David Bowie
Station To Station
1976 – RCA
Origin: Brixton, England
Style: Rock and Roll

I admit it. I am not a huge Bowie fan, although the amount of Bowie I have in my collection would dispute that statement. I don’t even own a copy of Low … yet. I know. I know. For someone who has spent years writing about the indie rock scene and does not even have a copy of Low is blasphemous. But I did pick up a copy of Station To Station lately. And not just because it has “Golden Years” on it, which I like very much, but it was more for the aura and intrigue that surrounded the album’s release. Little did I know that this album would make me that Bowie fan I tried to deny but always wanted to be. Remember? Lots of Bowie albums? But in order to understand Station To Station, we have to start out by crossing over to another medium — film.
At the basic level, 1970s film and The New Hollywood style can simply be categorized into two elements: realism and escapism. And for some films, the lines blur. In Vanishing Point, we are led on a high-speed existential journey that feels so real that we could swear Kowalski was beyond fiction. Friedkin gave us The Exorcist and Spielberg Jaws, two very real elements in human reality but could not happen to the extent that they made it. And then there was The Man Who Fell To Earth (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKF5lHcJY9k), an experiment of science fiction with realism.
Before Ridley Scott turned Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep into an historical science fiction masterpiece, Nicolas Roeg was experimenting with science fiction as an art form. And as Scott was influenced by Roeg’s “cut-up” technique, it’s Roeg’s use of Bowie that gave the film an unearthly reality.
Roeg was not unfamiliar with using rock stars in his films, as he captured the character trait of Mick Jagger in his film Performance. But whether the film had a direct affect on Bowie, besides physical construct for Station To Station and Low, is not certain based on the darkness of Bowie’s career and the extreme effects of drugs that altered his cognitive reality. According to the Wikipedia article on Station To Station (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Station_to_Station), Roeg warned him that his character Newton would remain with him for some time after the film. And it did, all the way to Low.
And there seems to be some conflict with this time period and the idea that a soundtrack was to be developed by Bowie. On my vinyl pressing of Station To Station, it indicates that this is the soundtrack to The Man Who Fell To Earth. Even though “TVC15” is the only song that could remotely be considered soundtrack fodder for the film in essence, yet the song is an antithesis for its upbeat folly, and also it was written about the thought of Iggy Pop’s girlfriend being eaten by her TV.
However, Bowie began work on a soundtrack separate of the Station sessions. And then, after five or six tracks into it, the project was canceled and Bowie, in a state of burn out, scrapped the entire project. The timeline stipulates even more contradiction as Roy Carr and Charles Shaar Murray in David Bowie: An Illustrated Record (1981, Avon Books) claims that Bowie already knew that the soundtrack was doomed which led to the Station sessions; whereas, Nicholas Pegg in The Complete David Bowie (2004, Reynolds & Hearn, Ltd.) writes that it was after the Station sessions when this took place. Either way, the only surviving piece was “Subterraneans” and ended up on the Low album.
Within Station To Station alone, so much has been written about the concept, the allure, and the legend behind the making that even if it was not regarded as being one of Bowie’s most acclaimed albums of all time, the story behind it fuels the intrigue. And it is amazing that Bowie even lived through it to see another album, let alone another three decades and beyond.
Back up to Young Americans. This was the first album that gave American audiences a strong taste of Bowie. With the standout songs “Fame” and the title track, the U.S. was getting a very accessible version of the man whose first trip to America had him prance around in woman’s clothes and dry humping his guitarist.
But the hit singles from Young Americans gave assurance to RCA to let Bowie do whatever he wanted and be completely open to ideas. Disgusted over the state of rock and roll — Bowie said to a young Cameron Crowe in Rolling Stone (Issue #204, January 15, 1976) that “I have rocked my roll” — he was not interested in creating a hit single and wanted to do the music the way he heard it.
Ironically, “Golden Years,” the first track recorded did become a hit, charting on the UK Singles at number 8 and the Billboard Pop Singles at number 10. Oddly enough the first song to make a public appearance was not “Golden Years.” Bowie’s initial television appearance was on the Dinah Shore Show where he performed “Stay” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXZKsKD1UsY), two days after the official release of the album (Bowie: Golden Years: http://mywebsite.bigpond.com/roger.griffin/GoldenYears/1976.html).
More than any other song on the album, “Stay” demonstrates Bowie’s new direction into funk, soul, and hard rock — so much for abandoning rock and roll. Following in the footsteps of Lou Reed and his entrancement with ethnic music within a pop mainframe, “Stay” is a song that is very accessible yet also frenzied and unnerving, demonstrating someone who is seen as a cold and a false romantic running into missed opportunities, “You can never really tell when somebody wants something you want too,” he sings. His over-accentuating vocal enunciation gives the presence that he’s trying a little too hard to convey sincerity or regret, making it unsure that he practices what he preaches. Even his performance on Dinah Shore, when he expresses, “Let’s get it together,” shows him with a sarcastic grin on his face as if you are being played by the piper but cannot do anything about it.
This was also a song that some of the band admits was recorded while being hopped up on a serious amount of cocaine.
During this time, Bowie, living in Los Angeles, developed a generous cocaine habit. It has been referred to as “astronomical.” Bowie does not even remember work he did on the album. He later told Q Magazine in 1996 that the Station sessions were his darkest hour, and therefore that mindset reflected on the ambiance of the recording.
Bowie gathered the Young Americans crew — Carlos Alomar, Earl Slick, Dennis Davis and Warren Peace — to Cherokee Studios in Hollywood. Bowie also brought in bassist George Murray, who later became a part of the Murry/Davis/Alomar rhythm section that would last up to Scary Monsters. He also signed on Bruce Springsteen’s E-Street Band pianist Roy Brittan to replace Mike Garson, who Bowie said was “off being a Scientologist somewhere.” (Pegg book).
The recording work was intense that lasted almost three months with sessions going well beyond 24-hour, non-stop sessions and fueled by a never-ending pile of cocaine and a perfectionist attitude. Bowie had the Orson Wells syndrome as he would work until he was kicked out of Cherokee to make room for another band, and within 90 minutes, he would be down at the LA Record Plant working again.
Bowie’s mind was racing at the time. In Cameron Crowe’s Playboy article (http://www.cameroncrowe.com/eyes_ears/articles/crowe_jrl_bowie.html) Bowie would sporadically get up from the interview and begin writing a song, paint, and one time, asked for 20 random items from Crowe, studied it for 10 seconds, and then proceeded to repeat it back to him forwards and backwards.
His interest with occultism also reached obsessive levels. Crowe’s interviews weaved a series of tales that is now digested as legend. Stories of black candles, bottled urine, bodies falling past windows, The Rolling Stones sending him hidden messages in their record sleeves, and many other twisted tales. Whether true or not, his mindset, the cocaine, and a staple diet of red and green peppers, left him paranoid, manic depressive, and physically wore down in a very short period of time.
But the results were incredible given proof of the album’s output. Bowie’s favorite group at the time was Kraftwerk and he loved their convention of using music as a means for productivity. At the beginning of the title track, we hear a synthesized train roaring from one speaker to the other, directly influenced by the car startup on “Autobahn.” Slick’s guitar screeches the train to a halt and the teutonic rhythm of drum and bass come in, jump starting the 10 minute song. It is precisely that second you know that you are in for something unique. Slick then slides into what Bowie calls a “Chuck Berry riff” (Pegg book) over and over for the first half of the song even while the rest of the band is changing around chord structures.
The song can be interpreted as a person in transition, as Pegg considered this album a “halfway point on the journey between Young Americans and Low. The idea behind Station To Station revolves with the stations of the cross. “There you are, drive like a demon from station to station,” croons the thin white duke.
Bowie’s last great persona, the thin white duke, takes prevalence from the beginning with his pristine white light fashion statement to the opening lyrics, “The return of the thin white duke, throwing darts in lovers eyes.” He takes notes from Alain Delon’s Jeff Costello character in Le Samourai showing signs of a male debonair but cannot hide his hollowness from escaping out of that pencil thin shell of his.
However by the final track, “Wild Is The Wind” is probably the most sincere you are going to hear Bowie in 1976. But then again, this was a song not written by Bowie. Originally written by Dimitri Tiomkin and Ned Washington, “Wild Is The Wind” was a track recorded for the Johnny Mathis film of the same name. At the time, the original was up for an Academy Award and became a very popular song. Bowie’s version is a very dramatic presentation as he croons through a passionate array of beautiful balladry. Was this choice a confession by Bowie during a time when his marriage was in disarray? Or, was this simple contemplation on his own personal state? The song is a climactic endnote to this album and the intro into his work with Eno and the upcoming “Berlin Trilogy.”
Bowie’s work here is the equivalent to Milton’s devil in Paradise Lost. You are not sure whether to have sympathy for his plight or fear him, but either way, it will be certain that you will respect him for what he has created.
Cross-Reference: Lou Reed, Kraftwerk, Roxy Music