The albums David Bowie was never proud of: “Even though it was a really big seller”
The 1980s were a decade of two extremes for David Bowie. It started beyond stratospheric height with Let’s Dance, and somehow ended in complete and utter ruin.
But the thing was, by the end of that era, the warning signs of impending doom were only clear to Bowie himself and not to the rest of the world. By all accounts, from an outsider’s perspective, life was all champagne and roses for the Starman, but the reality couldn’t have been any more different. Instead of basking in his new status as the prince of pop, Bowie really thought he was facing exile.
For all the bright lights and big sales that Let’s Dance had granted him, the album being lauded as the pinnacle of his career did not exactly do him any favours in the long run, as its slick, pop-oriented sound only encouraged the powers that be to guide Bowie down a very narrow direction. In turn, the two albums that followed – Tonight in 1984 and Never Let Me Down in 1987 – may have been most palatable to some, but the ultimate artistic betrayal to the man himself.
Unlike most artists, the real sign of trouble for Bowie was when those records actually started selling well. Of course, this seems completely oxymoronic to the sound of any rock star, let alone one with a legacy as seismic as his. But the truth of the matter was that the vast majority of his musical outputs were slow burners, ageing like fine wine – whereas the instant burst of Tonight and Never Let Me Down was more like the sickly sweet taste of an alcopop.
Although admittedly not making as trite an analogy, Bowie did agree with the essence of this statement when he later admitted in a 2003 interview: “All my biggest mistakes are when I try to second-guess or please an audience. My work is always stronger when I get very selfish about it and just do what I want to do. Even if they’re dismissed, and perhaps rightly, there were a couple of albums in the ’80s that did exceptionally well for me – and I’m not a huge selling artist – but they’re not albums I’m proud of.”
Even with what came next, in terms of the lacklustre Tin Machine and his headache of a 1990s drum and bass period, it seemed Bowie was still infinitely prouder of those commercial failures for their experimental spirit, as opposed to the surefire hits he got from staying in his lane. Even the bizarreness of Buddha of Suburbia, his 1993 TV soundtrack, fared better in his eyes. “I feel much more comfortable about that than about, say, Never Let Me Down, even though it was a really big seller.”
If there was ever any quote that summed up the power and prestige of Bowie in a nutshell, it would perhaps be this. Commercial platitudes and golden achievements only went so far in securing his legacy as a true rock god; instead, that status was far better earned in spirits and artistry than in numbers. The charts were always just about the last thing on his mind – and as such, in the ‘80s when he saw those songs rocketing up and up, he knew the scales were decidedly tilting towards doom.
