David Bowie's "Young Americans"
Album Review

Title: Young Americans: The Birth of David Bowie and the Death of Glam

Almost uniquely, Bowie succeeded where his peers failed. Conquering new markets as well as new styles

Bowie's transmogrification from mulleted glam alien to soulful crooner on Young Americans represents his first genuine stylistic experiment, and first real career risk. It was a risk which paid off spectacularly. While many of his peers were falling by the wayside, Young Americans spawned Bowie's first US No. 1 hit and secured him among the first white musicians featured on Soul Train. It today remains one of his best selling albums.

The commercial reception of such a dramatic shift fundamentally shaped Bowie's artistic identity over the next two decades. This first intoxicating taste of true international superstardom, complete with surreal televised Cher duet, gave him the confidence to coolly reject fame and freely experiment. However, it came with the neurotic expectation that these highs should be recaptured as he pleased. It is the tension between these instincts which characterise Bowie from 1975: the emergence of a figure to whom all genres must capitulate, sometimes for the cause of popular enlightenment and sometimes seeking only popular adulation. A figure both we respect and gently mock for all of his glorious, and at times embarrassing, iterations. That Bowie was born not in Brixton, nor even on Mars, but rather after a re-baptism into the church of blue-eyed (though heterochromatic) soul.

The mid 70s was awash with British artists flirting with such African-American influences to pretty woeful effect. An particularly illustrative example is Marc Bolan's band "T-Rex". Bolan was in many ways the godfather of the Glam alongside Bowie. "Fathering" may very well be the most apposite verb here, as in the 60s Marc and David both shared a flat together and Bolan claims at one point they were even going to get married! They talked about their dreams of becoming stars, while getting nowhere because of their shared insterest in childish folky nonsense at the beginning of their careers. Bowie's weird 1967 debut is a long way from glam, and Bolan's early meanderings with bongo player Micky Finn are amusing and effective but lacking. Both careers until 1970 had minor hits (Space oddity and Deborah being the biggest respectively) but it wasn't until Bolan released "Ride A White Swan" in 1970 that it was clear something interesting was happening. This was the first time that Bolan had plugged in an "gone electric" like his idol Bob Dylan. It was a big hit, reaching number 2 in the UK. It contains many of the basic elements which seem to characterise glam in miniature. A sort of flamboyance combined with trashiness. The same year Bolan helped Bowie with a single called "The Prettiest Star" (later to be re-recorded and featured on 1973's Aladdin Sane record). However forgotten now (as then), it was probably the first truly unalloyed glam release.

The follow up would be the moment where glam arrived unambiguously. Donning shiny overalls, in 1971, Bolan got on Top of the Pops to sing UK No. 1 "Hot Love." This moment marked the beginning of the Glam era. Soon Bolan would release the wonderful "Electric Warrior" album, chock full of energetic boogie-infused glam fun and other monster singles like "Get it on" and "Jeepster". Bowie would also release his Glam debut the same year with "Hunky Dory." with resounding glammy classics like "Life on Mars" and "Changes." 1972 saw Bolan's biggest year. He was touted as "bigger than the Beatles." He secured two more No. 1s in the form of "Metal Guru" and "Telegram Sam" (which was basically the same song as Get it On but with a different chorus: its still great) It was also the year of Ziggy Stardust: the record which stands today as the definitive glam statement. Indulgent, colourful and youthful. I would say that peak glam (in terms of market saturation) was probably in 1973. Slade, Queen, Elton John and millions of lesser acts like David Essex and Garry Glitter were all getting in on it. In America, not so much. They didn't really take to the whole aesthetic over there. I have heard it claimed that this is because they didn't have the whole British music-hall culture predating there beforehand, making the public at least having some folk-memory of male performers wearing makeup.

1973 also saw the beginning of the decline, or at least stagnation, of Bolan. While the year did have some big hits: "Children of the Revolution" (another reworking of a previous song "Builk Makane") and the tremendous bolt of lightning "20th Century Boy" there were no number ones. The record released that year "Tanx" had no singles and sold well, but again only got to number 3. Bolan, who foresaw the emergence of glam, also seemed to foresee its decline.

1974 was where things were really layed out in the open. Bowie's "Diamond Dogs" record that year was a weird mix of glam and

first appeared on top of the pops donning

Glam Rock. In '74 a bigger star than Bowie, had seen their own dalliances with the ridiculously titled Zinc Alloy and the Hidden Riders of Tomorrow, torpedo their chart prospects.

That figure we both respect and tut-tut for his endless quest for the hip was fully born not in Brixton but Philadelphia; the product of his successful re-baptism into the church of blue-eyed - or, maybe, heterochromatic-eyed soul. While his peers were falling by the wayside, Young Americans spawned his first US No. 1, secured him as one of the first white artists featured on Soul Train, and stood as his best-selling album to date. It was this first forbidden sip of true superstardom, complete with surreal televised Cher duet, which would give him the confidence for his most experimental highs (Low, Earthling) and neuroticism for his most simpering lows (Tonight, Never Let Me Down).

It represents the complicated relationship Bowie would have between

The mid 70s was awash with British artists flirting with such African-American influences to pretty woeful effect. An particularly illustrative example is Marc Bolan's T-Rex. Pertinent because Bolan, along with Bowie, was in many ways the godfather of the genre which influenced so much British music of the early 1970s: Glam.

and in '74 a bigger star than Bowie, had seen their own dalliances with the ridiculously titled Zinc Alloy and the Hidden Riders of Tomorrow, torpedo their chart prospects.

album is an entertaining if baffling soul reinterpretation of Bolan's boogie-glam formula.

Self-produced, self-indulgent and self-destructive, Marc named his new pioneering style "Interstellar Supersoul" - which apparently consisted of layering each syncopated stab of guitar with a veritable orchestra, and especially maniacal songwriting. His wife Gloria Jones, who recorded the original Tainted Love, is about the only American on the record. Maybe interstellar supersoul sees no borders, but it would appear the public disagreed. Bolan bombed like all such British dilettantes of the period: Elton John, George Harrison, the list goes on.

Bowie in contrast, and almost uniquely, went all in: the look, the songs, the band, everything. The change in look was sudden: in late 1974, Lurid overalls and anti-establishment hairdo switched overnight to white polyester suits and slick side-parted coiffure. The musical change was more gradual. In 1973's Aladdin Sane, while looked exactly like Ziggy, Americana was seeping in. The album was jazzier, bluesier and doo-wopier than its self-consciously English predecessor. For now, these were genres British artists had been trading in for years, and was buying into the New York Dolls, Lou Reed form of glam more than daring genre mixing.

While the following Diamond Dogs album has definite soul influences in the form of shaft-style wah, electric pianos, and crooning vocals - it too remained fundamentally a glam project. Its has striking similarities to Zinc Alloy: newly self-produced, certainly self-indulgent, Bowie risked dabbling. Like Bolan's effort, I have a misguided appreciation for how schizophrenic it is, but it's obvious why sales-wise it was a step down from the more focused Aladdin Sane. Funky cuts like 1984 feel questionable in a Bolan kind of way, and correspondingly sank commercially. Contrastingly, the elements which retained an unalloyed glam feel, like the immortal centrepiece, Rebel Rebel, were big hits.

Bowie's nerve held, however. Ziggy may have "Gone to America" in '73, but it wasn't until late '74 David Jones truly followed. The full move only really took place during the Diamond Dogs tour. The first leg in July already had the new look, and the songs had a new plastic sheen over them, though they were still played by the original Diamond Dogs band. Quite a band, with names like Herbie Flowers on Bass and Earl Slick on guitar, but hardly genre authentic.

During a one month break in August, during which began recording of 1975's Young Americans in Philadelphia, the metamorphosis continued and much of the band was replaced with dyed-in-the-wool soul musicians. Carlos Alomar was now on guitar, coming from the Apollo Theatre house band. The gospel-tinged backing vocals, which became gradually more prominent during the tour (the number of singers tripling), were arranged by a young Luther Vandross. Songs to be on Young Americans were folded into the set, purpose-designed for the new soul image, as opposed to the awkwardly funked-up adaptations of previous hits.

The shows themselves, for a time, continued to be a theatrical bonanza characteristic of glam excess - including giant hands bespectacled with light-bulbs and temperamental motorised bridges (Bowie tended to get stuck over the audience while singing Moonage Daydream). By October however, the chrysalis had completely burst open: the elaborate staging was scrapped, the band finalised (Dennis Davis now on drums) and the tour re-branded as "The Soul Tour." This new "Soul Man" persona was the true first in, and set the archetype for, a career defined by image makeovers.

While nowadays I think most people look back on this particular transition as positive in the long run, if only for incubating the critically adored Station to Station from 1976. Its fair to say that musically, the first result of Young Americans remains slightly more divisive. For me on the other hand, despite its admittedly patchy track listing and preponderance of sax, Young Americans may just be my most played Bowie record. While its quality as an album is easily surpassed, there are tons of elements and individual tracks which feel incredibly unique, and subsequently unexplored by almost anybody. You can find a million Ziggy-worshipping bands of the post-punk school in the late 70s/early 80s, but I can't think of anything else quite like this.

The title track immediately introduces the sleek, mid-tempo groove that permeates much of the album. The vocals the breathy, strained and oh-so- plastic, but combined with those fantastic backing singers the effect becomes something quite inimitable. 'Win' slows it down, verses lapping like water on a lake before the great swell of the chorus: brilliant. 'Fascination' is a funky clavinet based torrent (we like our pained water metaphors) which is just made by those backing vocalists. The following track 'Right' is probably my favourite on the album and feels like a sister to fascination: it brings back some atmosphere through a persistent tension which is never quite released.

The album admittedly is objectively boring or terrible at times, "Across the Universe" is a low point and is yet more proof Bowie's strong point is not covers. "Somebody Up There Likes Me" feels forced and "Can You Hear Me" is a bit of a dud (the ending is cool though). They both fall into the trap all soul risks: Feeling a bit overproduced and saccharine: lacking distinctiveness. I think these solecisms are made up for by "Fame" which was the American hit. More Lennon influence on this one: he contributed guitar, backing vocals, and helped with the writing (by apparently reversing a middle-8 by Stevie Wonder). Its the opposite of nondescript, and probably the funkiest track on the record. Driven by a great big fat distorted guitar lick, it seems to prefigure some of the darker elements of the following, much less commercial, Station to Station.

That figure we both respect and tut-tut for his endless quest for the hip, and I mean hip in the most grandiloquent sense, was fully born not in Brixton but Philadelphia; the product of his successful re-baptism into the church of blue-eyed - or, to put it with suitable pretension, heterochromatic-eyed soul. The congregation accepted him with open arms and platinum sales. While his peers were falling by the wayside, Young Americans spawned his first US No. 1, secured him as one of the first white artists featured on Soul Train, and stood as his best-selling album to date. It was this first forbidden sip of true superstardom, complete with surreal televised Cher duet, which would give him the confidence for his most experimental highs (Low, Earthling) and neuroticism for his most simpering lows (Tonight, Never Let Me Down).

All that is to say, its an important album and slightly overlooked. Without context, it seems to lack the aesthetic daring of his more ostentatious periods, but there are loads of elements and individual tracks here which feel incredibly unique and subsequently unexplored by almost anybody. You can find a million Ziggy-worshipping bands of the post-punk school in the late 70s/early 80s, but I can't think of anything quite like Bowie's approach to soul. I think it's just great!