Pros: Some interesting and engaging experiments with Brian Eno; one or two enjoyably quirky selections
Cons: Largely inconsistent, plenty of atrocious material and lashings of filler, too short
The Bottom Line: Far too frustrating an album, this is one most people would do well to overlook. Plenty of ropey, dreary song writing from the Thin White Duke et al.
brian_lettsin's Full Review: Lodger [Remaster] by David Bowie
It was over two years ago that I discovered David Jones, quickly fell under his spell and embraced his quite remarkable canon over a series of months. Since then, I have lost about five friends, all of whom labelled him overrated, have been accused of living in a glam-rock time warp and have built a popcorn shrine to the great man in my back yard. I have also avoided penning any reviews of the his unparalleled work, mainly because I am afraid that my words will never do justice to his brilliance, and that I would end up turning against him because of my syntactical ineptitude. Now that I have been promoted to top reviewer status, my fear has quelled considerably, and there is no need to worry anymore. Apparently this position gives me some authority, so I may as well use it to preach to the converted and to indulge in lots of circumlocutory derriere-kissing. This is one in a series of comprehensive reviews limited to his masterworks and lesser-known favourites, dealing mainly with the music, but including a necessary smattering of historical detail. I want to concentrate on why the music is so terrific (as though that wasn’t obvious) and avoiding offending Bowie scholars. This series, therefore, will concern itself with excessive flattery, repeated uses of the phrase “Jean Genius” and random noises of adoration such as “uhhh” or “wooo,” which are both terms of reverence in this small country that adjoins England and isn’t Wales. The review begins below.
*****
In many ways, this album has forever been lost down the back of the sofa. In temporal terms, I mean. It has been continually overshadowed down the musty waters of time by better records, and exists today simply as the final piece in a trilogy. The last few parts of a jigsaw. Rather like the third instalment of the Godfather. It also shares certainly quality issues with said movie, but we’ll get to that later. Nobody will ever cite this record as their favourite Bowie release, simply because they would be lying and because most of the material on here is so subjective that for every person who despises ‘African Night Flight’ there be a million in love with ‘Look Back In Anger.’ It is clearly the weakest of the Berlin trilogy, loaded with dubious material, and boasts some of Eno and Bowie’s poorest work. It is also very short, and one gets the impression that they knocked some of it out very quickly to avoid giving themselves too much of a headache, or just because they had sufficient material leftover from earlier sessions.
‘Lodger’ is actually a rather clever title for this record. Listening to this album seems to capture the perils of travelling quite ably. One moment we are being caught up in the beauty of travelling with the majestic ‘Fantastic Voyage,’ which leaves us filled with expectation and curiosity, and the next minute we are stuck at the check-in desk waiting for a delayed flight in the terrible ‘Move On.’ For every enjoyable sojourn through a new climate such as ‘Yassassin,’ we are back home wishing we were on holiday with ‘Look Back In Anger.’ It is a skewered concept album about travelling and the passage of time, with some random radio-friendly singles such as ‘D.J.’ and ‘Boys Keep Swinging’ thrown in for good measure. The proceedings here are therefore the least consistent, most patchy and blatantly subjective of the trilogy despite the absence of instrumentals. The strength of this album therefore lies in your enjoyment of these singles and how much you take to the terrifically weird numbers such as the rapid-fire ‘African Night Flight’ and the caustic ‘Repetition.’ As for the rest, well, it is all filler and consistently poor.
What this album does not have is any sense of cohesion. Far too many of these tracks seem to lack any real drive or purpose, and the listener is incredibly conscious of the experimentation taking place. That is wrong! You should lose yourself in the record, just as you did with the first two instalments, not toss your shoes at the stereo. What is also apparent is that plenty of the material here is utterly unmemorable. With the exception of some choice pieces and one or two of the singles, ‘Lodger’ is really not an album anyone would pull out of their Bowie collection to give a spin at all. The foundations for ‘the future’ of music being laid down here (if any) are not on the side of good, but evil. I have been beating my head for some time with this album, but I cannot get it to connect in the same way the other parts of the Berlin trilogy do. It is, therefore, a stinker. Plus, it is far too short and it was recorded in Switzerland, apparently, which shatters the myth of the ‘Berlin trilogy’ completely. Still, some fine musicians did try to help him out here, and the line-up consists of Brian Eno, Adrian Belew, Carlos Alomar, Dennis Davis, George Murray, Sean Mayes, Simon House, Roger Powell and Tony Visconti.
1. Fantastic Voyage (2:55)
For this grand yet insular opener, Bowie subverts some of the exquisite piano stylings of ‘Hunky Dory’ with the sweeping arrangements of ‘Station To Station’ to a curiously successful effect. The result is a highly enjoyable (if odd) number which alludes to the work he would go on to make back in America, more specifically the ‘Teenage Wildlife’ epic, which this sounds musically closest to. Over some gentle percussion, the very seventies guitar chimes in immediately along with the piano an establishes an ornate if rather hazy melody. Bowie then enters immediately with his rather brilliant vocals, drifting from lightly affecting passages to towering sustained notes with some incredibly simple shifts. The first verse is delicate and moody, and then quickly moves into bouncy piano phrase where Bowie proclaims: “We’re learning to live with somebody’s depression/ And I don’t want to live with somebody’s depression.” The track then moves towards its chorus where he wails out some grand notes, which many may find disconcerting this early on in the record. His lyrics connect more here, as they seem more personal and express fears about the technological age he is moving into, coupled with some fine self-analysis. The structure of this one is deliberately odd, but the bouncy choruses over the glossy verses, the layers of synthetic strings and backing vocals keep the track enjoyable. “Cause I’ll never say anything nice again, how can I?” he wails in the final twenty seconds, the track fading out grandly and making a minor splash. An endearingly peculiar way to begin.
2. African Night Flight (2:55)
Exactly the same length as the previous track, many people won’t have time for this one at all. Personally, I absolutely adore this number, co-written again by Brian Eno, as was the opener, simply for the sheer enjoyment factor. For all of the phenomenally complex instrumentation listed in the credits, many of these songs sound terrifically simple. This one hoards all the weirdness for itself. The band capture some nightmarish trip through the darkest jungles of Africa in the music perfectly, while Bowie throws out incredibly fast, free-association lyrics over the music, swinging like an ape through this savage landscape. Over some rubbery synthesizers, a deep bass line chugs in ominously and the speakers are then awash with percussive blips and tribal, outback sound effects. Bowie then rattles off his almost nonsensical lyrics at warp speed: “African nightmare one time Mormon, more men fall in Hullabaloo men/ I slide to the nearest bar, undermine chairman/ I went to far.” His words are so ridiculous they remind one of how whimsical a lyricist Bowie is at heart, and of his absurd sense of humour, which was missing from previous albums. Towards the choruses, the synths play some increasingly tense parts while the bass wriggles over the rather squished guitars. Bowie then recites the chorus which is some frightening African chant: “Asanti habari habari habari/ Asanti nabana nabana nabana.” The verses are held hostage by Bowie’s incredibly frantic and frenzied vocals and the result is actually an incredibly enjoyable piece of music that clearly foreshadows the tension and paranoia of ‘Scary Monsters.’
3. Move On (3:18)
Quite obviously the least successful track on this album, what we have here is a case of wanton studio trickery disguising the absence of a decent melody or any inspiration whatsoever. Alomar’s spiky guitar leaps in immediately with the uncomplicated tune and takes us through a largely inoffensive series of chord progressions accompanied by some piano backing. What is offensive here, however, is the percussion, which just shuffles away in that awkward place behind the ear and continually niggles in the head throughout. Not good, gents. What is also offensive are Bowie’s shamefully warped vocals, which have once again been wilfully squeegeed to no successful effect and leave him sounding as though he has a lump of ash stuck down his throat. The remainder of this track is then hijacked by needless layers of overdubbed vocals and some synthetically pretty bridges from Eno, but before long the song finds itself with nowhere left to go and we need to, well… move on.
4. Yassassin (Turkish For: Long Live) (4:12)
Rubbish song title, but a terrific piece of experimentalism. It is tracks like these that make you glad these musicians chose to collaborate nearly thirty years ago. This number continues the interest and experimentation with musical styles from around the world, taking the inspiration here from middle-eastern European music. It could have been an absolute disaster, but fortunately Eno and Bowie imbue the proceedings with some light new-wave swagger across the shimmering soundscape. Over some tingling, Talking Heads-style guitar, the synth then plays the gorgeously colourful main melody, which comes across like the Turkish Philharmonic Orchestra and puts one in mind immediately of, well… Aladdin. (Not Sane). It sounds more akin to some expensive string arrangement, but is actually just some stellar synthesizer excellent work from Eno, here really earning his two pence worth. The range of sounds here are incredibly diverse, and the way the band actually manage to make the music sound wholly individual while still retaining that stock Bowie sound is something of a triumph. Belew plucks the mandolin across what is an agreeable mid-tempo shuffle while Bowie walks across the rather mysterious landscape, trekking through art galleries and soaking up the history: “We came from the farmlands to live in this city/ We walked proud and lustful in this resonant world.” His vocals and lyrics here are fine, but the top marks go to the arrangements. Very impressive.
5. Red Sails (3:44)
Nah… this is poor stuff. Bowie just can’t keep up the quality or pace here, and the record begins to seriously sag from here on in. After some rising drum and guitar intro, the track then gallops into its noisome first verse, and keeps itself pretty much locked in the same dreary groove for its duration. A muffled sax, credited merely to someone called Stan, sounds squished in the background while random guitar squiggles play over his vocals which find themselves crushed under the layers of extraneous noise. It actually sounds as though Stan was just someone they found hanging around outside, like the infamous sax player on ‘Walk On The Wild Side.’ If so, they should have drafted in a professional. The problem with this one is that it is just bad. It’s that simple. The chorus is awful and becomes very grating very quickly, there are some rather uninspired passages from Eno which allude to the better work he has produced throughout, and the drum fills begin to jar instantly. The entire track collapses into nonsensical babbling from Bowie towards the end, and despite one excellent screechy guitar solo from Alomar, it falls very very flat indeed.
6. D.J. (4:00)
Released as a single at the end of the seventies, this brings to mind plenty of the atrocious material from ‘Let’s Dance,’ but is a fairly inoffensive track in its own right. What is instantly obvious about this song is simply how a synthesiser can create incredibly twisted and unpleasant music which feels trapped in some horrible early eighties new-wave rut. That is a fact Eno makes us very cognisant of here. ‘D.J.’ can be described as evil simply because it inspired legions of bands to record plenty of radio-friendly and commercial dribble, make millions of pounds and get out, and therefore systematically turned the eighties into a decade to leave and bury at the back of one’s mind for all eternity. The chorus here just sounds cued up and ready for radio play, and it is not very satisfying to hear the Thin White Duke move from lyrics such as “Oh no, not me, we never lost control” to “I am a DJ, I am what I play.” A little bit of one’s soul feels chipped away after hearing it, and personally I stay away from this song as much as I can.
7. Look Back In Anger (3:06)
A more frantic sound is established for this atrocious track. Over some rapid and futuristic beats, Bowie takes us on a very quick and pulsing journey which is almost completely unlistenable. The synths just hover over the music, and the overdubs of his vocals would have to be the runaway highlight. If anything it reminds you of that dichotomy between exceptional Bowie and atrocious Bowie. This would be an example of the latter. When he is great, ideas seep from his every pore and the music heads off in direction that nobody could have foreseen. When he is terrible, he keeps the track entrenched in its repetitive melody and looks around for some furtive tricks he can knock up in the studio to improve affairs, or he turns to his mates for help. Alomar in particular does rise to the occasion, tossing in a red-hot guitar solo halfway through, but even he cannot save this disastrous track from the brink of the abyss. Almost as terrible as the John Osborne play.
8. Boys Keep Swinging (3:18)
Less offensive than the ‘D.J.’ single, this is still a million miles away from classic Bowie but I have to confess, it does please me just a touch. Not enough, unfortunately to drag this album up any higher ratings-wise. It seems to take elements from ‘Diamond Dogs’ on the lyrical side, while thrusting itself forward with a disco beat akin to ‘Tonight’ on the musical side. The bass is brought up incredibly loud in the mix, and puffs over the great wave of electric guitars which coat the entire track. The final chorus is pleasant, but never inspires anything other than shrugs of indifference from myself, heartless swine that I am.
9. Repetition (2:59)
The penultimate track is actually rather enjoyable, oddly enough, as it has a certain endearingly lackadaisical groove to it. With some springy, growling bass, the drums chug into the main melody and establish the enjoyable and simple thrusting beat which is constant for the full three minutes. The lyrics and vocals here are the highlight, consistently amusing and given some dramatic clout through Bowie’s ironic detachment. It is almost as though they all realise this album is a stinker, so just crank this one out to fill the album, unaware they have managed to create one of the highlights of the record. “You could have married Anne with the blue silk blouse,” he sings, allowing the track to slowly peter out after some resigned mutterings of: “The show is through.” It is rather repetitious towards the end, but brilliantly peculiar in the same way ‘African Night Flight’ was, and Eno makes sure his weird, blipping sound effects don’t overshadow the fed-up proceedings. In retrospect, Bowie should have made the record more whimsical and offered us more ironic and humorous gems like this, but missed a good opportunity while the world was still listening.
10. Red Money (4:18)
Pap. The end. Oh… all right, I’ll do it properly. Over a wriggly bass line and some itchy guitars, Bowie hops excitedly into a track which deploys some cheap clap-your-hands tactics for its duration, instead of actually serving us up something that the rest of us may recognise as a hooky melody or inspired song writing. This is just as repetitive as the rest of the dross here, and the extended length is to incorporate some unnecessary guitar solos and dreary layers of synthesiser that Eno recorded as he made a spirited leap for the door, en route to the airport and away from an idea-starved Bowie for the rest of his life. The two have yet to meet since. The last laugh is on David, of course, as he would go on to record one of his finest albums still to date, while Eno would make ‘My Life in the Bush of Ghosts’ with David Byrne. Hah!
David Bowie: Lodger (35:12)
The sleeve pictures show incredible promise to an album which delivers so little. Bowie is back in drag again and posing with some of his band mates in a fake doo-wop girl group. By that token, it should be packed full of androgynous humour, colourful lyricism and the guest musicians should lift it into the territory of the untouchable. Instead, it is crammed full of lacklustre material and acts merely as a dull and transient piece propping up the majestic ‘Heroes’ and the groundbreaking ‘Scary Monsters’ which would follow at the turn of the eighties. For fans of Bowie’s work around this era who believe him to be infallible, I would recommend taking a listen to this album and seriously thinking again. ‘Lodger’ is a scattered, incredibly inaccessible album which possibly has not aged very well alongside his other recordings, and I would advise only those who are already enamoured with Bowie to seek this out. Everyone else should peruse one of his many other classics, as this ain’t one of them.
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