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David Bowie
Young Americans
(Virgin)
First Appeared in The Music Box, June 2007, Volume 14, #6
Written by John Metzger
Much as he predicted, David Bowie hit the big time in 1972 by transforming
himself from the relatively obscure, British folkie of Hunky Dory into
the space-age, glam-rock messiah of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and
the Spiders from Mars. Ratcheting up the rock on 1973’s Aladdin Sane
sealed the deal for him in America, but the dissipation of the glam movement
left him wondering where to turn. Never one to pass up an opportunity to co-opt
current musical trends to suit his own purpose, Bowie tentatively began to
dabble in R&B during the sessions for Diamond Dogs. Although the
Memphis-baked groove of Dodo didn’t fit within the scope of the album, it
provided the groundwork for his mid-tour re-invention, which subsequently
spawned the thrilling joyride of Young Americans.
Other than its accompanying surround sound mix and a previously unreleased
rendition of It’s Gonna Be Me, the latest incarnation of Young
Americans boasts nothing new. Its extras include a pair of previously
available cuts (the gospel-soul Who Can I Be Now? and a disco-fied romp
through John, I’m Only Dancing) as well as material that was culled from
Bowie’s 1974 appearance on The Dick Cavett Show. Although it spawned two
durable, classic songs (Fame and the title track) and also featured a
cameo from John Lennon, the album remains one of the most overlooked outings in
Bowie’s canon, which likely is related as much to its striking conventionality
as it is to the Thin White Duke’s own waffling about its relevance.
Bowie’s early works had been marked by a sense of isolation, detachment, and
dissatisfaction, and these themes resurfaced once again in Young Americans.
"Ain’t there just one damn song that can make me break down and cry?" he asked
in the midst of the driving dance-friendly groove of the title track. The query
was a plea for emotional connection from someone who, in an era of excess, was
lost within the numbing haze of cocaine. Likewise, the concluding Fame
addressed the alienation that comes as a consequence of being a celebrity.
In spite of the sometimes heavy aura of its underlying drama, however,
Young Americans was a more straightforward, pop-oriented effort, and it
consequently was much easier to embrace. Bowie had toned down the extended
storylines as well as the art-rock lyricism of his preceding endeavors, and this
is precisely where the album so frequently is misunderstood and so unjustly
dismissed. While the words he sang remained important, they weren’t designed to
be the sole focus of the endeavor. Instead, Young Americans highlighted
how obsessed with rhythmic grooves he had become.
Shifting from dance-friendly tunes like Fame, Fascination,
Right, and the title track to the ethereal softness of Win to the
breathy, gospel-imbued Somebody Up There Likes Me, the music Bowie
concocted for Young Americans provided a remarkably thorough exploration
of the various ways in which instruments and voices can interact. Throughout the
set, the soaring saxophone accompaniments of David Sanborn darted through the
circular, rhythmic currents that were formed by the waves of guitar, bass,
drums, keyboards, and congas. Even the give-and-take between Bowie and his
backing vocalists — which included up-and-comer Luther Vandross — was
constructed around the percussive effects that it would generate. Despite the
inherent busyness of the arrangements, the structural precision of the material
allowed these component sounds to coalesce into a series of driving beats that,
more often than not, were downright irresistible.
Still, Bowie’s experimentation wasn’t always successful. His soul-infused
interpretation of The Beatles’ Across the Universe was too over-the-top
to work. Similarly, none of the ballads on Young Americans were nearly as
gratifying, contagious, or moving as the set’s up-tempo cuts. Yet, aside from
these missteps, the outing continues to serve its purpose quite well. At the
very least, Young Americans can be viewed as the critical link that
connects James Brown’s furious funk with the Talking Heads’ rich, polyrhythmic
stew.  ½
Young Americans is available from
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Ratings
1 Star: Pitiful
2 Stars: Listenable
3 Stars: Respectable
4 Stars: Excellent
5 Stars: Can't Live Without It!!
Copyright © 2007 The Music Box
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