Two old albums

Recently, I've been listening to a pair of albums that were released within a few months of each other.  When they first came out, almost 40 years ago now, I had mixed feelings about them.  Now, listening to them again after many years, they have become two of my favorites.  And the most surprising thing, especially considering the two artists, is the deep similarities between them.

Cat Stevens was coming off a creative and commercial highpoint.  His previous two albums, "Tea for the Tillerman" and "Teaser and the Firecat" would each eventually go triple platinum.  Most of the songs people remember him for, "Wild World," "Peace Train," "Moonshadow," etc., came from those two albums.

This album, released in the fall of 1972, went quickly to number 1 and stayed there for three weeks, but then slipped just as rapidly down.  I was one of the people that put it up there, and I was one of the people that was somewhat disappointed with what I heard.  The songs were more experimental, the performances more strident and emotional than we were used to from the man who sang "Morning Has Broken."

And yet, something about the album kept me coming back.  At the time I didn't like it as much as its predecessors, but I kept on getting it out and playing it.  It was as if I knew there was something there that I was missing.  The first song, "Sitting," was the only single from the album that made the top 40.  That song, I liked immediately and have been frustrated for 40 years because I've never been able to do a servicable version of it on acoustic guitar.  The second tune, "Boy with the Moon and Star," was a very pretty little ballad.  After that, it got a little too heavy, too murky for my taste.

Listening to it now, I can't believe I didn't see how good the songs were.  There's not a clunker on the whole album.  The first two songs sound just as good as they ever did.  The songwriting is more mature and consistent than much of "Tea" and "Teaser."  I cannot figure out now why "Can't Keep It In" failed as a single; it's a great song.

The one I keep coming back to now is deep in the second side (for those of you who remember vinyl record albums; you know, those big black CD's?).  It's called, "The House of Freezing Steel," and as many times as I've heard it I have no stinkin' idea what it's about.  I'm amazed that Metallica has never thought of doing a cover of it.  Whoa!  Great idea!!  Don't tell Metallica, I'm going to try and get that done myself!

"Silent Sunlight" is a beautiful ballad, of the type that Stevens is noted for.  "18th Avenue" is a multi-layered experiment that meshes three distinct movements into a relatively short song.  "O Caritas" is mostly in Greek, but you won't care; it's passionate and exotic and seals the deal with a last verse that translates the idea into English so you can enjoy it more fully.  It's the sort of album that is deep and thick and keeps pulling you in.  It's got catchy melodies that you'll hum for hours.  Songs that will get stuck in your head, and you won't mind a bit.

And the other album, in its own way, is just as good, and just as startling.

This one came out in 1973.  Most of it was written during the American tour in support of "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars."  Sorry, I just had to type that all out.  It's a great title.  And, it was a great album, and the first one that really broke David Bowie commercially.  If anything, this follow-up was even better.  It was more rounded, more mature as a piece of songcraft, and yet more schizophrenic.  It's a roller-coaster ride between hard rock and pre-war show tunes and hits many of the buttons in between.

My very good friend, John McLaughlin, turned me on to this album when it came out, and did so again last summer when he gave me a new copy of it.  When it came out, one had to be careful in declaring themself a Bowie fan.  It made a statement.  His image overshadowed his music, which is unfortunate, because his music has always been, if not great, at least interesting.  But liking Bowie had the sad consequence of saying something about you.  You either rode with it, or suffered from it.

The two dominant players on Aladdin Sane are guitarist Mick Ronson and pianist Mike Garson.  Ronson was Bowie's main creative collaborator at the time, having come up with him from obscurity.  He was the kind of guitar player that every garage musician in the neighborhood wanted in their band.  He was no Hendrix or Clapton, but he sure could make smoke come out of the speakers.  He had exactly one sound, but it was a good one.  And, he had imagination enough that he could keep up with anything Bowie could throw at him.  Garson was already a seasoned session man and would spend the next couple of years in Bowie's band before going on to a rich, full career in and out of the studio.

The two together added a creative tension to the album as it swung back and forth between them.  Songs like "Watch That Man," "Panic in Detroit," and "Jean Genie" belonged body and soul to Ronson.  Garson ruled in songs like "Time" and "Lady Grinning Soul," jazzy tunes that sounded like they should have been sung by Liza Minnelli and Joel MacRae straight out of "Cabaret."  His tour de force was the title tune, with the most manic, maniacal piano solo ever recorded.  Worth the price of admission all by itself.

If anything, the two were at their best on songs in which they found common ground.  "The Prettiest Star" is very piano-centric, and yet Ronson adds guitar work that take it to a whole new level.  And their version of the Stones' "Let's Spend the Night Together" is a classic.  I recently read a review of the album that panned that tune, but I strongly disagree.  Garson takes the main riffs, freeing Ronson to spit fire all over it.

It's a dark, happy album; an exercise in sophisticated disconnectedness.  Spastic nihilism with a kickin' backbeat.  The album has been called inconsistent, but I think it is very consistent. 

And that brings out the chief similarity between these two albums.  They both see a world that is going to hell in a handbasket.  The difference is in their reaction to it.  Stevens looks deep inside, looking for some meaning and a way to make things better.  He hopes there's a way it can all be made to make sense.  Bowie sees it as being out of control, but refuses to give in to despair.  Instead, he strikes up the band and has another drink or anything else to make himself feel better for a moment.

Here's a challenge that I'm thinking of trying my own hand at.  I think these two albums are complimentary enough that they could be merged onto one CD.  I would be interested in seeing what order anyone reading this would put the songs in.  If anyone's interested, I'd be happy to put my own song order out there for your examination.

Anyway, I'm hoping this will give you a reason to check these two albums out.  I think you'll be glad you did.  They are both very worthwhile.