David Bowie: Space Oddity (aka David Bowie) - 1969

"A messianic figure who breaks down barriers for his younger followers, but finds that he has only provided them with the means to reject and destroy him" - David Bowie

   

David Bowie released this album in the aftermath of an unexpected chart-topping success with his single Space Oddity. This track, with its space travel narrative, coincided with the momentous moon landings of that summer. Regrettably, the subsequent album failed to achieve comparable commercial success. Bowie’s forays into folk, vague psychedelia, and nostalgic hippie influences did not resonate with the broader music-buying audience. 

Despite the acclaim of a number one single, Bowie encountered numerous obstacles on his path to potential stardom. This release stands as yet another instance of these challenges. It almost appears as if Bowie himself was grappling with conflicting aspirations: to remain rooted in the musical landscape of 1966-67 or to boldly explore the artistic frontiers of 1972-73. This album serves as a vivid reflection of his inner struggle and creative turbulence.

Many people purchased this album, myself included, back in 1973 when it was re-released with a cover featuring Ziggy-like hair. The re-packaging followed the success of Bowie's albums Hunky Dory, Ziggy Stardust, and Aladdin Sane. At the time, many teenagers, myself included, were unsure of what to make of it. Originally released in 1969, the album represented more than just a platform for the iconic and distinct title track. It showcased unrealised potential alongside some inconsistencies.

Let’s take our protein pills and get into our tin can - we may be up there for a while….

A well-known track that needs no introduction, Space Oddity capitalised on the fascination with the moon landing and achieved tremendous success. This song also marked the first significant recorded use of the stylophone, a playful instrument that contributed to the slightly electronic, morse-code-like sound in the background. It possesses a profound atmosphere, hauntingly depicting the solitary journey of poor old Major Tom floating endlessly in space. Interestingly, after this massive hit, Bowie seemingly vanished for almost three years before reemerging in 1972 as a new artistic entity in the eyes of many fans. While the album can be considered uneven, there are other hidden gems worthy of recognition.

Moving on to Unwashed And Somewhat Slightly Dazed, the track exhibits impressive psychedelic-infused rock elements. With each listening experience, my appreciation for this piece grows. Contrary to popular belief, the searing guitar solo was not played by Mick Ronson but by Tim Renwick. The bluesy harmonica throughout the track was skilfully executed by Benny Marshall. The song begins gently, with Bowie's ethereal vocals singing the line "spy, spy pretty girl" over an acoustic guitar backdrop, creating the impression of another dreamy composition reminiscent of his earlier works from 1967-68. However, within minutes, a thunderous and bluesy rock rhythm takes over, making it Bowie's heaviest song up until that point. The lyrics, albeit peculiar  - "I'm a phallus in pigtails" - and the mention of a credit card, which was unusual for 1969, further contribute to its uniqueness. Undoubtedly, it is an excellent track.

Next up is Letter To Hermione, a genuine love song from Bowie to one of his early loves, Hermione Farthingale, with whom he eventually ended the relationship due to his self-admitted promiscuity. It is a gentle and tender acoustic number showcasing Bowie's vulnerability. Lines like "I'm not quite sure what you're supposed to say" reflect the singer's emotional confusion. While slightly jealous of Hermione's new lover, Bowie settles for the compromise of expressing his love through a heartfelt written message. The song features delicate acoustic guitar melodies that beautifully complement Bowie's soft, airy vocals. Throughout his entire career, Bowie rarely displayed such sincerity and disarming vulnerability, making it a truly exceptional and captivating piece.

The lengthy and enigmatic narrative of Cygnet Committee marks a symbolic farewell to the era of "hippiedom." This epic track resounds with renewed vigour on remastered versions like the 2009 release (although the 2015 remaster struggles with the introductory bass line). With its acoustic foundation and aggressive lyrical mystique, it maintains an incessant verbal assault while providing a solid and resounding musical backing, eschewing the airy and "hippy" aesthetic. Undoubtedly, it stands as an early Bowie classic, often overlooked but profoundly haunting, mysterious, and puzzling, comparable to the likes of The Bewlay Brothers and Quicksand.

Equally enchanting are the winsome and folky melodies of Janine. The crystal-clear and razor-sharp acoustic guitar adds charm to the composition. The line referring to a "Polish wanderer" leaves me curious as to its intended meaning. This song serves as a bridge between two distinct eras, recalling elements of Bowie's work from 1967-68.

An Occasional Dream also echoes the late-sixties acoustic folk sound present on several tracks of the album. Similar to Letter To Hermione, it offers a tranquil and introspective acoustic experience. Bowie sings of a Swedish room adorned with hessian and wood, evoking a sense of peacefulness. Tony Visconti contributes a delightful flute solo, further enhancing the song's tranquility. Its gentle and melodic nature has always resonated with me.

The Wild-Eyed Boy From Freecloud tells a strange folk tale of an imprisoned young man with wild eyes, gradually wasting away in jail. This melodramatic and intense track possesses an operatic grandeur, featuring an array of instruments such as brass, cello, flute, and harp. While producer and musician Tony Visconti considers it one of his finest achievements, I have found it slightly excessive, although I admire the narrative and storytelling elements within.

Even more peculiar is God Knows I'm Good, a folky and acoustic song revolving around the story of a confused elderly woman who steals a tin of stewing steak from a grocery store. This type of song is unexpected from David Bowie, as he did not venture into "real-life" or "kitchen sink drama" themes very often. Consequently, it feels somewhat incongruous within both Bowie's post-1968 repertoire and the overall album.

Finally, we have the magnificently trippy Memory Of A Free Festival, featuring lines like "Peter talked with tall Venusians." This song takes listeners on a cosmic journey, recounting a festival that Bowie helped organise or perhaps fantasised about organising - though it apparently involved plenty of arguments about trivial matters. Idealised memories blend with sci-fi-inspired fantasy, creating an atmosphere that may have exceeded the actual festival's ambiance. The repeated chant of "the sun machine is coming down and we're gonna have a party" exudes a corny "hippy" vibe that I cannot help but adore. Perhaps Bowie, with a touch of irony and cynicism, was subtly dismissing the fading hippy counter culture, envisioning its replacement by new movements. While this song nostalgically reflects upon potentially illusory memories, it also serves as a glimpse into the future. As clichéd as it may sound, Bowie consistently appeared one step ahead. 

 

There is an extended "remix" of the song on the 30th Anniversary edition of the album that adds a strange echoey sound to Bowie's vocal on the introductory verses - giving it an ethereal sound - and the other instrumentation is considerably "oomphed" and enhanced. The fade out chorus is far more powerful and the voices more distinct and vibrant. It is an enjoyable mix, but I probably prefer the sparser, more home-produced charm of the original, which sort of mirrored the same qualities that the festival had. There is also the "single mix" of the song, which considerably "rocks it up" with powerful, chunky riffs, with loads more guitar, solid drums, new keyboard sounds and a general level of punch not heard on the original. The song is divided in to two halves, Part 1 and Part 2, the latter being just the choral fade out. It is enhanced with some excellent electric guitar, though. Who is that on guitar? Yes, it's Mick Ronson, making his first appearance with Bowie. There is a fair case for these two rock versions being the best incarnations of the song.

One last postscript - I have always preferred the “Ziggy hair” cover shown at the start of this review that was used when it was re-released in 1973 (which was when I bought it), however - that was the cover I grew up with. Forget the other cover images, it's this one that means it all to me. Every time I look at it, it's the summer of 1973 again, my Bowie obesession burgeoning.

** Also of interest is the Conversation Piece box set of outtakes and remixes etc from the album's sessions (click on the title).