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Rating: The beginning of David Bowie's golden era is often marked by the release of best-sellers like "Hunky Dory" (1971) and especially "The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars" (1972). In reality, the maturation of our chameleon had already begun with the forgotten classic "The Man Who Sold The World" (1970).
Having definitively distanced himself from the music hall influence of Anthony Newley that characterized his derivative beginnings, Bowie let the trip-acid-acoustic of "Space Oddity" ferment, formed a band, and with it decided to create a new sound, a new approach to new music.
He could not foresee the incredible results that his newborn collaboration with Mick Ronson would bring, nor could he predict his musical destiny; he only knew this was one of the last attempts he had to finally forge the personal and autonomous style he had been trying to achieve for years. Commercially, the work was a partial failure, not only due to the almost absent commercial appeal of these nine substantial tracks but also because of the lack of a true chart-topping "hit single." Given the artist's talent even in composing more mainstream pieces, we can deduce that at this moment Bowie's interest was completely absorbed by the effort to develop his own solid artistic dignity. Laying the foundations not only for his subsequent evolutions but also for much of the future developments of modern rock, the album not only meets expectations but ends up becoming the "proto" album par excellence: we can identify proto-metal, proto-glam, proto-grunge germs (not just in the title track covered by Cobain), proto-punk, proto-new wave etc., along with an original absorption of the insights of the previous period (a deformed crossover between the Beatles, Cream, Kinks, Velvet Underground, Jimi Hendrix, Donovan, and something magical unknown to us).
Thus, a truly seminal album is born, whose purpose of existence—as it is not yet complete in itself—lies precisely in this function of generational input. A young artist finally offers us a new perspective from which to view the world, light-years away from that of the flower children (which he will help to fade) and that of Elvis's children. A magnifying glass that introduces us lucidly into a new more introspective vision, where what is strange, ambiguous, bizarre, alienating finally reigns.
A post-modern universe that will mark us all and begins to be traversed in these first inexperienced journeys, sitting on the ground under the influence of drugs, or swaying between car rides in the English countryside, the same one recently traversed by the Fab Four's Magical Mystery Bus.
Bowie appropriates the collective desire for freedom and emancipation of the "Summer Of Love" to reflect it back onto the individual, onto their ancient repressions. Thus, the sense of modesty is abandoned, now free to confess, indeed shout our paranoias, fetishes, our most murky joys. It is here that David Bowie delineates a gap, dividing him from a past he is nonetheless grateful for but cannot truly call his own. And no one will remain indifferent in front of a cover depicting the singer dressed as a woman (proto-N.Y. Dolls?) who, slumped on a bed, plays cards with the fate of the world. The amazement for an unprecedented artwork does not, of course, fade in the face of the record itself, wrapped in its own powerful sound, enriched by Ralph Mace's synthesizers and excellently produced by Tony Visconti with an atmosphere of almost gothic-fairy-tale rock-opera. The pieces, one after another, undergo the fascinating torments of the leader, and his distorted, shrill, painful, and ringing voice is curious and excited like never again in the future. The band, for its part, knows how to weave melodic embroidery with rare skill: it has the ability to take us in a few minutes from grotesque and sarcastic tones, so sharp and true that they intimidate the tender hippies of the time, to more intimate ones that almost move us.
But here, there is not only skill or professionalism; there is an excited group discovering and bringing to light its identity, as men and musicians (they will be the future Spiders From Mars), and each member seems to contribute to the devastating emotional success of the tracks.
If you will allow me, I will skip the description of the individual tracks because this is one of those works that must be unwrapped alone, gradually discovering the beauty of the surprise, smiling as you find in some wonderful sketches the embryo of one of your favorite classics of future glam, plastic-soul, or Berlin phases, or something else entirely. But you might also fall in love at first sight with one of these gems, renouncing a Bowie must-have that you thought was unbeatable. One thing is for sure: whether you are enthusiastic or disappointed, there are no replicas of "The Man Who Sold The World": it is an album that has been imitated and updated endlessly but never repeated, never recreated in its perpetual, insane freshness. Here a 23-year-old has become aware of the means necessary to create his longed-for new music: now he will only have to take possession of it.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 The Width of a Circle (08:09)
In the corner of the morning in the past
I would sit and blame the master first and last
All the roads were straight and narrow
And the prayers were small and yellow
And the rumour spread that I was aging fast
Then I ran across a monster who was sleeping
By a tree.
And I looked and frowned and the monster was me.
Well, I said hello and I said hello
And I asked "Why not?" and I replied "I don't know."
So we asked a simple black bird, who was happy as can be
And he laughed insane and quipped "KAHLIL GIBRAN"
So I cried for all the others till the day was nearly through
For I realized that God's a young man too
So I said "So long" and I waved "Bye-bye"
And I smashed my soul and traded my mind
Got laid by a young bordello.
I was vaguely half asleep,
For which my reputation swept back home in drag
And the moral of this magic spell
Negotiates my hide
When God did take my logic for a ride
(Riding along)
He swallowed his pride and puckered his lips
And showed me the leather belt round his hips
My knees were shaking my cheeks aflame
He said "You'll never go down to the Gods again"
(Turn around,go back!)
He struck the ground a cavern appeared
And I smelt the burning pit of fear
We crashed a thousand yards below
I said "Do it again, do it again"
(Turn around,go back!)
His nebulous body swayed above
His tongue swollen with devil's love
The snake and I, a venom high
I said "Do it again, do it again"
(Turn around, go back!)
Breathe, breathe, breathe deeply
And I was seething, breathing deeply
Spitting sentry, horned and tailed
Waiting for you
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
02 All the Madmen (05:41)
Day after day.
They send my friends away
To mansions cold and grey
To the far side of town
Where the thin men stalk the streets
While the sane stay underground.
Day after day.
They tell me I can go
They tell me I can blow
To the far side of town
Where it's pointless to be high
'Cause it's such a long way down
So I tell them that.
I can fly, I will scream, I will break my arm
I will do me harm.
Here I stand, foot in hand, talking to my wall
I'm not quite right at all...am I?
Don't set me free, I'm as heavy as can be
Just my librium and me
And my E.S.T. makes three
'Cause I'd rather stay here
With all the madmen
Than perish with the sadmen roaming free
And I'd rather play here
With all the madmen
For I'm quite content they're all as sane
As me
(Where can the horizon lie
When a nation hides
Its organic minds
In a cellar...dark and grim
They must be very dim)
Day after day
They take some brain away
Then turn my face around
To the far side of town
And tell me that it's real
Then ask me how I feel
Here I stand, foot in hand, talking to my wall
I'm not quite right at all
Don't set me free, I'm as helpless as can be
My libido's split on me
Gimme some good 'ole lobotomy
'Cause I'd rather stay here
With all the madmen
Than perish with the sadmen
Roaming free
And I'd rather play here
With all the madmen
For I'm quite content
They're all as sane as me.
Zane, Zane, Zane
Ouvre le Chien
06 Saviour Machine (04:29)
President Joe once had a dream
The world held his hand, gave their pledge
So he told them his scheme for a Saviour Machine
They called it the Prayer, its answer was law
Its logic stopped war, gave them food,
How they adored till it cried in its boredom,
'Please don't believe in me, please disagree with me
Life is too easy, a plague seems quite feasible now,
or maybe a war, or I may kill you all.
Don't let me stay, don't let me stay.
My logic says burn so send me away
Your minds are too green, I despise all I've seen
You can't stake your lives on a Saviour Machine
I need you flying, and I'll show that dying
Is living beyond reason, sacred dimension of time
I perceive every sign, I can steal every mind
Don't let me stay, don't let me stay
My logic says burn so send me away
Your minds are too green, I despise all I've seen
You can't stake your lives on a Saviour Machine.
08 The Man Who Sold the World (04:00)
We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when
Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend
Which came as some surprise I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone, a long long time ago
Oh no, not me
I never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man Who Sold The World
I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home
I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed
I gazed a gazeless stare and all the millions here
We must have died along, a long long time ago
Who knows? not me
We never lost control
You're face to face
With the Man who Sold the World
09 The Supermen (03:42)
When all the world was very young
And mountain magic heavy hung
The supermen would walk in file
Guardians of a loveless isle
And gloomy browed with superfear their tragic endless lives
Could heave nor sigh
In solemn, perverse serenity, wondrous beings chained to life
Strange games they would play then
No death for the perfect men
Life rolls into one for them
So softly a supergod cries
Where all were minds in uni-thought
Power weird by mystics taught
No pain, no joy, no power too great
Colossal strength to grasp a fate
Where sad-eyed mermen tossed in slumbers
Nightmare dreams no mortal mind could hold
A man would tear his brother's flesh, a chance to die
To turn to mold.
Far out in the red-sky
Far out from the sad eyes
Strange, mad celebration
So softly a supergod cries
Far out in the red-sky
Far out from the sad eyes
Strange, mad celebration
So softly a supergod dies
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