I remember when I first heard that David Bowie had died. I was half-listening to the radio as I prepared for work. I was stunned. I just looked at my partner. To my surprise, a tear ran down my cheek. I had always been rather sniffy about people who got emotional when famous people died, people, they had never met, who had never heard of them, who had lived lives of wealth. But, as we drove to work in silence, there was real grief in the car. Bowie was gone.
Bowie had always been in my life. It was a single of his that introduced me to the power of vinyl. “The Laughing Gnome” (1967) may now be regarded as a cringe-worthy novelty record, but when I was 5, it was magic.
The color and spectacle of glam followed, and Bowie, with Ziggy, hooked me. As my friends matured and got into “serious” music, I stayed with Glam, with Bowie.
Then punk exploded. Much of that so-called serious music was now derided. Bowie wasn’t. He could match the experimentalism of post-punk with his Berlin trilogy. As the RCA advertising slogan so neatly put it: “There’s Old Wave. There’s New Wave. And there’s David Bowie.”
I painted the Aladdin Sane flash on my cupboard doors. Decades later, it’s still there. The ghost of Bowie still has a presence in my childhood bedroom.
Following Let’s Dance (1983), Bowie went through a decline in quality, but I remained loyal when others didn’t. The Buddha of Suburbia OST (1993) signaled a return to form, followed by the seriously under-rated trilogy of Outside (1995), Earthling (1997), and Hours (1999). Then came Heathen in 2003: David Bowie—my David Bowie—was back.
Denne historien er fra January 2021-utgaven av Stereophile.
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Denne historien er fra January 2021-utgaven av Stereophile.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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My last Far East trip
First comes the anticipation, that initial jet of warm water, that miraculous searching, finding the sweet spot, then heaven on earth as it cleans and caresses.
Riding the Common Wave
In the e-commerce era, brick-and-mortar dealerships must give customers compelling reasons to stop by. Los Angeles hi-fi dealership Common Wave's owner Wesley Katzir keeps customers coming through the door with a simple idea: that music matters in our everyday lives and that what he enjoys, other people will enjoy, too.
Mind Games to the bottom of the rabbit hole
After a wild decade in the biggest pop music group ever, John Lennon's post-Beatles years were spent in protest, in various kinds of therapy, in immigration court, and in search of a new musical identity.
Trane meets the Motor City
Detroit became a destination for migrating African Americans early, starting with the Underground Railroad; the city's proximity to Canada was convenient for those seeking to escape Southern slavery.
Vital art never rests
At this late date, it seems impossible that there could still be \"lost\" albums lingering in the vaults by musicians as important and successful as Johnny Cash and Paul McCartney.
DUKE IN 10
TO COMMEMORATE THE 50TH ANNIVERSARY OF DUKE'S DEATH, ROBERT BAIRD SELECTS A DOUBLE HANDFUL OF EXEMPLARY TRACKS FROM PERHAPS AMERICA'S GREATEST MUSICAL GENIUS.
Piega Coax Gen2 811
It's funny how we discover some music in unexpected, twisting ways.
Pass Laboratories XP-27
One of the pleasures of reviewing-and also using-products from Pass Laboratories is an encounter with Nelson Pass's writing, which can usually be found in the owner's manual and is always competent, insightful, and sometimes funny.
EMT 928 II
Modern turntables are a paradox.
Dynaudio Contour 30i
Ah, Denmark. Land of the Vikings and blue-eyed, blond-haired folk with faces sculpted just so.
