David Bowie summed it up best on one of his well-known songs, “Changes.” Unlike most recording artists who came of age in the 1970s, Bowie was seldom content to repeat himself; he was restless, imaginative, more interested in surprising fans than fulfilling their expectations.
Bowie’s new CD box set, Five Years 1969-1973, covers the period when he established his stardom and artistry. Along with the albums released in those years is a two-disc set of oddities, comprised mostly of mono single versions; the forgotten soundtrack to the forgotten Ziggy Stardust movie; a 1972 concert recording from Santa Monica; and a largely unnecessary 2003 remix of The Rise and Fall of The Spiders from Mars. However, the beautifully remastered CDs of Bowie’s first six canonical albums are the main attractions.
Bowie first touched stardom in 1969 with “Space Oddity,” a downbeat narrative of space flight released as NASA prepared for its triumphant moon landing. Wrapped in Gustav Holst-like orchestration, contrasting the immensity of the cosmos with the insignificance of a lone astronaut, “Space Oddity” came from an eponymous album of poetic, emotionally vulnerable folk rock redolent of the ‘60s counterculture.
Opening with a shrill blast of feedback, The Man Who Sold the World (1970) dispelled the mood of its predecessor. For Bowie, the hippie dream was already over. In “All the Madmen,” insanity is a rational alternative to contemporary reality; in “Running Gun Blues,” a soldier continues his war after peace is declared. The foreboding present was bracketed by the dystopian future of “The Savior Machine” (a la Ray Bradbury) and the dystopian past of “The Supermen” (H.P. Lovecraft). Bowie was backed by a power trio led by guitarist Mick Ronson, an acolyte of Jeff Beck who pushed blues rock against the edge of the red zone even as the music suggested the harmonies of Bela Bartok and the percussion of Richard Wagner. Although producing no hit single, The Man Who Sold the World continued to stir imaginations years afterward. Nirvana included the title number in its repertoire.
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Hunky Dory (1971) veered into the eclectic. “Changes,” meditated on time’s passage in a nightclub arrangement Tony Bennett might have appreciated. Much of Hunky Dory was devoted to acknowledging Bowie’s influences, including the self-explanatory “Andy Warhol,” the country-rock of “Song for Bob Dylan” and “Queen Bitch’s” evocation of the Velvet Underground. Other songs, sounding like show tunes for an unwritten musical, conveyed Bowie’s preoccupation with Aleister Crowley and theories that a coming race will supplant homo sapiens.
With The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars (1972), Bowie reinvented himself in the guise of stage character, a rock star with androgynous hair, wardrobe and makeup. His emergence as Ziggy coincided with his public pronouncement of bi-sexuality. The album was a comment on rock stardom suffused with dystopian science fiction. Acting as arranger, Ronson played guitar and keyboards throughout, anchoring the concept in solid music.
The Spiders from Mars continued to back Bowie on Aladdin Sane (1973), bringing surprise to every track. The album includes some of Bowie’s most familiar songs. “Panic in Detroit,” a remarkable impression of anxiety in an era of leftist terrorism, is built on a Bo Diddley beat accompanied by salsa percussion, Ronson’s razor-sharp guitar and a pair of soulful background singers wailing in terror. The blues-rock of “The Jean Genie” supports slithering images of decadence. On his cover of The Rolling Stones’ “Let’s Spend the Night Together,” Bowie burns away the feigned innocence of the original. The album drew on many sources, including doowop (“The Prettiest Star”) and Kurt Weill (“Time”) and avant-garde jazz (“Aladdin Sane”).
Shortly afterward, Bowie announced the breakup of The Spiders from Mars. Buying time before recording new music, he brought Ronson along for a nicely knocked out labor of love. Pinups (1973) featured songs by bands Bowie admired in his youth. Receiving the most attention were his melodramatic reading of Them’s “Here Comes the Night” and a deliciously fey version of The Merseys’ “Sorrow.”
Bowie moved on to Diamond Dogs—but that album awaits his next reissue collection.
