CD Only
1 Thursday’s Child, 5:24
2 Something In The Air, 5:46
3 Survive, 4:11
4 If I’m Dreaming My Life, 7:04
5 Seven, 4:04
6 What’s Really Happening, 4:10
7 The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell,
4:40
8 New Angels Of Promise, 4:35
9 Brilliant Adventure, 1:54
10 The Dreamers,
5:14
CD2
(On Digibook 2CD
re-release 2004, ISO / Columbia 511936 9)
11 Thursday’s Child (Rock Mix), 4:24
12 Thursday’s Child (Omikron Version), 5:35
13 Something In The Air (American Psycho Remix), 6:03
14 Survive (Marius
De Vries Mix), 4:18
15 Seven (Demo
Version), 4:05
16 Seven (Marius
De Vries Mix), 4:34
17 Seven (Beck Mix
1), 3:44
18 Seven (Beck Mix
2), 5:13
19 The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell
(Edit), 3:59
20 The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell
(Stigmata Film Version), 4:49
21 The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell
(Stigmata Film Only Version),
4:00
22 New Angels Of Promise (Omikron Version), 4:38
23 The Dreamers
(Omikron Version), 5:43
24 1917, 3:27
25 We Shall Go To Town, 3:54
26 We All Go Through, 4:07
27 No One Calls,
3:50
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Recorded: Seaview Studios, Bermuda
Looking Glass Studios, New York,
USA
Chung King Studios, New York, USA
(March 1999 – May 1999)
Musicians: David Bowie, vocals, acoustic
guitar, keyboards,
Roland 707 drum programming
Reeves Gabrels, guitars, drum
loops, synth and drum
programming
Mark Plati, bass, guitar, synth
and drum programming,
mellotron (Survive)
Mike Levesque, drums
Sterling Campbell, drums (Seven,
New Angels Of Promise,
The Dreamers))
Chris Haskett, guitar (If I’m
Dreaming My Life)
Everett Bradley, percussion
(Seven)
Marcus Salisbury, bass (New Angels
Of Promise)
Holly Palmer, backing vocals
(Thursday’s Child)
Producers: David Bowie, Reeves Gabrels
Released: 4 October 1999
Label: Virgin CDV 2900
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One wonders just
what David Bowie expects to find on the Internet. www.GucciPourHome.com?
www.burroughsianlyriculike.com? or possibly www.rentacredpopstarmate.co.uk?
Or perhaps the
great man is convinced that there is some great secret residing deep within
cyberspace which will eventually provide the elixir of creative rebirth.
Hence this record will be available on the Internet a week before CD, and
there is also the quite chilling prospect of he and his band appearing in a
PC computer game called (oh yes indeed) Omikron: The Nomad Soul. Not just a
new David Bowie album, but cybre-gifts for a new generation! Really Dad,
you shouldn't have.
But wait! It seems
the fearless über - pseud warrior of the future has got back in touch with
ground control. Why, some this sounds almost (gasp) old-fashioned!
New single 'Thursday's Child' sets the tone,
with sir David in wistful, contemplative, nay downright melancholy mood. In
fact, he sounds alarmingly like Stuart Staples from the tindersticks, all
fragile maudlin vibrato, as he croons about how, "All of my life I
tried so hard doing my best with what I had... maybe I'm born right out of
my time". Is this earth David Bowie we're talking about here?
Well, maybe it is for once. And it makes for quite splendid, sweeping
stuff, somewhere between 'Ashes To Ashes' and Louis Armstrong's 'We Have All The Time In The World'.
There's no sign of the zeitgeist-chasing menopausal self-consciousness,
naff postmodernism or sci-fi pretension we've come to expect.
Alas, the rest of
this album is a pale imitation of the same moody magnificence. 'If I'm Dreaming My Life' has a certain
dramatic presence and the echo of an epic tune, and 'Something In The Air' has a stuttery,
nervously emotional grace to it, but elsewhere there's lots of bittersweet
refelctions, minor chords and emotional atmospherics, but precious few
memorable melodies. Meanwhile, every so often he attempts his old faux-Cockney
voice or inserts some space noise, but it only serves, as ever of late, to
make him look like mutton dressed as ham.
The one other
exception to that malaise is 'The Pretty Things
Are Going To Hell', which writhes around a chugging
designer metal riff and a glammy swagger you've already heard this man pull
off in years.
Otherwise, after
all the future-hugging ideas and innovation-hungry experiments that have
crippled Bowie's records in the 90's, 'Hours...' fails not through pretention, over-ambition or trying to be
down with the kids, but through time-honoured mediocre songwriting. I think
that's what they call irony. Let's hope it doesn't cath on.
Johnny
Cigarette
New Musical
Express
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