Art Decades

All Images: Frog Island, Leicester, January 2016

Although our recent snowfall was pretty short-lived, it did create a few appealing photo-opportunities in the local urban landscape.  I pass by this burnt-out factory site,, near my Leicester home on a regular basis.  This time it seemed to take on a vaguely East European, Cold War kind of vibe.

It's the sort of bleak aesthetic we'd have surely fallen for during my Sixth Form and Foundation Art Course years - when such melancholy, dystopian stuff was very much in vogue.

Anyway, such nostalgic reflections led me to permit myself a little self-indulgence with Photoshop filters for once, - in search of something slightly more expressionistic in quality than normal.

Of course, I may have been especially receptive to all this, through having played Bowie's celebrated Berlin albums several times, since his recent demise.  At the risk of spending rather too long following his extended, media-driven, cortege, you could do worse than accompanying the images here with either of these...

R.I.P. David Bowie / Playlist 12

David Bowie, c.1977

You don’t need me to tell you about the cultural significance of David Bowie now, do you?  News of his death landed with a resounding, global thud, on Monday morning and, doubtless, there will have been numerous obituaries, tributes and career surveys in all areas of the media, by the time you read this.

I won’t pretend to have played too much of his music in recent years, but it occurs to me that his is a name I’ve referred to more than once on here.  I’m sure that’s mostly because his hey-day, and indeed - his most groundbreaking work, coincided with my own formative years in the early to mid 70s.  At a time when being ‘a bit weird’ loomed much larger in the popular zeitgeist than today, Bowie still managed to project an even more alien presence than most of his contemporaries.

David Bowie, c.1972

There always appeared to be a self-conscious element of ‘Art’ in Bowie’s practice, and a willingness to embrace synthesis and artifice that, I suppose, made him a variety of Post Modernist, before most of us had even heard the term.  Like most ‘great’ artists, he also had a keen eye for the best ideas to steal and the most able supporting talent to co-opt.  Being apparently unembarrassed by default, and possessing a physical presence that suggested he might have actually beamed down from another planet, didn’t exactly hurt either.  Behind all that, lest we forget, also lay an ability to write relatively simple but eminently memorable tunes.

Anyway, instead of reiterating a load of standard interpretations that you’ll have heard repeatedly elsewhere, the most fitting tribute would seem to be to compile a playlist of Bowie pieces that made the greatest impression on me over the years.  I’ve chosen to overlook the various embarrassing mis-steps and dodgy collaborations with which his career was also littered, although I do harbor a secret affection for ‘The Laughing Gnome’.  It seems more respectful to simply remember that when he was good, - he was really very good.

‘Memory Of A Free Festival’:

After several attempts to forge a Pop career throughout the 60s, (originally, as Davey Jones), Bowie finally made his breakthrough with the single ‘Space Oddity’ in 1969.  The album of the same name is a charming, slightly naive hotch-potch that feels rather like a wistful farewell to the already receding 60s love-in.  This is particularly true of the album’s final track, - capturing, as it does, a memory of the Beckenham Free Music Festival that Bowie had helped to organise earlier that year.

It’s pretty dated, idealistic stuff, but I like the wavering harmonium-like keyboards that bathe the first half of the song with a sense of sun-dappled, psychedelic melancholia, and the closing, sing-along chant that evokes the attempted communality of the age.  Most memorably, Bowie signals his ability to combine the knowing and the emotional, in the lines,

“We claimed the very source of joy ran through, - it didn’t, but it seemed that way.

I kissed a lot of people that day.”

‘Hunky Dory’:

My first thought was ‘Life On Mars’.  My second thought was that just seemed far too obvious, despite the memorable impression that single made on me at the age of 10.  My third thought was that, actually, the whole album that includes it is pretty indispensable.  Released in 1971, it is, I suppose, Bowie’s first fully mature album, and one without a single bum track.  It may also be Bowie’s most emotionally honest and personally direct offering.

There’s nothing especially sophisticated about these tunes, and not a little whimsy, but everything feels properly resolved, and is rendered with disarming sincerity.  Pleasingly, there’s still room for a couple of strange bits, - just to keep things still moving forwards.  I’ve heard ‘Hunky Dory’ a million times, but have never worn it out.

‘Drive-In Saturday’:

‘

The Aladdin Sane’ album probably felt like a slightly less significant, second Glam missive from Bowie’s ‘Ziggy Stardust’ persona, in 1973.  It does contain a couple of genuinely weirder moments than it’s more famous precursor however, and a truly memorable, iconic cover image that captivated me, long before I actually heard the record, some years later.

This is my favourite track on the album, combining as it does, a brand of faux 50s nostalgia, typical of the age, with an anthemic chorus, (that gets me every time), filtered through a slightly eerie SF sensibility. 

‘Young Americans’:

The ‘Young Americans’ album may not be Bowie’s most consistent, but it did unleash a couple of stunning singles, (of which this is one), and ushered in Bowie’s ‘Plastic Soul’ era.  The track exhibits an insouciant, loose-limbed funk, punctuated by well-judged stop-start junctures, and an appealingly breathless vocal delivery.

‘Golden Years’:

I can’t really split this and ‘Young Americans’.  If forced to choose therefore, I would actually have to plump for another of his great Plastic Soul moments, ‘Fame’, - but I’ve already mentioned that in a recent post.  I find it frustratingly difficult to dance to anything much these days, but, in the past, - when I genuinely enjoyed doing so,‘Golden Years’ would always pull me onto a dance floor.

‘Stay’:

By 1976, Bowie was reputedly lost in heavy-duty cocaine addiction and a paranoid psychic prison of his own making.  It’s therefore surprising that he could still put out an album as satisfying and committed as ‘Station To Station’, - the piece most closely associated with his vampiric, ‘Thin White Duke’ identity.  His situation may have left him a little short of original material, but he was surrounded by top-notch session musicians and was clever enough to let them stretch out over some involving, extended cuts.  Indeed, in terms of pure musicianship, the album may actually be Bowie’s most satisfying.  I love the title track, but rate this even higher, not least for the twin guitar threat of Carlos Alomar and Earl Slick, and Bowie’s simultaneously mannered and soulful vocal.

‘The Man Who Fell To Earth’:

Still From: 'The Man Who Fell To Earth', (Dir. Nicholas Roeg), British Lion Films, 1976

The lead rôle, of extra-terrestrial, Thomas Newton, in Nicholas Roeg’s properly strange 1976 SF movie, was ideally suited to Bowie’s stilted, emotionally disengaged acting ‘style’.  He may not have been a natural, - but sometimes a lack of conventional skill is exactly what’s needed.  Anyway, we were already used to thinking of Bowie as an etiolated, otherworldly figure.

Perhaps what really makes the project so enduringly resonant is the correspondence between Bowie’s own personal circumstances (as mentioned above), and the plight of his character, - trapped in an increasingly degrading alien context, as his family die on their drought-ravaged home planet.  Either way, - and despite its flaws, ‘TMWFTE’ is a memorable piece, not least because of Bowie’s presence on screen.  Like all the best SF, it is ultimately about the human condition.

‘Low’:

Bowie Makes The Most Of A Great Profile

Another case where only the whole album will really do.  In fact, ‘Low’ is probably my favourite piece of Bowie’s, - taken as a complete statement.  In reality, it should probably be co-credited to Brian Eno, who was at least as responsible for its overall aesthetic.  Bowie may have been painfully short of original lyrical content, but again, he made a fantastic choice when it came to the supporting cast.

Having relocated to Berlin, it is famously the first of three albums that Bowie shaped with Eno (and producer, Tony Visconti), - and is often regarded amongst the pinnacles of his achievements.  It exhibits a distinct Mittel-European flavour, and is suffused with Krautrock-inflected electronics and metronomic percussion.  The first side of the original LP features a series of strange, emotionally distanced songs, whilst the second half is an instrumental suite, shot through with Eno’s trademark ambiences, to brilliant, cinematic effect.

‘"Heroes"’ (Album: Side 2):

(L - R): Guitarist Robert Fripp, Brian Eno, Bowie, Hansa Studio By The Wall, West Berlin, 1977

The second Berlin album is an even darker, slightly more abrasive, - but almost equally powerful statement.  Unfortunately, its memorable title track turns out to have been too thinly-veiled a theft of an existing Neu! song to ever really hear the same way again, and slightly unbalances the rest of the album as an obvious stand-out single.

The second half follows a similar, largely instrumental pattern to ‘Low’s’, - evoking, if anything, an even more sombre mood.  It’s easy to forget that the Berlin Wall still stood, (in sight of the recording studio), when these albums were recorded, and Eno’s instrumental suite here is shot through with Cold War gloom.  As a teenager, I repeatedly drew bleak, semi-abstracted scenes of post-industrial dereliction to this soundtrack.  Nothing really changes.

‘Modern Love’:

Bowie Dips A Toe Into The Mainstream, 1983, (Blondes Have More Funds). 

This is pretty much where I started to lose my real enthusiasm for Bowie’s music, - as he moved into the 1980s with the mainsteam commercial success of his ‘Let’s Dance’ album.  The album’s title said it all really, as the uncannily prescient Bowie recognised that the future lay in bright, shiny production values and less nuanced lyrical themes.  The weird alien and louche aristocratic personas that had served him so well, seemed suddenly less appropriate, and it was time to put on a big, pastel-coloured suit and make uncomplicated, good-time music.

For all that, I'm always happy to hear this.  It may be far less knowing than his mid-70s synthetic Funk and Soul excursions, but it's well put together, (with co-production from Nile Rogers), and positively swings.  It's on its toes from moment one, never lets up, and is hard not to love, - just for being what it is.

Postscript:

Since I began writing this post, reports have emerged that David Bowie underwent an 18-month struggle with the liver cancer that killed him.  It also appears that his final album, 'Black Star', released just days ago, may have even been part of a strategy to manage his own death as a kind of final art statement.  Never one to miss a trick, if so, - Mr. Jones.

A Little Illumination

Sometimes a moment of ‘Dynamic Quality’ [1.] and an idea one is presented with in a more static or formalised fashion, seem to illuminate each other rather neatly, and with fortuitous coincidence.

The Hockley Arts Club, Hockley, Nottingham, December 2015.  (Photo: Lorel Manders)

The other night, as part of the pre-festive social round, I found myself with a handful of good friends in one of Nottingham’s more happening bars.  ‘The Hockley Arts Club’ is a recent addition to that city’s nightlife and, by all account, very much the place to go, (this month, at least).  If nothing else, that name feels like a considerable stroke of Post-Modernist savvy.

To be honest, being amongst the cool kids was never really paramount in my conception of a good night out, (although being at least on nodding acquaintance with them might have been a secret tangent to my ambitions to attend Art College, all those years ago).  Either way, just being out in convivial company at all, feels like achievement enough these days.

Not sure what happened here, but wine had been taken.  (Photo: Suzie Fletcher).

Over the years, I’ve tended to the view that the best hangouts or ‘scenes’ acquire their resonance through a kind of mysterious, indefinable chemistry, rather than by conscious design or fashion, and that such things are spontaneous, unpredictable and highly subjective, anyway.  Mostly, I was more than happy to just go somewhere new, following the flow of the evening, regardless of the supposed attendant cache.

The Hockley Arts Club, Hockley, Nottingham, December 2015.  (Photo: Lorel Manders).

In the event, I was impressed by the way that, whilst attending to various current ‘Hipster’ tropes, the chosen venue’s designers had managed to create an enjoyable and genuinely comfortable ambience at the same time.  Entertainingly, the overall décor style was distinctly reminiscent of the diluted, mid-Twentieth Century, high street Modernism that characterised my own childhood, and I’d have to compliment whoever was responsible for their stylish deployment of G-Plan furniture, kitsch, chain-store paintings and spider plants - suspended in macramé. (They are a specific historical signifier that takes me right back to where I started).  One particularly impressive aspect of the overall effect was the carefully considered ambient illumination, emanating, in part, from domestic light fittings that might have graced any of the living rooms in which I found myself during the early-to-mid 1970s.

Davis Bowie, 'Young Americans', (Including The Single, 'Fame').

Amongst the unidentified (but perfectly acceptable), Funk and Hip Hop with which we were regaled, was a familiar record that brought home equally my formative years, - namely, David Bowie’s ‘Fame’ [2.].  I don’t actually own any Bowie records these days, but it would be foolish to pretend he wasn’t a significant feature of the Pop-cultural landscape back then, as a shaper of some of the period’s most memorable songs.  His general approach, as rather more of a knowing Bricollagist, than a natural, organic musician, also felt appropriate in the context in which we were currently hearing it.

Even so, as I discussed how cleverly the record’s Cubist Funk elements had been consciously assembled, with my friend Suzie, I couldn’t deny that much of the actual magic just came from hearing it afresh, unexpectedly ‘in the moment’, after years of probably taking much of Bowie’s output relatively for granted.  It is, if you like, the difference between what you know about a record objectively, and how it makes you feel subjectively in a particular situation. (Duh! - that’s the whole point of Pop music, I hear you cry).

I thought about this again the following morning, whilst reading ‘Lila’ [3.], - Robert M. Persig’s sequel to the more famous, (and really rather splendid), ‘Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance’ [4.].  These two books constitute a form of pop-philosophical investigation into the idea of ‘Quality’ and are, essentially, Persig’s attempt to constitute some form of Value-based Metaphysics.  Persig sees this as being in opposition to the binary subject/object concepts of ‘Reality’ that have, (in his view), plagued our understanding since classical times.

That might sound a little daunting, were both books not written in a very approachable, quasi-novel form, and if they didn’t also include large elements of personal history, psychological insight and some useful stuff on constructive approaches to practical tasks, such as - indeed, repairing a motorcycle.  Appropriately, each is also an account of a specific journey.  Conversely, it might be easy enough to dismiss Persig’s thinking, (and slightly hokey world view), as just another product of the 60s and 70s counter-culture.  However, it appears that, whilst not exactly on the syllabus of many serious Philosophy courses, neither is it actually derided by many specialists in the field.  There exist quite serious examinations of ‘ZAMM’ by people far more thoroughly versed in the subject than I [5].

Robert Persig, (With His Son, Chris), Aboard The Very Motorcycle.  (Photographer Unknown).

Anyway, this isn’t the place for an in-depth discussion on either work.  Suffice it to say, whilst I certainly won’t be donning saffron robes anytime soon, (or, I suspect, ever), there’s a lot of stuff in ‘ZAMM’ that I find fascinating, philosophically, and it’s a book I’ve turned to repeatedly over the years.  I’m only halfway through ‘Lila’, so can’t comment too meaningfully on it here, although it does appear to develop Persig’s original idea of the Value underpinning his perception of, well - everything, in terms of a distinction between ‘Dynamic’ and ‘Static Quality’. If nothing else, the following passage, (read with a mild hangover the morning after), does seem to relate, in part, to some of my earlier observations re. Bowie’s ‘Fame’…

"...imagine that you walk down a street past, say, a car where someone has the radio on and it plays a tune you've never heard before but which is so good it just stops you in your tracks.  You listen until it's done.  Days later, you remember exactly what the street looked like when you heard that music.  You remember what was in the store window you stood in front of.  You remember what the colours of the cars in the street were, where the clouds were in the sky above the buildings across the street, and it all comes back so vividly you wonder what song they were playing, and so you wait until you hear it again.  If it's that good you'll hear it again because other people will have heard it too and have had the same feelings and that will make it popular.

"One day it comes on the radio again and you get the same feeling again and you catch the name and you rush down the street to the record store and buy it, and can hardly wait until you can get it home and play it.

'You get home.  You play it.  It's really good.  It doesn't quite transform the whole room into something different but it's really good.  You play it again.  Really good.  You play it another time.  Still good, but you're not so sure you want to play it again.  But you play it again.  It's okay but now you definitely don't want to hear it again.  You put it away.

"The next day you play it again, and it's okay, but something is gone.  You still like it, and always will, you say.  You play it again.  Yeah, that's sure a good record.  But you file it away and once in a while play it again for a friend and maybe months or years later bring it out as a memory of something you were once crazy about.

"Now, what has happened?  You can say you've gotten tired of the song but what does that mean?  Has the song lost its quality?  If it has, why do you still say it's a good record?  Either it's good or it's not good.  If it's good, why don't you play it?  If it's not good, why do you tell your friend it's good?

If you think about this question long enough, you will come to see that the same kind of division between Dynamic Quality and static quality that exists in the field of morals also exists in the field of art.  The first good, that made you want to buy the record, was Dynamic Quality.  Dynamic Quality comes as a sort of surprise.  What the record did was weaken for a moment your existing static  patterns in such a way that the Dynamic Quality all round you shone through.  It was free, without static forms.  The second good, the kind that made you want to recommend it to a friend, even when you lost your own enthusiasm  for it, is static quality.  Static Quality is what you normally expect."  [6].

Pleasingly, it seems that the process can work the other way round, and that the Dynamic Quality of a record may be restored given the right conditions.

I'm also led to reflect that, often, the serendipitous connections between apparently unrelated events are more than enough to be going on with, being a form of Dynamic Quality in themselves.

The Hockley Arts Club, Hockley, Nottingham, December 2015.  (Photo: Suzie Fletcher).

Postscript:

It amuses me that everyone else's photos from the evening feature the members of our little party cavorting merrily, and will probably end up on Facebook.  Meanwhile, those I've chosen to illustrate events focus on neon signage and retro light fittings, and may go no further than this.  Images of my own face have been pretty few and far between on here over four years, suggesting my own relationship with internet 'fame' may be ambivalent, to say the least.  

[1.], [3.] & [6.]:  Robert M. Persig, 'Lila: An Enquiry Into Morals', New York, Bantam Publishing, 1991

[2.]:  David Bowie, 'Fame', (D.Bowie / J. Lennon), RCA, 1975.  (It's surprisingly easy to forget that Bowie co-wrote the song with John Lennon, with whom he also shares vocals on the original recording).

[4.]:  Robert M. Persig, 'Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Enquiry Into Values', New York, William Morrow & Co., 1974.

[5.]:  Those keen to explore different perspectives on Persig's work and philosophical world view are directed to  http://www.moq.org .