor Bolder to play what Bowie called “black funky” (on an early version of “1984”) convinced him that any proper soul record needed to be recorded in the U.S., with American musicians. He would give Lulu the Dusty Springfield treatment, and he had a solid R&B slow number for her now“Take It In Right,” soon renamed “Can You Hear Me”; Lulu cut a demo of it at the start of 1974.

He ran some provisional Lulu sessions that spring in London and New York, but on an overdub date in the latter city, on 17 April 1974, he met the guitarist Carlos Alomar. And that was the end of Lulu.

This was one of his habitsBowie would draft a piece for someone, only to rescind the offer once he determined how he could do it better. When he met Alomar, he saw his chance. He seized the role that he’d imagined for Lulu and transformed it, mutated it: a British “alien” crafting plastic American soul; a pasty stick figure housed in a gouster suit, using the U.S. flag as a backdrop for his adventures.

It was Major Tom overseas. Around spring 1974, Bowie wrote a movie script outline—The Young American. In an outline page included in the David Bowie Is exhibit, Major Tom, having come home, gets sent to New York to be debriefed by the Americans; an early conflict revolves around Tom being forced to change clothes (“he shows Commander his clothes memo: Com. seems annoyed”). Tom decides to “make for the poor part of town” and his story ends there.

Alomar would prove essential to Bowie’s scheme. Born in Puerto Rico, the son of a Pentecostal who had moved to New York City to establish a ministry, he was playing guitar in the Apollo Theater’s house band by his late teens, backing James Brown and Wilson Pickett. Alomar joined the funk group The Main Ingredient and became a session player for their label RCA, which is how he wound up at Bowie’s Lulu date. Eager to experience music scenes that he’d only read about, Bowie found in Alomar a generous and well-connected ambassador.

“Every British musician has a hidden desire to be black. They all talk about ‘funky rhythm sections’ and their idols are all black blues guitarists,” Tony Visconti said in 1974. Bowie had been fascinated by Black American culture since his teenage years (he’d pressed J. Saunders Redding’s On Being Negro in America on his bandmates in the Manish Boys) and he was delighted to have met Alomar, effusing to a reporter at a nightclub that he’d found “a really incredible black guy called Carlos.”

It was as though he considered R&B and jazz as his foundational musicthe first songs that he’d learned and played on stage, his earliest singlesand so whenever he went too far afield, he’d have to return to home base, reorient himself. He’d do the same on Let’s Dance in the Eighties and, in a twisted way, on his last record.

With Alomar as his inside man, Bowie now needed a setting. He found it in Philadelphia. Established by Joe Tarsia in 1968, Sigma Sound Studios had become a R&B/disco hit factory, home to the composers and arrangers Kenneth Gamble, Leon Huff and Thom Bell and their various projects: The Stylistics, The Spinners, The O’Jays, the Three Degrees. The studio’s relative isolation let producers operate with less label scrutiny and occasionally skirt musician union rules. As Sigma’s three rooms were small by New York standards, players were jammed together, which tempered egos, encouraged interplay, and created an ambient tone that warmed dozens of Philly Soul singles.

Gorging on Philadelphia International records, Bowie first visited Sigma with Ava Cherry, who recorded demos there during his Philadelphia residency in July 1974. His bandleader Michael Kamen recalled Bowie being impressed by the house musicians, MFSB (“something really shifted in him”), and Bowie booked time at Sigma for the following month.

Yet once in the studio, Bowie didn’t use anyone from MFSB except conga player Larry Washington. This wasn’t his doing—he’d wanted the full Sigma experience. But most MFSB players, in-demand pros at their peak of popularity, weren’t interested in playing with some odd white British dude whose work few of them knew and who some regarded as a carpetbagger. Mike Tarsia, the studio owner’s son, told Jérôme Soligny “they didn’t want to give their sound away. It was as simple as that.” So Bowie adapted: if he couldn’t get the Philadelphia sound, he’d make his own. He brought in some of his touring band (Mike Garson, David Sanborn) and New York-based players that Alomar had suggested: bassist Willie Weeks and drummer Andy Newmark. After a few days of in-studio rehearsals, Bowie flew in Visconti from London to take over production.

Alomar had brought along his wife, the singer Robin Clark, and his childhood friend Luther Vandross. Hearing Vandross and Clark harmonizing while he was sketching in the Sigma control room, Bowie realized that having a vocal chorus would mask any flaws in his singing (an issue, given his habits at the time). He quickly got them and Cherry into the vocal booth and deputized them as his chorus. The cast was assembled.

In his first recording block at Sigma in August 1974, Bowie and this crew cut early takes of “Young Americans,” “Can You Hear Me,” “It’s Gonna Be Me,” “John I’m Only Dancing” (its disco renovation), “After Today,” “Who Can I Be Now,” “Right,” and “Somebody Up There Likes Me,” along with the still-unreleased “I Am a Lazer” and “Shilling the Rubes.” By the end of the session, he had the makings of his soul record, if its sound was fairly loose and, in some cases and despite the chorus, plagued by raspy lead vocals.

This was the first edition of Young Americans (then going by a number of provisional titles, including Dancin’). A “live in the studio” record of R&B and Latin-flavored compositions, its creation was the polar opposite from how Bowie had made Diamond Dogs—isolated in London and Dutch studios, doing countless guitar and keyboard overdubs, scoring a movie in his head. These new recordings were fun, improvisatory, communal, down to Bowie bringing in fans who had camped outside Sigma to hear rough mixes on the last night.

It marked a fresh method of composition for himhe was now demoing new material in the studio, using his band to map out his songsa process that he extended on the road in the following months. He converted his Diamond Dogs tour into a soul revue for autumn 1974, making it a rolling workshop, letting him see which of his new compositions hit with audiences (the slow ones, not so much) and strengthening his bond with his now-expanded band, which included Alomar, Dennis Davis, Vandross, Cherry, Clark and the percussionist Pablo Rosario. By the time they played Dick Cavett’s show, in early November 1974, the band was so tight that Bowie, even in his coke-rattled condition, could bounce off of them.

So by the time he returned to Sigma Sound in late November 1974 (moving to NYC’s Record Plant by early December), he had a tour-hardened band who’d been playing many of the new numbers for months. It’s in this block of sessions where most of the Young Americans tracks were locked down. Take “Can You Hear Me”you can hear the difference between a restrained August 1974 take (included on The Gouster) and the assured, sumptuous later version issued on Young Americans.

He was also pushing to cut more faster-paced songs: it’s in this second block where he rewrote Luther Vandross’ “Funky Music” as “Fascination,” ran his band through countless versions of his disco “John I’m Only Dancing” and equally as many takes of his medley of “Footstompin'” and “I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate,” which featured a hooky guitar riff by Carlos Alomar. His cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “It’s Hard to Be a Saint in the City,” which he likely began during Diamond Dogs, was in consideration as well.

Yet this album, which was essentially the second version of Young Americans, its tracks selected by mid-December 1974, was primarily a slow jam record. Visconti recreated it as The Gouster some years ago, and its sequencing and feel are similar in ways to how Station to Station turned outits sales hook a couple of faster numbers; its heart a small set of lengthy, emotionally florid tracks: “It’s Gonna Be Me,” “Who Can I Be Now,” “Can You Hear Me.”

Visconti mixed and scored the tracks back in London in late December 1974 and early 1975, working from Bowie’s detailed list of instructions (see above). When Bowie decided that the album still needed work is unclear, but it seems likely to have been the result of happenstance and location.

Bowie was at loose ends in New York in January 1975. He’d established a relationship with a new producer, Harry Maslin, who had run the Record Plant sessions. He had decided to split with his manager, Tony Defries, launching a legal attack on him at the end of the month. And he’d become friends with John Lennon.

Sometime in mid-to-late January (Lennon wrote to his friend Derek Taylor that “BOWIES CUTTIN ‘UNIVERSE’ (LET IT BEATLE). AM A GONNA BE THERE (BY REQUEST OF COURSET),” on a letter dated only “a Sunday in January, ear of our Ford ‘75”—most likely the 12th or 19th), Bowie called Lennon to say that he was in Electric Lady Studios doing “Across the Universe.” This was an obvious ploy, as Bowie had no need for more tracks. But he had sounded his man. Lennon, separated from Yoko Ono, was a known “studio hound” at the time. Bored and flattered, he agreed to play acoustic guitar on his own song.

Having used “Across the Universe” as bait, Bowie rammed the track onto Young Americans. He couldn’t resist showcasing his very own Beatle cover-collaboration, and he had strategic reasons as well. Planning his split with Defries, Bowie saw the commercial potential of his Lennon collaborations as one way to ensure that his label, RCA, would back his move.

And at the eleventh hour, he finally got his R&B hit single. Whether “Fame” had been in the works since the later Sigma sessions (Bowie seemed hell-bent on trying to use that Alomar riff for something) or if it truly was a lucky strike, a fluke that emerged from an unpromising studio jam, it was what Bowie had been searching for since he came to the U.S. the year beforethe key that fit the lock. His first U.S. number one single, one funky enough for James Brown to plagiarize.

“Fame” was nowhere near his original intentions for his American “soul” record. Instead of being made at Sigma Sound in Philadelphia with house musicians, it was cut with session pros in New York. No horns, only distorted guitars; no chorus singers, just Lennon’s squeaked “fame” and “Laughing Gnome” vari-speed vocals; no keyboards save a backwards-run piano. A jumble of vocals, guitars, bass, drums, and effects: funk via the cut-up method.

The Young Americans released half a century ago, on 7 March 1975, was a compromise, an uneasy mood: a mixture of the early freewheeling Sigma sessions, the more polished late Sigma recordings, and the Lennon collaborations, which were basically bonus tracks shoved into the album at the expense of “Who Can I Be Now” and “It’s Gonna Be Me” (Visconti would later wonder if those songs were too personal to release at the time; that Bowie had realized he’d given too much away). In retrospect, its creation mirrors that of the album Bowie would cut two decades later: 1. Outside.

Still, Young Americans was an unexpected swerve at the time, one of his most radical moves, and one that left many of his glam-era fans behind. It also sparked Bowie’s pop stardom in the U.S. in the mid-Seventies, a time when he presented Grammy awards, sang with Cher and appeared on Dinah Shore’s talk show and Good Morning America, and was profiled in People magazine.

“Now you found me,” he sang on a track that he cut from Young Americans. “Now can I be real?” As with many of Bowie’s questions, it would never have an answer.

REBEL REBEL (SECOND EDITION) ARRIVING THIS SUMMER; MORE INFORMATION TO COME.


It’s Xmas Time, It’s Xmas Time

December 21, 2024

Do They Know It’s Christmas? (Live Aid, 1985).
Bowie’s 2013 Christmas “Elvis” Message.
Peace on Earth/The Little Drummer Boy.
Peter and the Wolf.
The Snowman.
Feed the World.

The 15th Christmas for this blog—time keeps at it. I hope that you’ve had a good year, or at least a middling one. Not much news to report, apart from Rebel Rebel (Revised) coming next summer, in case you missed that. Next year is the fiftieth anniversary of Young Americans and “Golden Years,” the thirtieth for 1. Outside, and, amazingly, the decade mark for “Blackstar”: all of which might get a fresh commemorative post. We’ll see.

The 64 Quartets project will at last resume, and should run at a decent pace again. Quartet No. 8, The Four Tops, will at last (!) conclude. Quartets 9 and 10 will be fun to write.

A Happy Christmas and New Year to you all! Here’s to 2025.


Rebel Rebel (Revised)

December 11, 2024

Announcing:

Rebel Rebel (Revised). Or maybe Rebel Rebel Again? Rebel Rebel (Second Edition). Rebel Rebel in some form. Coming, via Repeater Books, in summer 2025. I’m about to send in the manuscript.

This is a fully revised and corrected (yes, no longer does “Britain” win the 1966 World Cup, sorry) version of the book that I wrote in the early 2010s, and which was published almost exactly a decade ago. It covers about the first third of the Bowie catalog, from his earliest professional recording in 1963 to Station to Station, going through it song-by-song, in chronological order.

For those who got Rebel Rebel—I can’t thank you enough. But, hey, you might find the revision of interest, too.

Why do a new version?

Josie, showing patience during the revision process

Well, ten years have passed. It’s fair to say that a lot happened. We have far more details about Bowie’s work than we had in the early 2010s. The museum exhibit. The movies. The books: heavens, so many new books. Songs have appeared that no one (even the most devoted Bowie chroniclers) had ever heard of before. Thanks to auctions of Bowie’s until-then-unknown demos, and the ongoing issuance of archival sets, there are a decent number of “new” songs to chronicle, or greatly enhance, in the new Rebel Rebel, including (snare roll):

I Never Dreamed
It’s True My Love
I Live in Dreams
How Can I Forget You
I Want Your Love
Bunny Thing
Your Funny Smile
Mother Grey
The Reverend Raymond Brown (Attends the Garden Fête on Thatchwick Green)
Angel Angel Grubby Face
Goodbye 3d (Threepenny) Joe
Run Piper Run
Love All Around
Animal Farm
Jerusalem
Hole in the Ground
So Long 60s
King of the City
It’s Gonna Rain Again
The Young Americans Medley
and a massively-expanded entry on the Man Who Fell to Earth soundtrack.

In the years since Bowie’s death, many who knew him or had worked with him published memoirs. Three by his drummers! Earl Slick, John Hutchinson, Geoff MacCormack, Mary Finnigan, Suzi Ronson, Ava Cherry—the volumes keep piling up. There have been scads of documentaries and biopics and whatever Moonage Daydream could be classified as. Essential Bowie surveys by Jérôme Soligny, Leah Kardos and Glenn Hendler, among others. There’s a comprehensive book, Dan Gutstein’s Poor Gal, which digs into “Liza Jane,” the song that became Bowie’s first single.

Thus I’ve rewritten, or expanded, or flavored with new information and fresh quotes, nearly every entry in Rebel Rebel. I think it’s a much better book; if not, it’s at least a more thorough one, and as up-to-date as it can be.

Will Rebel Rebel (2) have a new look?

Yes. We’re taking advantage of the reissue to better align my two Bowie books, visually. Rebel Rebel (Rev.) and Ashes to Ashes will likely have a similar look, and their covers could even be connected in some way—I’m not sure yet. My hope is that they will, at last, look like a set, which had always been my intention; they will no longer be the Mutt and Jeff of Bowie books (see above).

I’ll have much more to say about the book in the new year. All best to everyone.


Seven Bewlay Brothers

September 12, 2024

I was never quite sure of what real position Terry had in my life, whether Terry was a real person or whether I was actually referring to another part of me.

Bowie, on his half-brother, Terry Burns.

The world was asleep to our latent fuss.

1. Take two (master), recorded ca. 9-15 August 1971, Trident Studios. Released on Hunky Dory, 17 December 1971.

Among the last songs—likely the last—cut for Hunky Dory, “The Bewlay Brothers” was also the only song that Bowie hadn’t written before the sessions began. Decades later, he described its creation as being almost emetic: “I had a whole wad of words that I had been writing all day. I had felt distanced and unsteady all evening, something settling in my mind.”He recorded “Bewlay Brothers” at Trident on acoustic guitar (Mick Ronson did his overdubs later), then went out drinking at the Sombrero Club.

He was dismissive of “Bewlay Brothers” while he was making it, calling it a song for the American market. He told Ken Scott that as Americans enjoyed hunting for clues on LP sleeves and lyric sheets, he’d written something to really put them to work; in his press notes for Hunky Dory he mocked the song as being “Star Trek in a leather jacket.”

Until then all pop music was boy meets girl. Suddenly, you heard “The Bewlay Brothers” and you felt, that’s me!

Tom Robinson.

2. Take two (alternate mix), same dates. Done by Ken Scott for Divine Symmetry, 2022.

Ken Scott: “I remember David coming in right at the end of the recording sessions saying he’d written a new song and so it was put together fairly quickly. This remix uses some originally unused pieces and omits other things.” The changes are sometimes interesting, often superficial, some unnecessary—hearing echo slathered on Bowie’s vocal is like seeing a colorized film. (There was another alternate mix, one barely discernible from the Hunky Dory mix, on Ryko’s 1990 reissue of the album—it’s been memory-holed.)

To balance his verbosity and his vocal, which rivals “Changes” in its frenetic movements, Bowie made “Bewlay Brothers” compact. After an intro of twelve-string acoustic guitar and Ronson’s tremolo-shrouded Les Paul (which sounds like an organ—on stage, Mike Garson did the line on keyboard), the song plays out across three verses and refrains of equal length, and a coda. The chord progressions advance in the verses, retreat in refrains; the arrangement is two acoustic guitar tracks, two electric guitar tracks, and a bass that wakes up in refrains.*

*Is there bass? Sounds like there’s one (see 0:56, 2:17 in the original mix), the Off the Record complete score has a bassline transcribed, and a photo of the tape box (below) shows a notation of a bass overdub, but also, to make things confusing, a piano track, not audible in any released mix. Credits to the Divine Symmetry set list only Bowie and Ronson on guitars.

Tape box of the master, take 2, of “Bewlay Brothers,” recorded over 30 July 1971 takes of “Song for Bob Dylan” and “Fill Your Heart.” This led to confusion about the date of the “Bewlay” taping—it was a week or so after 30 July.

3. Live and Exclusive (performance for Radio 2), 18 September 2002.

Bowie: This thing goes on…and goes on. Let’s wish us all luck on this one.

He never played “Bewlay Brothers” on stage until the last two touring years of his life. At its debut, a performance done for the BBC, he groaned at his lyric’s demands, saying it had more words than War and Peace, sounding like a man who wouldn’t recognize his younger self if he passed it on the street. He sang it delicately, giving a lilt to the close of verse phrases.

This cumulative belittling had been a protracted feint, Bowie rubbishing a song to hedge his audience from getting too close to it, much as how he alternated lines with the sting of memory with those of obscure wordplay.

At the heart of “Bewlay Brothers” was Bowie’s half-brother Terry Burns (Bowie would be occasionally frank about this, telling a radio interviewer in 1977 that the song was “very much based on myself and my brother”). Even its title, allegedly inspired by a London tobacconist chain down the street from Trident, is a syllabic and near-consonant rhyme of “Bowie.”

The half-brothers’ relationship had hung on Burns’ mental condition. While Burns had stayed at Haddon Hall in 1970, he’d begun to deteriorate by the time of Hunky Dory. Yet to consider “Bewlay Brothers” to be directly autobiographical, to parse each line for clues about a summer that Bowie and Terry spent together, for example, is to misread the role “Burns” plays in Bowie’s elegy: more a spent muse than any lost sibling. The break at the center of “Bewlay Brothers” is necessary: the lost brother needs to die so the singer can live.

4. Live, Carling Apollo Hammersmith,* London, 2 October 2002.

You are a bunch of obscurists! Bowie, to the cheers when he announces “Bewlay Brothers.”

The sequencing of Hunky Dory’s “tribute” side maps a series of battles. Starting with the genial Biff Rose (“Fill Your Heart”), whose influence on Bowie was light and superficial, the sequence continues through figures that Bowie found progressively more difficult to assimilate: Andy Warhol’s flatness, Bob Dylan and Lou Reed’s dense self-mythologies. And the side closes with “Bewlay Brothers,” where Bowie grappled with the psychic power that Burns held over him.

Bowie had cast himself as Burns’ reflection, introducing himself as “Terry’s brother” to Haddon Hall visitors. Burns was, as Bowie once said, his doppelganger. “I wonder if I imbued my stepbrother with more attributes than he really had,” he said. “As long as I believed that’s what they were, it gave me the energy to be convinced I was worth doing it for.”

*The “Carling Apollo Hammersmith” was the then-current name of the Hammersmith Odeon, where Bowie had killed off Ziggy Stardust in 1973. A transitory phase between the Labatt’s Apollo era (1993-2002) and later incarnations like the HMV Apollo (2009-2012) and Eventim Apollo (2013-present).

5. Live, St. Ann’s Warehouse, Brooklyn, 12 October 2002.

Maybe I’m doing this, maybe I’m not doing it. Has anybody heard of it? I dunno, is it worth doing?

In Bowie’s childhood and early adolescence, Burns was everything non-bourgeois, non-suburban and non-British for a middle-class child in Fifties Bromley. As his mother’s illegitimate son, Burns was out of sorts in the Jones household: he and Bowie’s father disliked each other. He was liberating but chaotic, disruptive, upturning the house when he stayed there: he was an inclement weather pattern.

Burns introduced his brother to Buddhism, the Beats, jazz, science fiction, R&B; he programmed “David Bowie.” In “All the Madmen,” Bowie had pledged solidarity to those who society had pushed to the margins, while acknowledging a thin line separated him from the illness that had plagued much of his family.

“Bewlay Brothers” keeps its sympathies guarded. Tall tales from a sordid boyhood, the brothers as a gang (“the moon boys,” “kings of oblivion”) whose outlaw status Bowie builds up with lines from the gay underground (“real cool traders,” with Bowie raiding a favorite novel, John Rechy’s City of Night (see “Fascination”)). Set against them are agents of the Establishment. Like Ray Davies’ people in grey, these brawny close-cropped “good men of tomorrow” have, in Bowie’s wonderful line, “bought their positions with saccharine and trust.”

Lester Bangs’ “Let Us Now Praise Famous Death Dwarves,” written for Creem, March 1975, reprinted in the NME.

6. Live, Shea’s Performing Arts Center, Buffalo, 25 May 2004.

Its performances had been a fluke of the Heathen tour, a treasured memory for a relative handful of fans. Then, in the last weeks of what would be his last tour, Bowie revived the song again. He brought in drums, which came across as a latecomer at a wake, and closed it out with a Gerry Leonard guitar solo.

By the second verse of “Bewlay Brothers,” something’s gone astray. The brother’s weakening; wax to the singer’s stone, he’s more impressionable to the world’s blows. Bowie closes the last verse with an act of generosity: he fuses stone and wax, turning his brother into chameleon, comedian, Corinthian and caricature, letting him escape into art and memory. Bowie’s left behind in the world, taking stock of a broken estate of fragments: faces on cathedral floors, passwords whispered in dreams, names of lost paintings. The whale of a lie like they hoped it was, like the hope it was.

Apart from the fuzzed-up B minor chords to prod the song into its refrains, Ronson is content to haunt the Bewlays, constellating notes above Bowie’s voice, ruminating in empty corners of the song.

7. Live, and final performance, The Borgata Event Center, Atlantic City, NJ, 29 May 2004.

“The middle-aged audience that dominated the sold-out Event Center appreciated it when he dipped into the past.” The Press of Atlantic City, 31 May 2004. (After the song ends, you hear a guy yell “Hunky Dory!” on the bootleg.)

He has only sung this to an audience five times in his life, and this will be the last, though he says he wants to do it “a few more times”—the song is ready to depart again, to return to the air. He has only been its occasional transmitter. “It’s so old,” he says. “It’s older than I am, and I wrote it.

Its mournfulness is thrown over in the coda, with its gargoyle chorus (Bowie’s multi-tracked voice, sped up and down to span over an octave). Like “After All,” it’s the Laughing Gnomes as specters. Having possibly borrowed this final melody from Marc Wilkinson’s theme for the 1971 British horror Blood on Satan’s Claw,* Bowie ends song and album on a fine grotesque note. As the track fades out, you hear a scream.

*Noted by David Dent back in 2010. The film had been released in the UK by June 1971, so there was a chance DB saw it!

REBEL REBEL (REVISED), coming in 2025.


15 Years

July 29, 2024

Fifteen years ago today, I published the first entry on a WordPress blog that I’d set up a few days earlier. It was a six-paragraph essay on David Bowie’s first single, “Liza Jane.” My insightful assessment: “There’ve been greater debuts, but there’ve been far more worse.”

Not auspicious. But that was the idea: do some quick takes on Bowie. Listen to a song a few times, research it a bit, write a few graphs, bang, publish a blog entry, have breakfast and get on with the day. I was doing a Bowie song-by-song blog as a writing exercise. At the time I still had an MP3 blog, Locust St., which I had been running since 2004, while working sporadically on a travelogue/culture book about presidential grave sites (made it to Grant, Pierce, Coolidge, the Adamses, Cleveland, and JFK before I abandoned the idea). I thought about calling it Dead Presidents, and then in 2016 Brady Carlson put out a book on presidential grave sites which was called exactly that—I was not fated to write that book.

Fifteen years is an odd stretch of commemorative time. Long enough away to feel like “the past” but it also feels like no time at all, until you go back and see how much has gone. How many people aren’t here now; how much the air has changed.

A minor example. When I started the blog, it was hard to find any of Bowie’s early singles and some of his LP cuts uploaded on YouTube, which was a toddler then. My idea was to have a link to the song that I was writing about, but most of Bowie’s Sixties stuff simply wasn’t available. There was no Spotify, nor Apple Music, or what have you. So I either uploaded an MP3 on the Earthlink server I used, or, in some cases, I linked to an Italian Bowie fansite that had his Sixties songs on a sort-of RealPlayer setup that often crashed.

Social media was just getting going. I joined Twitter at the end of ’09 to promote the “Space Oddity” entry, as I recall. Facebook was still greatly a means to connect with people that you knew in high school, who you soon realized you had nothing in common with and had nothing to say to, but you now had to see their vacation photos until you died.

It was the end of the MP3 blog age, that combo of zines and college radio on the internet (Neil Young voice: “Back in the Google Reader days…”). You linked to someone whose work you liked, they linked to you. I started the day at work clicking through the blogroll, and hey, Tofu Hut or Moistworks or Soul Sides or Marathonpacks had put up something new. I felt like I was talking into the air for much of the Locust St years, then I’d get a comment from someone who liked what I was doing, so I kept on. I even got interviewed once by the Dallas Morning News and sounded like a crank.

The anonymity of it was freeing. I had spent my twenties writing bad short stories (on typewriter! while smoking! at least I didn’t wear a hat), then attempting a novel that was so self-evidently dreadful, even in its earliest stage, that I felt like I was indentured to a corpse. I had gotten nowhere at 30. I liked writing about music but the idea of even trying to submit something to the New York Press or Village Voice seemed unimaginable, a folly. Then I discovered MP3 blogs and I had the punk conversion: I can do this. I will do this. So I did. That’s all it takes, still.

Pushing Ahead of the Dame (as I’ve long said, not a great name) started life as an MP3 blog offshoot. It had a very modest readership at first, less than that of Locust St.’s, which was eternally modest. I didn’t take it seriously for a few months, and got through most of Bowie’s Sixties songs at a fast clip. Then came “Space Oddity,” and I thought I should go to town on that one, really give it the treatment. That got some notice. Tom Ewing, on Popular, linked to it, and that brought in some readers. TIME magazine, for whatever reason, linked to it. The Guardian did. So by late 2010, I actually had a readership, a community, who turned out to be some of nicest and most insightful commenters anyone could have wished for. I’m grateful for them still.

Some lucky strikes. The writer Owen Hatherley found the blog via Popular; he recommended it to his publisher, Tariq Goddard, who asked me to turn the blog into a book. It took about three years to do the first book, Rebel Rebel. I still didn’t consider myself a “writer,” so the whole blog-to-book conversion process was a lengthy stretch of operatic self-doubt and slog. But here we are: there have been two books published based on the blog, and I’m currently revising Rebel Rebel. It will be out next year, it will take into account all of the “new” songs that have popped up in the past decade and the scads of information unearthed in the years after Bowie’s death, and it will be pretty much my last word on Bowie.

Last summer in New York, I was in the same dressing room with Carlos Alomar and George Murray, two of my favorite musicians, and the only reason I was there was that I’d started a weird blog on a whim. Life can be strange but good.

Why Bowie? People have asked that a lot over the years. The idea was to do a single rock musician or group’s songs in chronological order, and someone who’d been around for at least two decades. It quickly narrowed down to Neil Young, Pete Townshend, and DB (Dylan and the Beatles were over-tilled land, and I had nothing to say about them; Joni Mitchell seemed too daunting (read Ann Powers’ book!)).

Neil Young soon got the chop because his catalog was just too sprawling and borderline impossible to organize, and this was years before the Archives project started, mind.

Townshend, with or without The Who, held promise, but his work tapped out at the start of the Nineties. Plus I’d been too caught up in his music in my youth to be “objective,” I thought. Townshend remains the only musician I’ve heckled. In my defense, I was young, very very drunk, and he was performing Psychoderelict in its entirety on a hot summer evening outdoors, having actors in speaking roles, and his backing tapes kept breaking down. I believe I yelled “play something else! anything, Pete, for fuck’s sake!” in the midst of this.

This left Bowie.

The more I considered him, the more sense it made. I liked his music, but I didn’t know a good deal of it—my teenage listening consisted of the Ryko CDs, The Man Who Sold the World through the Berlin albums (though I never got Pin Ups); I knew the big Eighties hits, of course, as anyone who was 11 years old in 1983 would have; I got Outside when it came out, but I lost touch with him by the late Nineties. So reviewing his songs wouldn’t be so much interrogating memory but more learning about someone’s work and hearing and assessing it for the first time—that seemed a lot more interesting.

In June 2009 I was in a used record store in Northampton, MA (Turn It Up!—still around) and saw, in the CD racks, two early Bowie compilations, Early On and the Deram Anthology. I think I got each for $4. Another sign that Bowie was the one. I’d only known of his earliest songs via career surveys which described his Sixties music as godawful weedy theater juvenilia. I listened to the discs and yeah, some of it was that, but there was also lots of weird and intriguing music as well, and I thought I could find something to say about it.

And the timing was good. Bowie, in 2009, was as much of a private citizen as he ever would be. He wasn’t recording, wasn’t touring, wasn’t even being harassed much by the paparazzi. He felt a bit neglected. He was gone, but still here, and his fans had started to really miss him, to wonder about what he was doing. I gave them a place to talk about his music. I’m glad I was there, especially on that January morning in 2016.

My initial sources for the Bowie blog, as I recall, were Nicholas Pegg’s essential Complete David Bowie, then in its fourth edition; a few biographies (David Buckley, the Gillmans, George Tremlett, Christopher Sandford), Kevin Cann’s Chronology, a collection of Starzone interviews, Pimm Jal de La Parra’s Concert Tapes, and a few others. The websites Bowie Wonderworld and the Illustrated DB Guide, and a few no longer in existence, inc. Helden and Teenage Wildlife. Over the years came more guides: in particular, Paul Trynka’s bio Starman; Cann’s magnum opus Any Day Now; Roger Griffin’s Golden Years; Leah Kardos’ brilliant Blackstar Theory. Reeves Gabrels, Maria Schneider, and many others helped set me straight on facts over the years.

One of the achievements of my life is to see my work listed in such company now. Thanks for being part of it.

[Meant to add: just FYI, 64 Quartets is most of my work these days.]


Xmas Time Is Here Again

December 21, 2023

Do They Know It’s Christmas? (Live Aid, 1985).
Bowie’s 2013 Christmas “Elvis” Message.
Peace on Earth/The Little Drummer Boy.
Peter and the Wolf.
The Snowman.
Feed the World.

Has it been another year? Somehow, it happened. A very quiet year on the Bowie front (will there at last be a Ziggy Stardust-Aladdin Sane archival box set in 2024? ah, who knows), though it was wonderful to attend the Bowie World Fan Convention in NYC back in the summer, where I got to meet Nicholas Pegg and Nacho, among many others.

I’ve been slowly working on updating Rebel Rebel and (even more slowly) reviving my 64 Quartets project, with the longest entry yet (it’s about one-third done, and being serialized at present on the Patreon—hopefully it will be completed in a few months). As for this old blog, it will likely spark to a life a few times next year: it’s the 50th anniversary of Diamond Dogs, the 60th of “Liza Jane,” and a few other things.

Merry Christmas: health and happiness to you all. Here’s to the new year.


The Buddha at 30

November 8, 2023

Thirty years ago today, David Bowie released the soundtrack of The Buddha of Suburbia, a four-part serial which was, at the time, being aired on Wednesday nights on BBC2. More accurately, this record was billed as the soundtrack, complete with a cover photo of a seemingly crucified Naveen Andrews, with Bowie’s name given as much prominence as that of his co-producer David Richards (he did get the back cover, however). 

The record got little notice in the British press, where it was mostly treated as an inconsequential bonus to the telefilm; the concurrent release of the Bowie Singles Collection got as much, if not more, attention. It got close to zero notice in the United States, where the film wasn’t shown and the album wasn’t released (it wouldn’t appear until 1995).

But it was not quite a soundtrack (Buddha had prominently used “Time” and “Fill Your Heart,” neither of which appeared on the record, and the only thing that one might have recognized from the show was the title track). It was, in truth, the erasure and deconstruction of a soundtrack: a secret album that Bowie slipped out at the end of 1993. Bowie always said that it was one of his favorites, and it remains one of mine.

It had started with Hanif Kureishi, who wrote the Buddha of Suburbia novel and its TV adaptation. He and Bowie had gone to the same school, Bromley Tech, and both were Bromleyites, if of crucially distinct generational subsets. Bowie (born early 1947) had grown up in a Bromley which had changed little from when H.G. Wells had lived there. Kureishi (born late 1954) had grown up in a Bromley whose most famous escapee was David Bowie. Both, however, had the same arts teacher: Owen Frampton, father of Peter.

The two met in early 1993 for Interview, a conversation that touched often upon Bromley. Bowie was in a nostalgic mood, having helped to compile an issue of Arena that cataloged his past and giving a Rolling Stone interviewer a guided tour of London and its suburbs. Kureishi said he was adapting his novel for television and asked Bowie for permission to use some songs. Bowie agreed. Working up the nerve, Kureishi then asked Bowie if he felt like contributing any original material. A few months later, Kureishi and his director/co-writer Roger Michell were in Switzerland, listening to Bowie’s score for the series.

His incidental music was greatly motifs—combinations of guitar, synthesizer, trumpet, percussion, sitar. Kureishi found it surreal to watch his film, a fictional document of his adolescence, playing on a TV monitor while the idol of his adolescence worked the mixing desk; he also found it daunting to tell his idol that the music wasn’t quite right.

After revising the soundtrack, Bowie thought he could rework some of the pieces into a new album. “He said he wanted to write some songs for it because he wanted to make some money out of it,” Kureishi recalled to Dylan Jones. (Bowie was perpetually surprised to discover how poorly the BBC paid.)

During his nostalgic turns in early 1993, Bowie had mused whether he could make a fourth “Berlin” album out of scattered pieces of his and Eno’s trilogy, a falsified Lost Berlin Tapes album that “never existed.” Not long before, Ryko had reissued the “Berlin” albums on CD, featuring allegedly lost outtake bonus tracks like “I Pray Olé” and “Abdulmajid.” These, in truth, were trial runs, with Bowie taking some bits from late Seventies sessions and compositions and fashioning essentially new tracks out of them. On Buddha of Suburbia, he’d do the same with his soundtrack motifs, fusing them into new shapes.

Relying on his usual jack-of-all-trades, the Turkish musician Erdal Kızılçay, Bowie worked at Mountain Studios in Montreux in the summer of 1993 to extend the Buddha motifs into six- or eight-minute loops, isolating their “dangerous or attractive elements,” then recording vocals and instrumental lines over said elements. After a week’s recording and a fortnight of mixing, he had a fifty-minute album.

Bowie had found in Kureishi’s novel an observation that he felt rang true: a curse of being a suburban artist is a self-conflicted ambition, a need to feel you’re bettering yourself while fearing being found out as a fraud. “It’s a miracle,” Bowie once told Tin Machine guitarist Eric Schermerhorn, as their tour bus went through Brixton. “I probably should have been an accountant. I don’t know how this all happened.”

Once asked why Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four had been so influential on his work, Bowie said “for those of us born in South London, you always felt like you were in [the novel]. That’s the kind of gloom and immovable society that a lot of us felt we grew up in.” The Buddha characters who thrive are those who transform themselves, like the protagonist Karim; those who wither, like Karim’s fundamentalist uncle Anwar, are those who can’t shake free of the past. Yet in Buddha this self-transformation, this multi-ethnic suburban counterculture, is ultimately twinned with Thatcherism—novel and series end on the night of the general election in 1979. The ferment generated by suburban hippies and punks parallels the economic “liberation” of Thatcher. The revolution, when it comes, will be a suburban one.

The Buddha film had lovingly recreated early Seventies Bromley for Bowie. For his new songs, he said that he drew from what he called a “personal memory stock” ranging from his teenage years through the late Seventies in Berlin. His Buddha would be impressionist autobiography. As he wrote in his liner notes, “a major chief obstacle to the evolution of music has been the almost redundant narrative form. To rely upon this old war-horse can only continue the spiral into the British constraint of insularity. Maybe we could finally relegate the straightforward narrative to the past.”

Daily Telegraph, 13 November 1993

There was “South Horizon,” a join-piece of “trad” and “acid” jazz, featuring one of Mike Garson’s loveliest piano solos. Devoting as much care to the spaces between notes as to the notes he plays, Garson closes with a fractured lullaby on his highest keys. On his “Aladdin Sane” solo, Garson sounded like he’d soaked up every speck of music he’d ever heard and was able to reproduce it at will, like God’s player piano. His work here is more concise, conciliatory. He often keeps silent, or hints at some greater pattern.

The wonderfully odd “Sex and the Church.” The cold beauties of “The Mysteries,” an instrumental worthy of the Berlin years (which Brett Morgen used well on his Moonage Daydream). The only dud for me is “Bleed Like a Craze, Dad” which sounds like the sort of thing you get when you ask a random rock trio using your studio to jam with you for an afternoon.

Its finest tracks include the giddy “Dead Against It,” which Bowie considered revising for 1. Outside and Earthling. It’s the track that most sounds like its making: Bowie and Kızılçay camped out in the studio, eating hamburgers and listening to Prince, making odd little sketches. 

Three lengthy instrumental stretches bookend and break up verses and refrains—an arpeggiated synthesizer line is answered by one on guitar. Bowie’s larking vocal is full of ascending phrases, sinking when reality sets in (“begins to sigh,” “my words are worn”). His lyric is clotted with internal rhymes and consonance: “I couldn’t cope/ or’d hope eloped/ a dope she roped.” There’s a barb in this spun sugar—he stares at her while she sleeps; she reads to avoid talking to him but talks to strangers on the phone—but it’s lost in the blissful waves of guitars that close out the track.

The melodic bounty of “Untitled No. 1” and the intriguing severity of its sister, “Ian Fish, U.K. Heir.” Where “Ian Fish” is an ebbing—what’s left when the tub’s drained—”Untitled No. 1” is the waters rushing in. The little melodies that Bowie and Kızılçay keep adding, like spinning plates upon a table; a rising scale figure answered by groaning bass, like sunlight rousing a sleeper; the stately entrance of the synthesizers; the swirling synth figures in the breaks; Bowie’s warm, adhesive ooooohs; the guitarist playing a line so entrancing that he won’t let it go, sounding its last notes again and again; the jangling countermelody to the opening scale motif that becomes a barrelhouse piano line. The saxophone line at the end of the first verse, soon bestowed on piano and keyboards. The breakdown into a quasi-Indian dance track until a guitar strums things to a close.

Two verses and a refrain of blur-words, cut to fit the generous spread of music: “Now we’re swimming rock [farther?/harder?] with [the doll?/the gull?] by our sides.” An indecipherable chorus hook: Sleepy Capo? Cynical Fool? Shammi Kapoor? (the first word in particular mutates throughout). A prayer is buried in the second verse.

A bleating vocal suggests that Bowie’s again lovingly parodying his lost friend, Marc Bolan. A tribute that more honors the living, the gracious hours that we have left to us. Its most distinctly-phrased words are “it’s clear that some things never take” and “never never.” “Untitled No. 1” burgeons. There were a few times where Bowie could have stood up and never recorded again: eddies of finality in which everything reconciled for a moment. This is one of them.

Bowie, Bromley Spheres, 1993

“Ian Fish”: I was too dismissive of the track when I first wrote about it, a decade ago now, and earned an incisive response at the time by Magnus Genioso, whose ears were far better:

“Imagine for a moment that the guitar is not there, then turn the backing tracks way, way up. There’s a lot of information there. The bells at the beginning of the track. The rainy “street” white noise that adds the high frequency information. Not one, but two layers of reversed vocals, one of them with an actual harmony part. Several layers of keyboards, two ambient drones in different octaves along with some slight shimmers. What appears to be a harp-like plucking part at the two minute mark. You can hear best just how many instruments there are at the very end of the song as they all fall apart one by one.”

Most of all there’s “Strangers When We Meet,” a strong composition that Bowie knew he’d buried here and so remade it for 1. Outside two years later. I prefer this earlier version, whose emotional charge comes in part from how it questions and undermines the elated mood of Bowie’s then-recent “wedding” album Black Tie White Noise— it’s what had to be buried before the wedding. 

As a title, “Strangers When We Meet” references a Kirk Douglas film about secret lovers who need to part to preserve their marriages. They meet one last time in the empty house that Douglas, an architect, has built and get mistaken as husband and wife. Bowie draws on this, and on the broken couple of “Heroes”—a pair so consumed by passive-aggressive emotional violence that they no longer recognize each other.

In “Heroes,” the act of being together is courageous. Here’s the other side of it—a relationship that survives out of habit, the cowardice of someone knowing the match won’t work but refusing to admit it. A union never to be blessed by a wedding. The TV’s a blank screen, as is the window (“splendid sunrise, but it’s a dying world”). The man weeps in bed, cringes when she tries to embrace him. By the final refrain, he welcomes this state: after all, if they’re strangers again, they could fall in love again.