Pros: Some fine piano stylings from Bowie and Wakeman, plenty of brilliant pre-Ziggy tunes
Cons: Slightly inconsistent, flaws in production
The Bottom Line: This is a tremendous album from Bowie which is not quite the classic it is perhaps lauded as, but still a worthy entry in his canon nonetheless.
brian_lettsin's Full Review: Hunky Dory [Remaster] by David Bowie
Something of a love affair with the world of androgynous abandon, theatrical camp and cutesy old-school romance, the fourth studio album from Bowie delivered his bulkiest and most consistent set of material to date, and made for a nice transitive release between his subsequent glam masterwork and his previous foray into the realms of hard rock. This album shows how Bowie completely shrugged off the cornier elements of his craft, namely the Anthony Newley comparisons, and has him operating on stellar form from the off, churning out classic after classic in what is a consistently wonderful record, if something of a whimsical and indulgent exercise in obsessive idolatry, Broadway-via-Battersea theatre and sixties music hall.
The majority of the work here is understated but epic, and demonstrates simply terrific craftsmanship, from the unforgettable ‘Changes’ to the mega-hit ‘Life On Mars?’ which resonate on wholly universal level. He also takes time to pay his respects to many heroes such as on the spasmodic acoustic number ‘Andy Warhol’ or the rollicking ‘Song For Bob Dylan’ with its self-contradictory lyrics. Numbers like ‘Kooks’ and the cover of ‘Fill Your Heart’ are shamefully soft-centred romantic ditties which some may find a touch too syrupy, but the very nature of this record is all about letting oneself go, and before anyone had ever heard of Jean Genie, as well, so just live with that. Pieces such as the slow-building ‘Quicksand’ or the vaudevillian closer ‘The Bewlay Brothers’ take more patience to assimilate, but both reveal a real beauty at their cores when they finally do register with the listener.
Strangely, for this LP, Bowie opted to work with producer Ken Scott rather than Tony Visconti, and the results are nowhere near as sloppy as might have been expected. Mick Ronson is still present on lead guitar, while Yes front man Rick Wakeman contributes his magic piano fingers for many of the great tunes here. Trevor Bolder and Woody Woodmansey make up the rest of band on bass and drums respectively, and the result is perhaps not his most attention-seeking record, but certainly one of his more quietly brilliant entries and a laudable holding pattern between his subsequent epoch-making records all the same. To the music…
1. Changes (3:33)
For this wonderful opener, some gentle string arrangements and glorious piano work from Wakeman is built around light drum and bass accompaniment, which stands back mesmerised by the power Bowie is now able to exert over his own song. It is clear from the off he is now a fully-transformed master working at the height of his powers, and these arrangements still sound utterly brilliant to this very day. “I still don’t know what I was waiting for, and my time was running wild/ A million dead-end streets, every time I thought I’d got it made,” he begins, lightly crooning before surging forth with nasal abandon. The stuttering chorus here is of course the highlight, with the brilliantly bouncy little key changes and those light bridges with the brass accompaniment just soon after: “Turn and face the strain, don’t have to be a richer man/ Don’t want to be a better man, time may change me, but I can’t trace time.” In the third part there is another sublime modulation which subtly shifts around the strings and builds itself up effortlessly with the drums, whilst carefully sustaining his perfect vocal turn. The tune then ends with a gorgeous saxophone refrain over the classy arrangements; a fitting way to end one of the finest openers of his entire oeuvre.
2. Oh! You Pretty Things (3:12)
Perhaps the track which single-handedly kick-started the glam rock revolution, this piano-driven number restrains its indulgence far more than the notorious cover version did. Bowie’s original version is of course the finest, with that snaky, winding piano intro into that glorious first verse: “Wake up you sleepy head, put on some clothes shake up your bed/ Put another log on the fire for me, I’ve made some breakfast and coffee.” Those sparse, subtle modulations as the track leads into its second verse and restrains itself towards the chorus are delectable, and when the drums and bass finally enter it becomes a no-holds-barred, leg-kicking glam-stomp anthem. This is also another example of an effortlessly fantastic choruses from Bowie, and this one has been burned quite clearly into the pages of seventies music history forever, whatever “Gotta make way for the Homo Superior” means. Ends with a classy little tingle from Wakeman.
3. Eight Line Poem (2:53)
Very subtly weaved into the last plonk of the previous track, this soft piece repeats one rather country-tinged and bizarre phrase on the piano, aided by some gentle plucks on the electric guitar for its duration, placing it more in the realms of musique concrete than camp glam rock. Bowie enters after a time with this nameless eight line poem, singing about a “tactful cactus” while attempting something of a country drawl around the fifth line. A minor linking piece between the two finest singles on the record, this is understated and gentle stuff, if a little precious and, gasp… indulgent. But it is his album, he can record whatsoever he wishes. It shall not change history…
4. Life On Mars? (3:49)
Still quite possibly the finest composition on the album, this track builds over the same gentle piano lines while incorporating some dramatic string arrangements which create the tension as Bowie builds up quickly towards the flamboyant chorus: “Sailors fighting in the dancehall, Oh, man! Look at those cavemen go/ It’s the freakiest show, take a look at that Lawman, beating up the wrong guy/ Oh, man! Wonder if he‘ll ever know, he’s in the best-selling show/ Is there life on Mars?” Terrific string arrangements and sublime work at the piano from Wakeman, coupled with a perfectly over the top performance from Bowie make this one and out-and-out classic.
5. Kooks (2:49)
The little phrase driving this gentle and gorgeous piece shimmers from the off, before the bulk of the music swirls with some beautiful string work, some stellar trumpet playing from Bolder and the big warm hug of a chorus. Wakeman plonks wonderfully over Bowie’s very soft-centred and English lyrics, and if you are not won over by this track’s gentle power in the final refrain of the chorus as it soars into your very being, then you truly are a heartless individual.
6. Quicksand (5:04)
The reason why there is a shot of Bowie, knees akimbo dressed as a sphinx in the album sleeve is unclear, but this track would attempts to offer some justification. Looking rather cryptically at his fascination with the life of the actor (or the chameleon) he references some enigmatic stars, and slots himself comfortably into the list beside Charlie Chaplin. The structure is a little bizarre, as the track deploys some soft acoustic guitars in the beginning before building towards its more soaring chorus which is enjoyable, if difficult to relate to. The tune begins properly with some gentle plonks on the glockenspiel while Bowie whips out his acoustic, the instrument he deploys for the remainder of the material on here to great effect. This one actually harks back to the folk stylings of ‘Space Oddity,’ but is just a stronger piece from beginning to end courtesy of the little help from his friends. The strings and delightful piano intervention accommodate his gentle touches brilliantly as the track soars into its truly delectable chorus of: “Don’t believe in yourself, don’t deceive in belief/ Knowledge comes with death’s relief.” A slow-burner, but actually a rather magnificent centrepiece when it builds.
7. Fill Your Heart (3:07)
Normally covers on Bowie albums are hit-and-miss affairs, as he is not a master interpreter of other material (see ‘Pin-Ups’), although I would argue this one appears inferior next to his own work. A rather jaunty and ludicrous tribute to music hall, it errs on the wrong side of corny with the retro sax solo and the saccharine delivery. It also makes you jealous of those whom are free in body, mind and soul… not the tortured, hirsute dregs that scuttle across the fetid earth snuffing up peanuts with our snouts like us, eh? Ehm. It brings more to mind Lou Reed’s debut than anything else, or specifically the track ‘I’m So Free’ (for which this was probably the inspiration). Despite this, however, it sits nicely on this album and is short and not obtrusive enough to diminish its brilliance.
8. Andy Warhol (3:53)
After some weird plonks on the synthesiser, we hear Bowie quibble with the producer over how to pronounce the surname of this bespectacled visionary. The track begins just before the first minute and is a light tribute to the curious artist, inventor of the Plastic Exploding Inevitable, or whatever that whole dope-addled phenomenon was. His weird pop-art is an acquired taste, but he did produce the first album by the Velvets, so much respect has to go out to the man, despite how overrated he may (or may not) have been. This tune is just an acoustic tribute with a vowel-bending chorus, and is one of the least outstanding elements of the album, conjuring up Beck’s ‘Blackhole’ during the final space-age solo. It is actually just under three-minutes long in duration.
9. Song For Bob Dylan (4:12)
Luckily Bowie does a finer job for his tribute to Dylan, with a much more upbeat, rollicking pace, some brilliant piano work from Wakeman and some classy guitar screeching from Ronson. His lyrics talk directly to the finest songwriter in existence, although his chorus of “Here she comes again, same old painted lady from the brow of the super brain” sounds somewhat derogatory, and he masks some of his words in illusory imagery. The lyric “I don’t suppose we’ll meet” is also probably erroneous, as they must have crossed paths at some stage in the seventies. Wonder what he thought of it. Probably not a great deal, he was in a major huff when this record was released…
10. Queen B*tch (3:13)
Can you believe this? I have been promoted to top reviewer status, and I still have to censor any mildly offensive song titles. Well, that’s just… the way it should be, as this track is shamelessly misogynistic right the way through. But incredibly enjoyable, so that’s all right then. The tune has a killer guitar lick which Bowie at first scat-sings, plays on the acoustic, before amping up and rocking out with electric abandon. This foreshadows the stellar guitar work he would deliver on his following album and is an ultra-cool tune with a glorious chorus and incredibly catchy down-on-the-street first few verses. “She’s so swishy in her satin and tat, in her frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat/ Oh God, I could do better than that!” he proclaims; a hat, by the way, which is much more trendy than Dylan’s leopard-skin pill-box one. Check it out at bipperty-bopperty.com. The melody is slightly repetitive, but when you have a hook as exhilarating as this, you could write a song about leprosy and nobody would mind.
11. The Bewlay Brothers (5:21)
The creepy little gem of the album, this piece is supposed to be about Bowie and his relationship with his brother’s multiple personality disorder, but is titled out of reverence for a producing duo, who would go on to assist Iggy Pop and Bowie on later records. It is a delicate and gentle acoustic tune, wearily delivered with some plaintive electric guitar lines and builds up with denser layers of acoustic and bass. The lyrics are excellent if criminally ambiguous, heading off more into middle-English folklore territory a la Marc Bolan. The conclusion to the track is particularly effective, with some ghoulish cockney ghosts reciting: “Lay me place and bake me pie, I’m starving for me gravy/ Leave my shoes and door unlocked, I might just slip away.” The use of sound effects and warped Laughing Gnome-style voices actually works well as the tune fades out mysteriously, making this one worthy denouement to the record.
David Bowie: Hunky Dory (41:37)
It is possible to argue that plenty of this material sounds somewhat trite and overindulgent today, and to those people I say… perhaps you have a point. But although you may not give pieces such as ‘Quicksand’ a regular spin, what all the material here does do is contribute to one of Bowie’s warmest and most generous albums. Subsequent records would deal the dark side of glam rock excess or just revel in utter ‘freak-out, man’ abandon, spilling over into future dystopia or bizarre, forced soul experiments. The latter half of the decade then gets much darker indeed. So ‘Hunky Dory’ is the most intimate and cosy album Bowie has ever made, and one feels that he will never be captured at this purring feline state again, on the brink of a wonderful future and life and looking to the stars with a grin as big as lighthouse on his face. Which is a shame.
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