The Man Who Sold the World

Bowie's follow-up to 1969's Space Oddity album celebrates its 51st birthday today, although it wasn't officially released in the UK until April 1971. The cover art for both releases was quite different as well, but now the shot of Bowie in his splendid flowing dress is the go-to image for this record. It is very different in feel and production compared to its predecessor, and has hints of sludge rock among the loose instrumentation. Produced by Tony Visconti, who also contributes bass and recorder, The Man Who Sold the World marks the first appearances of guitarist Mick Ronson and drummer Mick "Woody" Woodmansey on a Bowie album. Both musicians would go on to be in The Spiders From Mars in the years to come. 

Often overlooked, and featuring many deep-cuts from Bowie's considerable canon, this record is an interesting listen. The aforementioned sludge rock has moments of sounding like an early incarnation of Black Sabbath. Throbbing bass lines abound, there's plenty of distorted guitars and Bowie is shrieking like he never really did again. I guess he was still finding his voice, but you can hear the seeds of his famous inflections in a far few phrases.

The title track is the album's most well-known song, which got another burst of popularity after Nirvana's version was released on their 1994 Unplugged album. It's one of the more mellower moments on offer here, and one of the most tuneful. The haunting guiro and understated vocal transcend the song, and the eerie sound of the song moving from speaker to speaker at its conclusion is very effective. One could feel that Bowie's alien fascination started here, or possibly his explorations of sanity.

Opening with the eight minute long The Width of a Circle, you can feel from the very first note of Ronson's feedback that this is not the Bowie of 1969. The noise gives way to a descending riff that is the backbone of the track and the band kick in. Bowie's vocal is a little mumbly and piercing at the same time, not content to be in the background of the noise. At around the five minute mark the song changes direction and feel, and even has a whiff of early glam rock about it. Even shades of Status Quo can be heard. Not an unpleasant listen, but certainly a meandering one with Ronson given plenty of opportunity to wail. 

Some songs arrive with bombast and purpose, and then don't really deliver. The biggest culprits of this are album closer The Supermen, Saviour Machine and She Shook Me Cold. The latter in particular kicks off with Sabbath-esque stabs and then flounders around in between those rockier bits. 

There are some gems here though, not just the the title track. All the Madmen has a great intro with Visconti's recorders adding another dimension to the narrative of the sanest people living in asylums while the insane ones run riot. Ronson's riffing is awesome, and the unusual last vocal phrase 'zane zane zane, ouvre le chein' would be revisited again on the track Buddha of Suburbia in 1993. I quite like that one. Black Country Rock is also a nice bit of folk rock, which great bass and guitar riffs. Wouldn't be out of place coming out of Jimi Hendrix. Bowie even adds a couple of interesting vocal techniques at the end of the song, including a weird vibrato and a Dylanesque delivery. Running Gun Blues is drawn from a similar folk rock well, and it goes okay. Some nice overdubbed vocals towards its end.

The eerie After All is another album highlight. It feels like something that was very influential on gothic bands in the eighties, drawing on the slightly creepy songs from Bowie's childhood. Oh, and references of Aleister Crowley and Nietzsche. The repeated 'oh, by jingo' vocal lines are overdubbed with menacing harmonies that sound quite otherworldly. This same technique would turn up again on Hunky Dory's The Bewlay Brothers, and some of the songs on Pinups. 

While not a shining jewel in Bowie's crown of albums, it certainly sparkles on occasion. After just listening to it again, I offer up 2.5/5.

NEXT UP: Space Oddity - 14th Nov