Just when things start to seem shitty … we get a new JODOROWSKY!
New Juliana Barwick—lovely—can’t wait until August!
BELLFLOWER is bad-ass
My David Bowie THE NEXT DAY review is rubbish:
Between 1970 and 1980, David Bowie released the following 12 studio records:
THE MAN WHO SOLD THE WORLD
HUNKY DORY
THE RISE AND FALL OF ZIGGY STARDUST AND THE SPIDERS FROM MARS
ALADDIN SANE
PIN-UPS
DIAMOND DOGS
YOUNG AMERICANS
STATION TO STATION
LOW
“HEROES”
LODGER
SCARY MONSTERS
Scorecard for the above:
4 masterpieces (HUNKY DORY, ZIGGY, STATION TO STATION, LOW)
3 great albums (ALADDIN SANE, “HEROES,” LODGER)
4 very good albums (THE MAN WHO SOLD THE WORLD, DIAMOND DOGS, YOUNG AMERICANS, SCARY MONSTERS)
(PIN-UPS, a delightful album of covers, is exempted from this discussion.)
Bowie has done post-1980 work that is, in parts, as interesting, innovative, and challenging as anything he did in the 70’s (parts of the Tin Machine records, OUTSIDE, and HEATHEN, especially). But his reputation as one of rock’s greatest stars rests in that incandescent run from the 1970’s.
Which brings us to THE NEXT DAY, which, among many other things, is the non-1970’s David Bowie record which feels and SOUNDS most like a 1970’s David Bowie record. It’s provocative, tuneful, filled with irresistible hooks and memorable lines. It’s the record of an old man, but not one who’s preaching wisdom from a mountaintop. Bowie’s personae here range from acidic resignation through raging fury to haunted self-doubt.
And yet it doesn’t matter. Not at all. Bowie’s record, as accomplished and fascinating as it is, just doesn’t matter. And that’s largely because music doesn’t matter anymore.
There is no band or solo artist alive today whose new records command the attention, sense of anticipation, and cumulative pop-cultural mind-share that rock stars of yore (beginning in the late 60’s) commanded. Music today occupies a far narrower niche than it did when new records by The Beatles, the Stones, Zeppelin, and Bowie, et al, were milestone rite-of-passage-style events.
All of which, in a weird way, makes me love THE NEXT DAY even more, while noting its irrelevance. Bowie’s newest rock record is as obscure as a poetry reading or a sparsely-attended gallery opening. Not one of these songs will be on the tips of everyone’s tongues for years like “Rebel Rebel” was; not one of them will confound the pop cognoscenti like Side 2 of LOW did.
And so, ultimately, you could say about THE NEXT DAY that this new tune echoes that one on “HEROES,” or that the sax on this record is a buzzing, sexy, honking beast, or that most of these songs not only have hooky choruses, they also have actual, musically integral bridges, for chrissakes … but its most accurate description may be that it is: quaint.
A really good old-timey record that will be heard by relatively few made by a old guy going on about how we live today.
There’s a poignance to that which makes me wonder: why did David Bowie make a record at all, at this point in his life? He’s too smart not to know how the landscape has changed. And yet he soldiered on, as if it were 1978, and released an album of new material as if it mattered. Why?
It’s not like he made a difficult, arcane record. He did not write an ambient opus or dabble in post-modern electronica. He recorded an album of Bowie-esque pop-rock songs … expecting who, exactly, to listen to it?
Perhaps at this point, Bowie is simply playing the long game. Has decided he’s still got something of value to say, and has the means to say it. It’s what he does, after all, make pop records. He “gets” the lay of the land, the new digital world order, and is just working, just tilling the soil, trying to lay good seed and hope that one day, some day, someone will come along and appreciate the fruits of his labor.
Which, ultimately, of course, is what all of us in the “art” game do: challenge ourselves, work hard, worry, and keep our fingers crossed. Why should David Bowie be any different?
Track 1 of The Next Day.
The Next Day (David Bowie)
Look into my eyes he tells her
I’m gonna say goodbye he says yea
Do not cry she begs of him goodbye yea
All that day she thinks of his love yea
They whip him through the streets and alleys there
The gormless and the baying crowd right there
They can’t get enough of that doomsday song
They can’t get enough of it all
Listen
Listen to the whores he tells her
He fashions paper sculptures of them
Then drags them to the river‘s bank in the cart
Their soggy paper bodies wash ashore in the dark
And the priest stiff in hate now demanding fun begin
Of his women dressed as men for the pleasure of that priest
Here I am
Not quite dying
My body left to rot in a hollow tree
Its branches throwing shadows
On the gallows for me
And the next day
And the next
And another day
Ignoring the pain of their particular diseases
They chase him through the alleys chase him down the steps
They haul him through the mud and they chant for his death
And drag him to the feet of the purple headed priest
First they give you everything that you want
Then they take back everything that you have
They live upon their feet and they die upon their knees
They can work with satan while they dress like the saints
They know god exists for the devil told them so
They scream my name aloud down into the well below
Here I am
Not quite dying
My body left to rot in a hollow tree
Its branches throwing shadows
On the gallows for me
And the next day
And the next
And another day
The Swiss had a competition to see who would design a new series of banknotes. The Swiss are awesome.
Why Barnes & Noble is not gonna make it …
B&N’s self-publishing unit (PubIt!) just sent me an email … alerting me to the fact that I should look out for an email from them soon.
***
Dear PubIt! Publisher,
We’ve got some exciting news on the horizon, and as an integral part of our self-publishing community, we want you to be the first to know! Stay tuned for an upcoming announcement on our next chapter in self-publishing.
We appreciate your partnership and look forward to an even stronger relationship in the future.
Sincerely,
The PubIt! Team
