David Bowie
Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust

David Bowie: Rise And Fall of Ziggy Stardust (1972)

After the space folk—a mix between Donovan-Dylan-Barrett—of "Space Oddity" (1st LP), Bowie’s titanic climb to fame began with "The Man Who Sold the World" (1971)—a sulphurous metallic/electronic album, possibly one of his best works ever... If you get the chance, give it a listen; it sounds like a hallucinated Dylan singing to a slightly classier Black Sabbath tune. Bowie had to personally buy thousands of unsold copies to avoid a breakdown. Our man’s compositional schizophrenia starts here, passes through the fricative pop art-lounge of "Hunky Dory" (1972), and reaches its peak with the sci-fi/comic Hollywood of "Ziggy Stardust" and the Spiders from Mars, inspired by the more or less true story of a '50s rock star. The arrangements are done by Bowie's George Martin, Ken Scott, with the violent and honeyed guitars of Mick Ronson, Bowie's voice at its most narcissistic, almost adolescent and annoying, a mixed medley of Neil Sedaka's adenoids (oh yes! Listen and you’ll see, after all, he liked Tony Newley) and the noses of Dylan and Lennon:

Five Years opens the science fiction rock opera with a waltz-like rhythm grafted onto a classic '50s slow... it turns into a funeral dirge: five years until the end of the world, and Ziggy is arriving on Earth as a leprous messiah for the adoring crowds. The protagonist—watches the people in supermarkets, the policemen, the kids, and his girl who sips milkshakes all alone— (Oh, if only an Italian band from the '70s had these poetic licenses, imagine the criticism of populism...).

To accentuate the alien effect, Bowie's voice is doubled with octaved reverb, an effect he would reuse on several songs, up to "Ashes to Ashes," and I believe the forerunner was Barrett again with P.Floyd on The Gnome.

Guitars and the glissando of strings close the thunderous, emotive, and well-acted crooning of Five Years, followed by the delightful Soul Love, a samba ballad with beatlesque melodies. Then there’s Moonage Daydream which expands on Bolan's glam-space ballads with Mick Ronson to whom credit is due for the dreamy final solo with a supersaturated guitar note—a precursor to Heroes—seasoned with psion-violins glissando like Fool on the Hill by the Beatles. Outstanding is the lennon-esque Starman—that Star----meeeen sounds so Beatles but so Beatles that I’m tempted to believe there was a snippet from the opening verse of Got to Get into My Life... Well, anyway, hats off for the invention); then follows a cover of the gospel blues It Ain’t Easy which leaves me a little puzzled as a choice, what does it have to do with it? Side B of the vinyl, which sounds better than the CD: I had a vinyl of Ziggy that sounded so good...: Soundtrack of a French movie teen comedy opening with Lady Stardust, dedicated to Bolan, then the dizzying rock'n'rolls of Hang On To Yourself—good test, almost pre-punk —, the self-aggrandizing Star—the title track Ziggy Stardust—was wickedly redone by Bauhaus—the street-rock of Suffragette City and the self-destructive-titanic ending of Rock'n Roll Suicide.

Compared to other concept albums of the time, "Ziggy Stardust" is so theatrical that in the end it's unclear if Bowie is serious or just playing a part, but it is so thrilling "to play the part". Theater, mime, platforms, Hollywood costumes, up to the La Roche makeup for the Aladin Sane cover: the tours consecrate Bowie as the most futuristic and multimedia rock star, always ahead of his time. And through rock, doors would open to cinema, the Diamond Dogs musical, disco music with Moroder, the first new-wave with Eno, music videos... Mick Ronson would pursue a solo career and make two cover versions of Italian songs, Battisti's Io vorrei non vorrei ma se vuoi and Baglioni's Io me ne andrei. Listen and enjoy!

A lamentable note on our Starman "accustomed" to spaceships: on tour, he only traveled by train or ship because he was afraid of flying! (sic) Unfortunately, after so much stardust, a negative note must be made, and this is the right place: Bowie of the '80s ended up burying the beautiful things of the '70s, in wanting to chase, from "Scary Monsters" onwards, all trends at all costs just for being a pop star, and not finding peace—even at the cost of clumsy slips of style, until recycling in the most vulgar techno, in rapping with Mickey Rourke and then calling who knows, even Andrea Mingardi (!)—on the horrid "Never Let Me Down"—, until abandoning halfway through a concert in Italy in the '90s due to a sparse audience... English Style or Zero Style, Who knows!: and then I say, but how the hell can you at sixty plus agree to go to the squalid show of Adriano Celentano and set up a senseless dialogue between the deaf on world issues with a final altercation...

Ziggy has passed, waiting in the sky, and down here remains his mythical costume, the one on the cover... You can see it at the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame and Museum in Cleveland... or at my house; I act as guide —only women allowed given the character—where along with the Sgt. Pepper costumes bought at a sale, I have a copy of Ziggy’s silver python which I used to perform at a village carnival years ago. Sic transit gloria mundi.

 

Valerio Rivoli