Top 100 Albums - #23: The Dark Side Of The Moon (1973)

Pink Floyd's fourth entry on the chart is The Dark Side Of The Moon, their critical and commercial breakthrough which has so far sold in excess of 40 million copies.¹
Following the departure of Syd Barrett in April 1968, the Floyd entered a period of experimentation and extended pieces, as they struggled to find a new sound. The first post-Barrett album, A Saucerful Of Secrets (1968), contained only one of his compositions ('Jugband Blues') and was poorly received compared to its predecessor. Now settling into life as a fourpiece, the band spent 1969 creating the soundtrack to Barbet Schroeder's More and touring in support of their double album Ummagumma. This and the follow-up, Atom Heart Mother (1970), kept the band in the limelight, the latter being an ornate and overambitious recording employing a full orchestra and conceptual composer Ron Geesin. It became their first No. 1 album in Britain, but has since savaged by the band. Finally, on Meddle (1971), the Pink Floyd sound began to coalesce together, and the fans agreed, heralding the 23-minute 'Echoes' as a masterpiece. After the release of Obscured By Clouds (1972) - another Barbet Schroeder commission - the band were poised to take the world by storm.

Anyone who is even faintly familiar with this album, or the mythology surrounding it, cannot help but feel a strange sensation upon starting it. After a few seconds of agonising, despairing silence, the famous 'heartbeats' kick in and we creep slowly forwards into 'Speak To Me/ Breathe'. The first minute is a sound montage, sampling all the sounds which would become motifs of the album, including the first of the famous 'voices' (I've been mad for fucking years and all that). When 'Breathe' eventually begins, we are exploded out of this madness into a calming, reassuring groove which sees all four instruments working in harmony. Nick Mason keeps the beat simply and solidly, while Roger Waters' bass strums appositely, providing the harmony part for David Gilmour's wailing lap steel. The lyrics serve to delicately introduce the album's purpose, as "an expression of political, philosphical and humanitarian empathy that was desperate to get out".²

With 'On The Run', our pulses are send racing as the mood shifts from one of philosopical balm to deeply seated fear. The song is anchored by the throbbing, distorted synthesiser beat, sampled and sped up. It pulses through the mix like some strange being, whom you are always aware of but is always just out of sight. The voice of a female announcer mumbles around you as footsteps resound and vehicles doppler shift their way across your subconscious. The song was inspired by the band's fear of flying, caused by relentless touring. And sure enough, by the time the aeroplane crashes at the end of the track, your own heartbeat has quickened, you feel frightened, and you begin to understand the album's message - that it's okay, it's natural, it's human to feel this way.

'Time' begins ominously. If you allow yourself to drift into a state of rest, having escaped your fate, your bliss is brutally shattered by the chiming of the clocks. It may have been shamefully parodied on 'One Slip' later in the Floyd's career (see my review of A Momentary Lapse Of Reason (1987, #62), but here it serves its purpose beautifully, creating a delicate, edgy feeling in the listener into which the band can express their feelings. Once Mason has had his minute-and-a-half of freedom, the whole pieces takes on a life of its own. Waters' lyrics about the passage of time and the feeling of being lost in life are beautifully delivered; Gilmour takes the stricken verses, while Rick Wright blends beautifully with the female singers, delivering the killer line Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way with all its inate English charm.

We stick with Wright for the next track, 'The Great Gig In The Sky'. It is a testimony to his abilities that, in a piece packed with beautiful lap steel and that vocal solo from Clare Torry, for the first minute at least you only want to listen to him. He doesn't play the grand piano, so much as stroke it with a series of feathers, ending up with something bittersweet, something graceful - something wonderful. When Torry finally comes in, your concentration does shift, but you are always aware of Wright's organs underneath her. It is as though you are drowning in a sea of sound, and she is the siren mourning your loss. No-one has ever matched her performance live, and on record it remains frighteningly beautiful.

'Money' probably ranks as one of the greatest songs of the 1970s. It is certainly one of the most original and unusual hits, with its unwieldy 7/8 time signature and equally unwieldy length. The opening, with the cash register, tape loops and fabulous bass line, is of course well-known and loved. But there is so much more to it than that. The band sound tight and together across this album, but this takes unity to a new level. There is no excess fat here at all - no drawn-out guitar solos, no overly clever drum fills, no John Entwistle-style bass noodling. Instead, what we get is four musicians playing off each other tone-perfectly, coming and going at the right time without a second's argument or hesitation. Even a seasoned stoic cannot help but be enslaved by the rhythm Waters creates and Mason exemplifies. The saxaphone solo is brilliant, the change in time signature is the very definition of seamless, and the lyrics are simple but sensationally clever, conveying so much by saying so little:

Money, it's a crime
Share it fairly
But don't take a slice of my pie
Money, so they say
Is the root of all evil today
But if you ask for a rise
It's no surprise
That they're giving none away

This is not just the best track on the album; it's arguably one of the greatest tracks of all time.

After railing against materialism, Waters turns his attention to war, as he would often do in his career. 'Us And Them' is more jazzy and nuanced than 'Money', which isn't really suprising when we discover that Wright is behind this one as well. Like so much of the group's compositions for the album, the finished result was almost an accident. Wright composed a similar piece for the film Zabriskie Point (1970), but it was rejected, shelved and then rediscovered during the recording. The piece rolls along gently, creating a summery feel which lulls you into a false sense of security wherein the lyrics can pounce. Mason's drums serve more as a garnish than an anchor, as Wright delivers that magical 'third chord' - a DmM7 - which sets the piece apart. Waters' lyrics are again deceptively simple, but they get the grey cells going so that everyone can find something different in lines like With, without/ And who'll deny it's what the fighting's all about?.

Out of all the tracks on the album, 'Any Colour You Like' is easily the hardest to like. It's not terrible in the traditional sense, and in many ways it's very listenable. But it has the feeling of the band treading water, taking their foot off the pedals and freewheeling while Waters was thinking of something else to say. This has the feel of 'The Travel Sequence', a jam from their live shows which was eventually replaced with 'On The Run'. Like the jam, this feels aimless - there are no lyrics (which is not a problem in itself) but there is little in the way of melody even to reflect the title (a reference to the erroneous words of Henry Ford, "you can have it any colour you like, as long as it's black").

'Brain Damage' is a return to form, or at least to some kind of unified message. As with so much of Pink Floyd's work, the spectre of Syd is hovering over this: the opening lines, The lunatic is on the grass, are both a chilling reminder of his fate and a tirade against conformity. Waters sings for the first time on the album, and his unique voice suits this piece better than Gilmour's or Wright's. Although he had sung on previous Floyd songs - like 'Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun' - he sounds more professional here. More confident as well. This song begins to tie up the themes of the album, returning to some form of empathy and reassurance after ranting against the 'virtues' of the world - and of course, introducing the mystical image of the dark side of the moon as a place of refuge for those who don't quite fit in with what the world expects of them.

'Eclipse' serves as a natural, favourably formed coda to close the album. The lyrics are one long list of reassurances from Waters about the human condition, again seeming to say: It's okay to feel this way. Musically, it sees the climax and coming together of all the ingredients for one last assault on the senses. It rises and rises more and more, becoming richer and brighter all the time until the final shimmering organ chord from Wright brings things slowly to an end. Soon the heartbeats start up again, the music fades out, and we are left with the immortal words of Abbey Road doorman Gerry O'Driscoll: "There is no dark side of the moon, really. Matter of fact it's all dark".

Writing about The Dark Side Of The Moon is a frustrating experience. There is almost nothing which can be said about it which is new, interesting or enlightening. Many claims made about it are becoming less and less contentious: it is one of the greatest albums of all time, in terms of sales and critical reception. It is a hugely significant cultural and musical milestone. It is a masterpiece of production. It is, in many ways, the epitome of Pink Floyd, with all four members working together and coming through with the goods. But one thing it is not is the greatest Floyd album. All the components of a great record are here, and the end result is a sumptuous delight, a thought-provoking, soul-searching three-quarters of an hour wrapped up in the language of arty pop songs. But as we shall soon discover, subsequent Floyd efforts took this formula further, consolidating and developing it into something equally memorable. Hence the best way to view The Dark Side Of The Moon is both as a milestone in its own right, and - more importantly - the foundation for every single one of the Floyd's subsequent creations.

4.00 out of 5

References
¹ Bill Werde, 'Floyd's 'Dark Side' Celebrates Chart Milestone' (May 5 2006), http://www.billboard.com/bbcom/news/article_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=1002463719. Accessed on August 20 2008.
² 'The Making of The Dark Side Of The Moon Part 1', http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jtj8she1mgg. Accessed on September 21 2008.

Top 100 Albums - #27: Quadrophenia (1973)

At number 27 is Quadrophenia, The Who's second rock opera and their penultimate entry on the chart.
Although Who's Next (1971) had become the band's most critically acclaimed album to date, Pete Townshend remained frustrated. The album had resulted from the collapse and termination of the Lifehouse project, an overambitious multimedia production designed to push the boundaries of rock and film to the limit. The project, which only Townshend ever fully understood, almost claimed his sanity. But The Who returned to the road in good spirits, touring the States over two legs through the remainder of 1971, and being dubbed 'The Greatest Show on Earth' by The Los Angeles Times.¹ By contrast, 1972 was a quiet year for the band. Townshend took six months off to reflect on the band's success, releasing a solo album, Who Came First, and two records dedicated to spiritual leader Meher Baba. Keith Moon's reputation for excess increased no end, punctuated only by his cameo in Frank Zappa's bizarre road movie, 200 Motels. While Roger Daltrey renovated his newly-bought Burwash estate and began recording his first solo album, Daltrey (1973), John Entwistle released Whistle Rhymes (1972) and began initial recordings for Rigor Mortis Sets In (1973). After playing to half a million people in Paris in August 1972, the band returned to the studio to begin recording Townshend's latest project, tentatively titled 'Jimmy'.²

Things don't start well. 'I Am The Sea' is 2-and-a-bit minutes of perfectly produced but rather unsettling sound effects. The sound of the waves may set the scene for this opera - just off the coast of Brighton - but the snippets of brass and echoed vocals that wash up are downright confusing. The success of 'Baba O'Riley' on Who's Next, with its long, radio-unfriendly intro, seems to have prompted Townshend to go further with his overtures. This time, it clearly hasn't worked. The overture to Tommy (1969) was crisp and clear - this is convoluted and bizarre.

Thankfully, this is soon rectified with 'The Real Me'. This is a hell of a track, kicking off with razor sharp guitar work from Townshend. Moon is on proper form, using every last inch of his already sumptuous kit to fill up the sound with fills where no other drummer would find the room. Entwistle is playful and jazzy, hinting at his later work with Alembics to create a wonderful, treble-ish melody. But the true highlight is Daltrey, whose range continues to grow while losing none of its raw power. On the contrary - at times here the energy coming off him as scary.

The title track, which segues in from 'The Real Me', completes the scene-setting as far as we are concerned. It is now clear that this is very different to Tommy; instead of some artistic fantasy, this is grittier, earthier and richer, exploring the often dark roots of the Mod movement which made The Who famous in the first place. The quadrophenia in question is a four-way split personality, to represent the four very different band members fighting under the single personality of The Who. Musically, this is a strange but elegant combination of synthesisers and acoustic, which actually works out quite well.

Having established our setting and the symbolic illness in question, our character can now step forward into the limelight. 'Cut My Hair' introduces us to Jimmy, the quadrophenic London Mod in question, stuck living with his uptight parents in an age of poverty and social change. Townshend takes lead on the verses, backed by smooth piano chords and Moon's ride cymbals. But on the chorus it is Moon and Daltrey all the way, with lines like Dressed right for a beach fight/ But I just can't explain being growled savagely. This song has good lyrics, but sharing them out has made it something of a hotch-potch. Some could say it symbolises the different sides of Jimmy, but if that were really the case, where are Moon and Entwistle?

No such fears abound on 'The Punk And The Godfather'. This bursts forth from the 6 O'Clock News with immense attitude and huge torque; the opening chords will cause you to turn your head as if a gun had fired closed behind. Daltrey is back on lead and is in swaggering form, delivering Townshend's lyrics with a sardonic snarl. His voice is still raw and savage, but his ability to crest high notes with sufficient force has improved no end since Live At Leeds (1970, #68). When things do quieten down, Townshend takes over, but soon Daltrey smashes back with his passionate OKAY! which greets the crowd of Mods dubbed in. This is brilliant stuff.

'I'm One' returns to Townshend and brings acoustic guitar to the fore. Because, or perhaps in spite of this, this is another very, very good song. The riff may be more ponderous and complex, but you're not fooling anyone if you say this is directionless. Even on the quiet opening section, before Moon's snare fires up, you can sense a hidden energy under Townshend's singing. The rest of the song is all Townshend, with Moon subdued but still magical, and the third verse is completely self-deprecating:

I got a Gibson without a case
But I can't get that even-tanned look on my face
Ill-fitting clothes, I blend in the crowd
Fingers too clumsy, voice too loud

After sufficient introspective musings, 'The Dirty Jobs' returns us properly to Jimmy, this time focussing on the dead-end world of working-class work. The synthesisers return to the foreground, and after what seems like a long absence, so does Entwistle. Our hero (or anti-hero) goes from feeding pigs to driving a bus-load of miners and a great deal besides, always being put down and pushed round, but always vowing not to sit and weep again. Daltrey captures this sense of defiance tinged with despair to a tee, and the whole group feels tight and agile. We also get the huge end section from about 3:39 onwards, which completes the package.

The first big slip-up on the album is 'Helpless Dancer', also known as 'Roger's Theme'. Townshend wanted to compose a theme for each of the four members, which is fine as an idea. But the execution of the idea in this case falls short. For a start, we get the same muffled brass section that we had on 'I Am The Sea', and the same oh-so-dramatic piano. Then the piano is reduced to loud, blunt minor chords, and Daltrey's rapid-fire vocals about frustration and identity are severely compromised by the tricksied-up production.

It's a good thing, then, that the next two songs make up for this. 'Is It In My Head?' is chock full of emotion. Here the piano is sweet and saddened, Daltrey is allowed to sing straight-face, and Moon is back with a vengeance. The lyrics describe the mental deterioration of Jimmy, as his addiction to amphetamines begin to mess with his mind and make him act completely out of character. This song is a symbol of what Townshend is capable of if he really concentrates - it's powerful, elegant, unpredictable and honest. As is 'I've Had Enough', for that matter. Moon and Daltrey lead as before, as the former beats the living daylights out his tom-toms in some spectacular fills, and the latter graces the top of his voice with a sense of wrath and cunning. Once again, Entwistle has to take a back seat, but otherwise this is fabulous. Daltrey's scream of LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE is the perfect way to end the first half.

The second half begins as tentatively as the first, with the sound of train doors closing. Then the opening chords of '5:15' begin and we launch longingly into the first truly amazing track on here. This is a riot in which all four members are wrestling for control in this section about Jimmy making the trip, in more ways than one, from London to Brighton (Out of my brain on the train). Townshend provides the jangly, dynamic guitars, Entwistle the intelligent horns and subtle bass lines, and Daltrey pushes himself still further with every passing lyric. But in truth, this song is all about Moon. From the first hit of the snare, you have a picture of him wheeling around the kit with a huge grin on his face. It shows so openly in his playing, lighting up the already-potent mix with an impish, rebellious charm, all the time keeping things tightly unpredictable. As we will see, there are many tracks which merit the title of tour de force, and this is surely one of them.

'Sea And Sand' finds Jimmy considering his future. Having been finally kicked out by his parents, he find himself in Brighton, and about to be caught up in the riots of 1965. But for the moment, all he can think of are his parents - who celebrated his eviction by getting drunk - and his perfect dresser girlfriend. This is a great opportunity for Townshend to let loose some more personal potshots, again being self-deprecating about his inability to dress like the 'Ace Face'. Musically, The Who are now fully into their stride, with rip-roaring riffs and toe-tapping drum beats. But now, at last, Entwistle's bass has been cranked back up to the deafening level that it was on 'The Real Me'.

'Drowned' is a big duffer, I'm afraid. The piano which accompanies Townshend at the start is just too twinkling and sanitised. This taints the rest of the sound, which isn't helped by the fact that his lyrics come up short too (I'm travelling down cold metal/ Just a tear in a baby's eye? Come on.). This doesn't feel like a thoroughbred Who song at all. It feels like a sub-standard piece of 1970s piano rock with Keith's part from another song dubbed over it.

Speaking of Keith, we know get back on track with 'Keith's Theme' - 'Bell Boy'. Thanks to Moon's wonderful drumming and tongue-in-cheek vocals, this would become a huge live favourite, as seen on the film from Charlton Football Ground in 1974.³ Moon may not be a singer at heart, but he knows a thing or two about comedy characters and timing, going from the loud-mouthed ex-Ace Face to tender boy wonder and back again. The others are on similar form, particularly Townshend who has finally made the synthesisers blend with The Who's sound as well as they did on Who's Next.

'Doctor Jimmy' is the longest track here, at 8:36. This is partially because it incorporates 'John's Theme', a.k.a. 'Is It Me For A Moment?'. We have heard snippets of it before, but here it is in full, sandwiched with no hint of awkwardness between two fiery salvos from Roger Daltrey. In a flash, all the playfulness of 'Bell Boy' is gone, blown away by the sea breeze at the start of the track. The band start muted, but soon they build, like Jimmy's fury, into something enormous. Daltrey and Jimmy become one huge, angry visceral young man, spitting out lines like insults and retorts made in mid-fight with a Rocker. The chorus is Townshend at his most vitriolic:

What is it?
I'll take it
Who is she?
I'll rape it
Got a bed there?
I'll need it
Getting high?
You can't beat it

It's the last two tracks, though, where things get really good. 'The Rock', which interpolates from 'Doctor Jimmy', is on first impression just a reworking of the title track. The riffs are similar, the tempo is the same, and the time signature is the same. But after the first 13 seconds have passed, all idea of retreading old ground evaporates as Moon comes along and takes control. He famously hated drum solos, and this certainly isn't one. What it is is a wonderful instrumental interplay between drums and guitar, chronicalling Jimmy's journey (or 'trip') to an island off Brighton in a lonely motor boat. Townshend's Les Paul sings out sadly and seriously in the silence that is the middle section, but throughout this is counter-balanced by Keith's endless invention and creative appetite. Any other drummer asked to play along with this would have created something pedestrian - but Keith moves with Townshend, teasing the listener and again making you smile, not just in laughter but in reverence at how euphorically he is playing.

If you want real euphoria though, you want 'Love, Reign O'er Me'. It opens with the distinctive, heavenly piano chords, which thunder down through the pouring rain right into the heart of the listener. Here we end as we began, with Jimmy alone on Brighton Rock, watching his life flash before his eyes, wondering what it all means and who he really is. Townshend surpasses everyone's expectations - including his own - on his 'Theme', and not just on the ethereal opening. After so many snippets of themes and riffs which served to confuse the listener before, here it all comes together; the synthesisers provide the violin-esque backdrop as Daltrey (and Jimmy) bears his soul. And boy, does Daltrey respond, capturing the essence of Townshend's lyrics about empathy and introspection and turning them into one of the greatest love songs ever written. It is never clear whom he is delivering this song to - God, his lover, his parents, the other parts of himself - but what is always clear is that he means it. If the rest of the album made you confused and frustrated, this will give you a deep, spiritual thrill which deepens every time you hear it.

While it may not have translated all that well to the live circuit, there is no doubt that Quadrophenia is a proper Who album, if not the definitive Who album. There is so much in the way of substance on offer, whether in the gnarled, gritty realism of Townshend's London, or in the deep, soul-inspiring poetry which he conjures up in the midst of this. This is certainly superior to Tommy, not because it is more realistic, but because the narrative is never allowed to excessively interfere with the music. While on Tommy we had to put up with songs like 'Miracle Cure' and 'Tommy's Holiday Camp' for the sake of continuity, here the narrative is allowed to weave in and out of the concept as it sees fit. This creates a more exciting, more all-rounded result, still uneven in places but that is the nature of rock opera. Cited by Townshend as the pinacle of The Who's achievements on record, it still stands today as one of the most compelling, intriguing, and thrilling albums of the 1970s. Anyone who cares even faintly about music should own it.

3.94 out of 5

References

¹ Robert Hilburn, quoted in Andy Neill & Matt Kent, Anyway Anyhow Anywhere: The Complete Chronicle of The Who, 1958-1978 (London: Virgin Books, 2007), p.276.
² Pete Townshend, quoted in Roy Carr, 'Pete Townshend: Who Came First', NME, October 7 1972 - cited in Neill & Kent, Anyway Anyhow Anywhere, p.313.
³ http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=jsFKWGlrze0. Accessed on August 30 2008.

Top 100 Albums - #56: Aladdin Sane (1973)

Bowie's sixth and penultimate entry is Aladdin Sane, the follow-up to The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars (1972) and the closing chapter of his glam rock phase.Ziggy Stardust, both the album and the personality, had turned Bowie into a glam rock superstar. Having had some small flirtations with fame in the three years preceding - 'Space Oddity' and 'The Man Who Sold The World' being singles highlights - he had until now remained a kooky figure, sought after by producers but on the commercial sidelines. Ziggy Stardust changed that, producing five hit singles and a series of extravagant, sell-out tours, featuring Bowie in his now-trademark red hair and androgynous, flared outfits. Between tours, Bowie turned producer on Transformer (1972) - Lou Reed's solo breakthrough - and The Stooges' Raw Power (1972), both artists being icons of Bowie. After frenetic touring, the Spiders from Mars finally returned to the studio after Christmas.

'Watch That Man' kicks the album off. It's a great guitar-driven glam rock song in the same vein as 'Suffragette City'. It sounds very similar in its pattern of verses and choruses, and Bowie's delivery is almost identical. Then again, it is supposed to, being the sequel to Ziggy Stardust (albeit without a storyline). Plus, there is some stylish piano from guest Mike Garson, and the female vocals stand very well with the harder, rockier sound.

Having disposed in a single track of all the folk-induced whimsy he had acquired over the past two years, Bowie changes gear on the title track. 'Aladdin Sane (1913-1938-197?)' may have one of the strangest (full) titles in the business - outside of psychedelic music, that is. The dates in the title refer to Bowie's belief in an impending World War III (the character is 'born' before both WWI and WWII). This is slower, more piano-driven and features some lovely saxophone, played by Brian Wilshaw. In the instrumental section, both combine alternately to produce an excellent piece of avant-garde jazz. The witty title disguises the increasingly unhinged nature of Bowie's lyrics, to the extent that you feel like he is singing about himself.

However masterful these changes of direction may be, they are put to shame by the next track. 'Drive-In Saturday' is a tribute to Bowie's taste for strange concepts driven by the lyrics. The words depict a world where people are having to learn to have sex again by watching old pornography. It's a piece of 'futuristic nostalgia', that is, people in the future longing for the past (presumably, it was an influence on ELO, whose album Time (1981) addresses the same themes). But the success, or brilliance, of this song, does not have to come with an understanding of the lyrics; you can sit there and not comprehend a word Bowie is saying, and yet the chord progression will reel you in. It's a staggering song, jazzy, pop-worthy but also of so much substance.

'Panic In Detroit' is a big step backward on the album. As its title suggests, it is much closer to American rock of the time, and as a result all of Bowie's English charm is drowned out by distortion. The lyrics are as indiscernable as they are uncompelling. Sure, it manages to create a nice rhythm, leading to you to nod your head: but it's bottom heavy, there is nothing coming from Bowie to bolster and conflict with the armour-plated Spiders From Mars.

'Cracked Actor' is, to be perfectly honest, rubbish. It's a combined rip-off of The Rolling Stones (guitars and boring drums) and Bob Dylan (terrible harmonica), while Bowie gurns his lines about an ageing film star having a homosexual encounter. If you can bear this long enough to peer through the pea soup, you might be surprised by its quality. Most, however, will be too frustrated to care because of this song's complacency.

Such blemishes aside, 'Time' is a good way to get the album back on track. While perhaps not as famous as its namesake (released a month earlier by a certain band), it does feature some great lyrics. The most celebrated, Time... falls wanking to the floor serves to intrigue only, while in general they provide a beeline to Bowie's motivation, desiring to change with mind of his impending end. The sniper in the brain/... incestuous and vain provides a fairly good example of this. Where the music is concerned, Garson's piano is thunderous and atmospheric, and Mick Ronson's guitar tragedian, producing a song that would have sat just as well on Diamond Dogs (1974).

'The Prettiest Star' is a trashy, thrashy, self-indulgent piece of nonsense. It's a relic of 1960s doo-wop with its 'bah, bah' backing vocals, with contemporary guitar shoved over the top in an attempt to continue the album's style. Not only that, but it's not original to the album - the single was an unsuccessful follow-up to 'Space Oddity' in 1970, which featured Marc 'T.Rex' Bolan on guitar. It's as if Bowie was so short on time that he just picked the most convenient sounding item out of his back catalogue and shoved it inbetween two throughly decent songs. (The stripped-down acoustic version, found on The Platinum Collection (2005), is a mild improvement).

Maybe "thoroughly decent" is underdoing it. 'Let's Spend The Night Together' is a cover, from The Rolling Stones, so it already has the flavour of the album. But this is miles better than the Stones version. While that was just a snail's-pace R&B workout with lazy work from Mick Jagger, this is a high-speed, high-octane rampage which tears apart your ears and then reassembles them as you jive away. It throws you around the room with the jaunty piano, Ronson's loud distortion acting as a plunger on a stack of dynamite. Mike Woodmansey's work on the drums is brilliant, and with Bowie on the best of form the four-piece create a piece of musical ecstacy.

'The Jean Genie', the first single to be culled from the album, is billed as a combination of the R&B hooks of The Yardbirds with the "stylised sleaze" of The Velvet Underground.¹ It features a great riff, executed to perfection by Ronson, and for once the harmonica part on the record doesn't make your toes curl so much that they end up on the other side of your heels. It's a great, thundery piece of pop rock, including a very melodic bass line, something which most pop is without.

What a shame then, that on this most divisive of albums, Bowie chooses to end with something as stupid as 'Lady Grinning Soul'. This song's comparison with a Bond theme (and the similarities are obvious) don't serve to elevate it; instead it is reduced to cult status for some, mediocrity for the rest. It drags Bowie down to the same level as Duran Duran and, for heaven's sake, Madonna. Who the hell wants to bracketed alongside them?! To take a more objective criticm, the production is terribly skewed towards the Franz Liszt-induced piano, drowning Bowie out at almost every turn.

Bowie described Aladdin Sane as "Ziggy goes to America", on account of the fact that all the songs were written while the band was on the road.² That might help to explain both why the album was very popular in America, and why the press have always been in two minds about it. For some, it is a great departure from the glam rock era; for others, it is an album with style but no substance, the musical equivalent of David Cameron. The best way to pass judgement on it is to compare it with its predecessor. The character may be effectively the same, but Aladdin Sane has no overlying concept - it's not a rock opera. But it's better than Ziggy Stardust because musically it has a lot more substance and variety, even at the cost of being a more united album. It may not have a concept, but then the storyline on Ziggy Stardust was so convoluted that it became lost in the melody. Here, the melody is within set boundaries which allow the lyrics to burst forth and create something a lot more memorable, and a lot more enduring.

3.80 out of 5

References

¹ Roy Carr & Charles Shaar Murray, Bowie: An Illustrated Record (London: Avon Books, 1981), p.52 - cited in 'The Jean Genie', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Jean_Genie. Accessed on December 9 2007.

² Nicholas Pegg, The Complete David Bowie (London: Reynolds & Hearn, 2000), pp.281-3 - cited in 'Aladdin Sane', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aladdin_Sane. Accessed on December 8 2007.