Mr. Jones & Me

My relationship with David Bowie was always…complicated.  I “met” him in 1981 and, to be honest, didn’t really know anything about him at the time.  He seemed like a cool guy, though, and he was hanging out with some guys that I knew who were treating him like he was a big deal, so I drew the conclusion that he must be some kind of big deal.

I was VERY familiar with Queen at that point – mainly due to their 1980 album, “The Game”, but I had never actually heard a Bowie song.  The first time I ever heard him sing was on “Under Pressure”.  Therefore, I’ve always considered David Bowie an eighties artist.

Fast forward to 1983:  I had heard “Let’s Dance” on the radio a few times but never really paid much attention to it until I saw the video on Friday Night Videos.

The song was pitted against Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf” in the weekly call-in competition.  Though I voted for Duran Duran, I fell in love with Bowie.  I purchased the album before I ever heard the second single.

I didn’t realize at the time, but “Let’s Dance” was not exactly representative of Bowie’s past work.  In fact, I remember reading an interview with producer Nile Rodgers in which he admitted that he was ecstatic when he received David’s call.  Up until then, he had been viewed as a “hitmaking” producer.  He was excited to finally get the chance to work on an “avant garde” project, as he described it.  However, when he saw song titles like “Let’s Dance” and “Modern Love” he realized, much to his dismay, that Bowie had hired him to get him on MTV…which he did.

The success of the “Let’s Dance” album resulted in increased airplay for Bowie’s earlier hit singles.  That means I was soon quite familiar with “Rebel Rebel”, “Young Americans” and “Fame”.  However, it was another artist’s song that made me dive deep into David’s back catalog.

I was fascinated by the idea of one artist’s song being a sequel-of-sorts to another artist’s song.  I raided a friend’s brother’s record collection and found a copy of “Space Oddity”.  I even listened to “Ziggy Stardust”, although I never actually bought it.  I decided “old” Bowie was too weird for my young ears.  I preferred 1984’s follow-up to “Let’s Dance”.

Bowie would later admit that 1984’s “Tonight” was the second in a trio of albums that he disparagingly called his “Phil Collins years” (which would further complicate our relationship since I was and still am a HUGE Phil Collins fan).  He felt that the expectations created by his early-eighties MTV success had painted him into a corner.  His last solo album of the eighties, 1987’s “Never Let Me Down”, was an attempt to “move back to rock & roll music”.  He assembled a small rock group and played instruments himself – something he hadn’t done on the previous two albums.  Though reviews were mixed, the album sold well and generated three hit singles.

Despite being relatively pleased with “Never Let Me Down”, David wouldn’t record another solo album for over half a decade, opting instead to form the hard rock band Tin Machine.  He would record two albums with Tin Machine before returning as a solo artist with 1993’s “Black Tie White Noise”.  Nile Rodgers was again in the producer’s chair on what many critics called Bowie's best since 1980’s “Scary Monsters”.  However, I had abandoned him during the Tin Machine years and, because nothing on the album hit the Top 40, was not even aware he had made a “comeback”.

The follow-up, 1995’s “Outside”, was a concept album produced by Brian Eno.  It was viewed by many as Bowie’s return to mainstream music although Rolling Stone criticized that the conceptual elements “damn near sink the record”.  This album also escaped my attention.  If I had been aware of the Pet Shop Boys collaboration, though, I would have been all over it.

However, it was Bowie’s next album, 1997’s “Earthling”, that would finally renew my interest.  David would produce his album himself, something he hadn’t done since 1974’s “Diamond Dogs”, and would utilize electronica and industrial elements.  I saw a live performance of “Dead Man Walking” on one of the late night talk shows and was blown away by it.  “Little Wonder” was also in heavy rotation on MTV and that was just intriguing enough to prompt me to buy my first non-eighties David Bowie album.

Though not a commercial success, the album performed better than its predecessor and garnered positive critical reviews.  It also earned two Grammy nominations and made me buy a David Bowie compilation album.

Over the next few years, Bowie would continue to release an album every other year.  Most critics agreed that 1999’s “Hours” was a disappointment, although 2001’s “Heathen” saw him bounce back with his highest charting album since “Tonight”.  Its follow-up, 2003’s “Reality”, also received favorable reviews.  For some reason, I never bought any of them.

After that, David would take a decade-long break, prompting fans and media to assume he had retired.  He shocked everyone when he returned in 2013 with “The Next Day”.  Touting the album for being “as good as anything he’s made” and “the best comeback album in rock & roll history”, the press surrounding the album caught my attention and I gave it a listen.  However, due to my own personal turmoil at the time, I decided that listening to anything that “dark” was probably not the best idea for me.  I also really hated that album cover.

That brings us to “Blackstar” and its surrounding events.  Released on January 8 of this year, the album was on my list of “things to listen to”.  Three days later, I cleared my schedule for the day and moved it to the top of the list.  That was the morning I learned of Bowie’s death while scrolling through my Facebook news feed.  Like most of you probably did, I immediately searched Google for “David Bowie death hoax”.  Unfortunately, it was no hoax.  Ziggy was gone.  I clicked on a link for the “Blackstar” video and it hit me:  He knew!

I watched the “Lazarus” video after that and it hit me again:  HE KNEW!  HE FREAKING KNEW!

It was as though he had booked a flight (or space flight) 18 months earlier and received an itinerary:

Write a cryptic farewell message to your legion of fans.

Create an eccentric and experimental masterpiece of an album.

Produce two heart-wrenching gothic short films.

Release the album on your 69^th birthday.

Listen to critics and fans rave about your amazing work of art for two days.

Disappear forever into a big chest of drawers.

I won’t be writing a review of the album anytime soon since I haven’t even begun to fully absorb it yet.  There are probably a million “Blackstar” reviews online by now anyway.  I will, however, review the circumstances surrounding the album by simply saying that we should all be so lucky as to go out like THAT.  Farewell, Mr. Jones.  It’s been nice knowing you.