Off The Record: David Bowie – Détails, épisodes et analyse

Our final episode on the life (or lives) of David Bowie begins and ends with a birthday. We start in 2013, when David reentered public life nearly a decade after his heart attack with the surprise release of “Where Are We Now," his first new song in a decade. It was one of the most stunning comebacks in music history. Most fans assumed that David had simply retired from the industry, content to live out the rest of his days as a father, husband, and anonymous New Yorker. Instead, he'd recorded an entire album of new material called 'The Next Day' entirely in secret. Even at age 66, he still had the power to shock. The story concludes with 'Blackstar.' Released the day David turned 69 in January of 2016, it’s an album that many believe was his parting gift as he faced down the illness that would claim his body two days later. Was this a knowing goodbye? We'll examine the evidence and conflicting theories. Intentional or not, it’s a fitting farewell — one that highlights David's creative daring and his absolute fearlessness.

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We’re taking a brief break from the story this week. (We’ll be back with our final chapter on David Bowie on Monday, May 3rd!) But today we have something very special in store: a conversation with Carlos Alomar — a funk guitar icon, and one of David’s most crucial musical collaborators. He cut his teeth in the late ‘60s as one of the youngest players ever in the Apollo Theater’s house band, leading to stints backing James Brown, Chuck Berry and Wilson Pickett, all while still in his teens. 

Carlos’ influence helped inspire David to take his famous trip to Philadelphia in 1974 to record the soul-steeped ‘Young Americans’ record. To get the sound, David tapped Carlos, who in turn assembled a group of top shelf funk musicians that included his wife, vocalist Robin Clark, and an old schoolfriend named Luther Vandross. So began a musical partnership that would last almost thirty years. Carlos played on 11 of David’s albums, including classics like ’Station to Station,’ ‘the Berlin Trilogy, and ‘Scary Monster (and Super Creeps),’ and cowrote his first American number one, “Fame.” More importantly, he was a loyal friend throughout his life. 

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Today’s episode looks at Bowie’s years in Berlin. It was a time of tremendous personal and artistic growth as the newly minted 30-year-old escaped the trappings of his showiness bubble and re-entered reality. Holed up in a nondescript apartment with his friend Iggy Pop, Bowie lived a generally anonymous life in the German capital. The experience forced him to grow up and become an adult — a scary proposition for anyone involved in rock ‘n’ roll. But newfound maturity brought exciting new music, including the landmark album 'Heroes.' At the end of the decade he’d dominated, David built on all he’d learned through the many characters he’d played. Now he was ready to move forward as himself. But the transformation would be a difficult one, as he says some painful goodbyes.

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Our latest chapter chronicles The Thin White Duke, David Bowie’s most infamous and unsettling character. He makes his grand entrance on the title track to Bowie’s landmark 1976 album ‘Station to Station.’ Today we’re visited by Mr. Earl Slick, the man response for much of the album’s incendiary guitar work. Earl is a bonafide rock legend, and Bowie is just a part of his remarkable resume. That’s him on John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s ‘Double Fantasy,’ and he’s also played with David Coverdale, Robert Smith, Ian Hunter, and so many others. He was just 21 when he got the gig to join Bowie on 1974’s Diamond Dogs tour, filling the lead guitar role recently vacated by Mick Ronson. He went on to become one of Bowie’s go-to guitarists and most frequent collaborators, playing on ‘Young Americans,’ Station to Station,’ ‘Heathen’ ‘Reality,’ and ‘The Next Day.’ He also performed with Bowie onstage for an incalculable number of live gigs spanning thirty years. Jordan spoke to Earl about Bowie, the Beatles — and lots and lots of guitars.

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Today’s chapter is a portrait at The Thin White Duke, the manifestation of megalomania and paranoia that gripped David Bowie at his personal low. Among his most frightening creations, the icy character unveiled on the title track to 1976’s ‘Station to Station’ is the physical embodiment of the drug abuse and psychic darkness that threatened to destroy him following years of mired in the toxic hedonism of Hollywood. Thankfully, he would rescue himself from these dire circumstances and move back in Europe, ultimately settling in Berlin along with his friend (and fellow substance abuser) Iggy Pop. The city would be both his savior and muse, providing the right environment to purge the noxious influences of Los Angeles and foster some of his most daring musical achievements. With help from longtime co-producer Tony Visconti and new friend/synth enthusiast Brian Eno, Bowie abandoned the flashy theatricality of his past and rewrote his musical language — fusing his beloved R&B with the proto-techno sounds of German bands like of Neu! and Kraftwerk. The result, ‘Low,’ would rank among his greatest work, kicking off a stunning string of albums later dubbed ‘The Berlin Trilogy.’ But more impressive than his musical reinvention was his personal one. David curbed his drug use and enjoyed an anonymous life that approached a healthy sense of normalcy. “Berlin was my clinic,” he said years later. “It brought me back in touch with people. It got me back on the streets; not the street where everything is cold and there’s drugs, but the streets where there were young, intelligent people trying to get along.” The city had rescued him from the almost certain oblivion. Not only was Bowie growing leaps and bounds as an artist, but he was also making his first tentative steps towards peace. 

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Our latest chapter of ‘Off The Records’ delves into a dark era for David Bowie: the months spent in Los Angeles in 1975. Famously subsisting on a diet of cocaine, milk and red peppers, he stayed awake for days at a time, driving himself to the brink of sanity through malnutrition and sleep deprivation. “It was a dangerous period for me,” David would later say. “I was at the end of my tether physically and emotionally and had serious doubts about my sanity.” But from the depths of his personal hell, he produced the landmark ‘Station to Station,’ an album that most fans rank among the best work he ever made. 

For the first few months of his stay, David lived with his friend Glenn Hughes, a rock icon in his own right. Glenn was in the midst of his tenure as the bass player for Deep Purple. They’d met in Hollywood the previous year, when the band was recording their hard rock epic ‘Stormbringer’ and David was in town to perform his Diamond Dogs extravaganza. The pair hit it off and stayed in touch. When David made the move from New York to LA to make his feature film debut in ‘The Man Who Fell to Earth’ a few months later, he decided to stay with Hughes to keep a low profile.

The excesses of the period have gone down in rock lore. Witches exorcising pool. Phantom falling bodies. Nazi news reels on loop. Thankfully, both men made it out of the grips of addiction. David decamped to Berlin to push his music boundaries with albums like ‘Low’ and ‘Heroes.’ (But we’ll get to that.) Glenn Hughes continued to enjoy a remarkable run in Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, the supergroup Black Country Communion, and a host of solo projects. Most recently, the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Famer joined the group the Dead Daisies, who released their latest album ‘Holy Ground’ in January.

Jordan spoke to Glenn about his new music and his time as David Bowie’s housemate back in 1975.

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At the height of his fame in the mid-'70s, David Bowie battled his deepest demons in the City of Angels. After a costly split from his management company, he found himself adrift in Hollywood, driving himself to the brink of sanity with a diet of cocaine, milk and red peppers. Time passed in a breakneck blur as Bowie stayed up for three or four days at a stretch. The mix of sleep deprivation and drugs drove into a state almost indistinguishable from psychosis,. His grasp on reality slipping, he lost himself in paranoid delusions and obsessions with paranormal phenomena.. Bowie would remember few specifics of the period — just disturbing emotional impressions. Over the course of his days-long bouts of consciousness, his world would transform into “a bizarre nihilistic fantasy of oncoming doom, mythological characters and imminent totalitarianism.” It was the low point of his life, and nearly the end of it. Somehow, in the midst of this personal nadir, he pulled himself back from the edge of oblivion, filming his defining movie role, and recording an album that many consider a masterpiece: 'Station to Station.'

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In our latest chapter, David Bowie went from Starman to Soulman, trading high concept sci-fi tales and glam rock for the music that had enthralled him as a boy — rhythm and blues. David’s renewed love of R&B was stoked by his new girlfriend at the time, a striking young model and burgeoning singer named Ava Cherry. They’d met at a party in early 1973 and quickly hit it off. As she would later say, their romance had all the hallmarks of a fairy tale — strolls in Paris, nights in an elegant castle, cheering crowds, celebrity friends and lots of great songs. Sounds almost like a Disney movie — except for the fact that David was still technically married to his wife, Angie. That part’s a little different.

Ava acted as Bowie’s guide through the American soul scene, fulfilling his lifelong dream by bringing him to Harlem’s legendary Apollo Theater. David’s renewed passion for soul led him to Philadelphia to cut the relentlessly funky Young Americans, which featured Ava on backing vocals. She also joined him onstage as part of the so-called ‘Philly Dogs’ tour in late 1974. In addition to her role in helping shape Bowie’s musical legacy, she shared his private life — loving a side of David that few would ever get to see. Ava spoke to Jordan about her time with David, and the memories and music that they shared during those golden years in the mid '70s.

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In August 1974, Patti Brett was among the throngs of supremely devoted David Bowie fans camped outside of Philadelphia’s Sigma Sound while the man himself toiled inside, undergoing his transformation from Starman to Soulman. Bowie was hard at work recording ‘Young Americans,’ the funked-out R&B album that would mark his most abrupt musical shift to date. Seeking some instant feedback on his new sound, he invited a handful of fans inside for an impromptu listening party. It was the least he could to do thank them for their unwavering dedication. Bowie sat alongside his young admirers — including Brett — as they absorbed the new tracks and danced together until dawn. The night remains one of Brett’s most cherished memories. In the latest bonus episode of ‘Off the Record,’ she recalls the unforgettable moment when her wildest fan fantasies came true.

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David Bowie arrived on U.S. shores in the spring of 1974 to launch the mammoth Diamond Dogs tour, the Broadway-style production inspired by Orwell’s 1984, and his own unnerving trip behind the Iron Curtain. The show was his most elaborate venture to date, epitomizing the dystopian drama that had made him a star. Yet as David spent more and more time in the States, he found himself reconnecting with the music that enthralled him as a young boy: American soul and R&B. This radical departure brought the risk of alienating his fans, who all but worshipped David’s sci fi characters. But with the help of some of the finest funk players of the era — plus a Beatle — it became his biggest success to date. Trading choreographed theater for genuine emotion proved to be a revelation for David, and a major artistic leap forward. But his escalating cocaine use threatened everything: his career, his marriage, and his life. 

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