Side One
1 Young Americans, 5:10
2 Win,
4:44
3 Fascination,
5:43
4 Right,
4:13
Side Two
5 Somebody Up There Likes Me, 6:30
6 Across The Universe, 4:30
7 Can You Hear Me, 5:04
8 Fame,
4:12
Bonus Tracks (on RYKO/EMI re-release 1991, EMI 064 7 96434 1 - LP)
9 Who Can I Be Now (Previously Unreleased),
4:36
10 It’s Gonna Be Me (Previously Unreleased),
6:27
11 John, I’m Only Dancing (Again) (Single A Side
1979), 6:57
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Recorded: Sigma Sound, Philadelphia,
USA
Electric Lady, New York, USA
(11 August 1974 – January
1975)
Musicians: David Bowie, vocals, guitar,
piano
Carlos Alomar, guitar
Earl Slick, guitar (on Across The
Universe and Fame)
John Lennon, guitar, vocals (on
Across The Universe and Fame)
Willie Weeks, bass
Emir Ksasan, bass (on Across The
Universe and Fame)
Andy Newmark, drums
Dennis Davis, drums (on Across The
Universe and Fame)
Mike Garson, piano
David Sanborn, saxophone
Larry Washington, conga
Pablo Rosario, percussion
Ralph McDonald, percussion (on
Across The Universe and Fame)
Ava Cherry, backing vocals
Robin Clark, backing vocals
Luther Vandross, backing vocals
Anthony Hinton, backing vocals
Diana Sumler, backing vocals
Jean Fineberg, backing vocals (on
Across The Universe and Fame)
Jean Millington, backing vocals
(on Across The Universe and Fame)
Producers: Tony Visconti
David Bowie, Harry Maslin
(Across The Universe and Fame)
Released: 7
March 1975
Label: RCA RS
1006
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Since the fateful night Bowie hit Radio City with a
funkadelic thud last November, I've been dreading this album's release.
Could it be Dave's decided to bite the hands that feeds, post-Diamond Dogs?
He can warble "Nothing's gonna change my world" on Young
Americans to his alter ego's titillation, but I fear the irrecovcable worst
is upon us: Bowie's thrown in the towel on rock and concept music,
preferring to booggie down to prosperity instead. Okay, Dave . . .
shortchange us perfervid dupes who put stock in ya, even though we knew
your financial intentions all along and considered it fine because only
fools don't worry 'bout making a buck.
I personally feel gypped. By stifling his
contemptuous tone, skirting scorn for things pathetic and mundane that haunted
his prior work, Bowie is neglecting statement. By devoting himself to
disco-soul, playing a purely commercial idiom in lieu of making new
strides, Bowie is shunning art. With an image attached to about seven
elpees with costume changes to match, it's impossible to tell who the real
Bowie is anymore. Once the Spiders disbanded, Bowie's truncated Ziggy
schtick was de-sapped. Tinsel to the wayside, his act deliquesced into
prophecy, warning of holocaust and a host of other chimerical feasibilities
during his Diamond Dogs. Bourroughs influenced phase. Supposedly
theatrical. I viewed last summer's Diamond Dogs tour as ineffectual
spectacle. Sure, Dave assembled and performed a fine show, but the scenery
and backup band were so disappointing that the concert became an ultimate
let down. As for the last Bowie tour, it literally didn't pay to blow
twelve and a half bucks in order to witness blase renderings of Bowie
oldies juxtaposed with his new stuporific soul bro pastiche, regardless of
the bodacious Mike Garson Group. I recall having the fierce urge to upstage
Bowie during "Changes" or besiege his manager to order a month's
total rest immediately after the show, because it seemed Bowie could barely
manage onstage.
.Nevermind that Bowie wants to be in the mind, heart,
and record racks of Young Americans; he also wants to be the Young American
- a a vicarious spade, a victorious name. Never mind the title song
concerns our emetic socio-political situation ("Do you remember
President Nixon . . . the bills you have to pay, or even
yesterday?..."), adding discodanceable components like snappy sax runs
and gospelfied chorals, wrapping up with the obvious "I want the Young
American.! It's disturbing enough to think how easily Bowie could finagle
the latter with his chameleonlike savior-faire, knowing how a little
condescension can work wonders. Bowie seems to hope he'll inveigle American
youth through solidarity, relating on a common level, predicated on sheer
capitalistic desire.
.I'm unconvinced Young Americans is anything but
commercial, unless it's another Bowie transition. The words trite,
unenthralling, and masturbatory come to mind. Young Americans ain't got the
visceral verve connected with most Bowie material; it's the epitome of
every shoddy, selfindulgent delusion Dave could muster, have pressed into
vinyl, and to try to sell. I wonder why John Lennon even bothered to give
his vocal and co-writing support ("Fame"), much less subject
"Across The Universe" to Bowie's washed-out histrionics whilst
accompanying the ensuing atrocity on guitar. "Fame" is
structurally identical to "Time" on Aladdin Sane, repeating the
title, then enumerating its consequential drawbacks. Composed by
Bowie-Lennon-Alomar team, "Fame" is a study in wretched rockstar
commiseration, John and Dave apparently taking turns writing lines as if an
impromptu word game. "Fame - Makes a man think things over . . . Puts
him there, where things are hollow." Probable Bowie-Lennon interplay,
viz: ("Fame-") "What you get is no tomorrow (Dave)"
"What you need you have to borrow (John)" "Is it any wonder
- You're too cool to fool (John)" "Bully for you, chilly for me
(Dave)" "Got to get a raincheck on pain (John)."
.Whereas open interpretation was necessary on Diamond
Dogs, lyrics are included with Young Americans - although improved mix
quality make them a requisite convenience which would've been appreciated
more with the former cryptic david Bowie album. Doesn't matter on Young
Americans anyhow: "Can You Hear Me," "Win." "fascination"
rely on love themes, funky sound and beat more than lyrical content.
"Young Americans" and "Somebody Up There Likes Me"
temper racial motifs with overtones of pathos and dat oletime religion:
"He's got his eye on your soul - his hand on your heart, He says
'Don't hurry baby,' Somebody up there likes me." An eerie two stanza
Bowie tune, "Right," figuratively encapsulates his career through
gauzed wide angle lenses ("Taking it all the right way . . . Never
turning back"), the second verse sounding like the combined euphoria
of success and cocaine has pulverized Bowie, verily gone to his head:
"Flying in just a sweet place, Coming inside and sail . . . Never been
no, Never been known to fail."
Not yet, perhaps. But even though I stuck with Bowie
during his last stylistic change - wouldn't listen when Diamond Dogs was
vilified left and right - Young Americans is a retrograde effort earning my
heartsick disdain. I'd still be raving over Bowie if only he'd stop
reaffirming his superstatus with tacky contrivances . . . if only he'd produce
music of consistent celibre (rock, R&B, jazz, whatever - though I'd say
Bowie excels in rock and wish he'd return to the fold after his filing).
Hope this Young Americans in-strut-with-the-time sidetrack is just passing
caprice, as was the Diamond Dogs round-the-corner cataclysm. Lord knows we
need a lot more auspicious artists and lot less jive.
Trixie A.
Balm
Diamond Wog,
Creem Magazine, June 1975
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