Every time I mention this project to someone, they'll inevitably ask me to pick out a favorite album. That's a difficult question to answer because each album has offered a drastically different listening experience. I couldn't compare Ziggy to Hunky Dory, and I still can't, because there isn't a good objective way to rank apples and oranges.

Enter Diamond Dogs. I don't have an objective way to justify or explain it, but for the time being, this is my favorite David Bowie album.

I've always been drawn to dystopian fiction- especially from the 80s. The opening track is only a minute long, but it invokes the same kind of intrigue and curiosity I felt watching Blade Runner, The Running Man, and The Road Warrior for the first time. The imagery is stark and twisted: corpses rotting in the streets among massive fleas and rats while people mindlessly flock to shop windows and skyscrapers for their fix of high fashion. It's an atmosphere straight out of 1984 and Brave New World, yet still quintessentially Bowie. The transition that follows Future Legend into the title track is flawless:

"This ain't Rock'n'Roll

This is Genocide"

With that last line, we're thrown from a comfortable place into the opening chords of Diamond Dogs. We show up as observers, watching those twisted scenes in Future Legend from a safe place, until the floor suddenly disappears and we're face to face with them. We land somewhere far below the sacrosanct skyscrapers and expensive wares- maybe a dive bar or a tent city- with Bowie as our guide. Diamond Dogs plays like a messed up version of Be Our Guest. The locals aren't friendly, and it only gets worse: poachers hiding behind trees, killer mannequins, and death lurking in the fog.

There's a wonderful irony in the music itself. Diamond Dogs is catchy as hell. There's a saxophone, a piano, and even a cowbell (!), all anchored by a nasty riff that screams 'Arnold in a yellow jumpsuit'.

There is a narrative flowing through this album, and I see the next three tracks as one long chapter. I don't think you can listen to one of them without the others without diluting the experience. The lyrics felt like a trap at first- you could easily read into them and come up with any number of very specific interpretations (ala The Bewlay Brothers), but I tried to abstract those interpretations based on things they have in common. Here's what I'm confident about: there's a character living among the dregs of society, hunted by the Diamond Dogs, looking for an escape into higher society. They find a way to climb the ladder (it's either literally selling themselves, or selling some kind of performance), but the ladder is riddled with pitfalls of its own.

By the time we reach Candidate, I think Bowie is narrating from another point of view. Suddenly he's the salesman offering escape from the fleas and rats, for a steep price. There are vocal and musical cues to back up that interpretation- the tempo steadily builds while Bowie changes his tone and distorts his own voice. As the track goes on, he sounds less like a salesman and more like a madman. The last verse in Candidate is haunting in that, whatever Bowie's character has been tricked/forced into doing, it's driven him to the point of suicide:



"I guess we could cruise down one more time



With you by my side, it should be fine



We'll buy some drugs and watch a band



Then jump in the river holding hands"

Maybe its even simpler: Bowie's character becomes an addict to escape the pressures of a dystopian society. The transition from Candidate to Sweet Thing (Reprise) brings his crescendo to a crashing halt. My gut reaction was "well, that's the opiates kicking in." The reprise is short-lived and somber, and there's an awful irony at play: these characters found their escape, but they can't escape it.

"It's got claws, it's got me, it's got you"

The next two tracks don't really fit the narrative, but I couldn't be less arsed. Rebel Rebel is a known commodity, but it has serious staying power. It's an unapologetic shot of adrenaline for anyone willing to stand out. I say "willing to" rather than "wanting to" because I think there's a fundamental difference between the two. Some people stand out and rebel against societal norms because that's who they are and they don't want to compromise. Others might want to stand out for the sake of standing out, even if they don't quite understand why or how it works for them. Rebel Rebel doesn't play favorites, and it's brilliant in its simplicity.

In an album full of classics (Ziggy Stardust), I chose Lady Stardust as a standout because it brought out some of my best memories. I had a similar experience with Rock 'n Roll With Me. Both ballads cut through the narratives and complexities of their respective albums to point out something obvious: the things you love put everything in perspective. In Lady Stardust, even though everything isn't perfect, everything seems alright because the band is there together. I think the placement of Rock 'n Roll With Me is intentional: amidst all the dystopian horrors embedded in Diamond Dogs, smack in the middle of the album, Bowie finds solace with someone he loves.

The Diamond Dogs narrative picks up again with We Are the Dead. Like Sweet Thing/Candidate, this is an incredibly dense set of lyrics and I'm hesitant to wander too far down the rabbit hole looking for the "right" interpretation. I don't think it's a stretch to think these might be the same characters we left in the aforementioned tracks. I also don't think it's a stretch to say they've found themselves selling their bodies to people of means in Hunger City. The mystery for me is in the second half, because it sounds like a forlorn love story:



"One thing kind of touched me today

I looked at you and counted all the times we had laid

Pressing our love through the night

Knowing it's right, knowing it's right

Now I'm hoping some one will care

Living on the breath of a hope to be shared

Trusting on the sums of our love,

That some one will care"

﻿I'm torn between two interpretations here. One is that Bowie's narrator is one of "the dead", in love with one of his fellow "allies of the lecher." My second interpretation is much darker: Bowie's narrator could be a purveyor of the dead in a very screwed up relationship with his own "wares." In any case, if the track was meant to haunt me, it succeeded.

For me, that's where the story ends. The remaining tracks come across as more of a commentary on what we've already heard. 1984, a pretty obvious literary reference, is a warning:

"Someday they won't let you, so now you must agree

The times they are a-telling,

and the changing isn't free

You've read it in the tea leaves, and the tracks are on TV

Beware the savage jaw

Of 1984"

This is probably the most forward, aggressive track on the album. There are no allusions connecting our own world to Bowie's dystopia, because he's speaking directly to us: this could be you, this could be me, and we've known that for a long time.

Standout Track: Big Brother

The great irony about dystopian fiction is that we're drawn to it. One thing those fictional universes have in common is that they don't happen by accident. The societies in 1984 et al aren't forced upon the people. Rather, people in those stories practically beg for them. In each case, something terrible happens that scares the living hell out of a free society, and that society responds by ushering in some kind of dystopian future.

I wish I could say that didn't sound familiar, but it does. It's difficult for many people to accept that living in a free society means that people are free to attempt horrible things, and that sometimes they'll get away with them. It was too difficult for my country to accept when tragedy struck nearly 15 years ago, and we've wandered dangerously down a fear-driven path ever since. We've willingly handed over certain freedoms, doing so one small piece at a time so as not to draw comparisons to dystopian fiction. Taken as a whole, however, our efforts to maximize our own security do draw comparisons to dystopian fiction, and many people- even some of the most critical minds among us- asked for it.

Big Brother is a timely and profound track for western civilization in 2016. Bad things have happened, and they continue happening every day. As the headlines pile up, many people cower in fear and look for someone to "save" them.

"He'll build a glass asylum

With just a hint of mayhem

He'll build a better whirlpool

We'll be living from sin, then we can really begin

Please Savior, Savior, show us

Hear me, I'm graphically yours"

There are plenty of different coping strategies when the dangers of the outside world seem overwhelming. One is to wake up and go about our lives in spite of them. As Ned Stark puts it, "The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid." I'd like to imagine that, collectively, we can find a way to live freely with that in mind.

Bowie seems to have known all of this in 1974. He could sense the fear lurking in his own society, and he found a way to both express and expose those fears in this album. Taken together, these tracks paint a vivid picture of a society where the few control the many with manufactured fear. Their manipulation is so potent that, by the end of the album, common people are desperate to be controlled:

"Someone to claim us, someone to follow

Someone to shame us, some brave Apollo

Someone to fool, someone like You

We want You big brother"

Epilogue

This was originally meant to cover four albums, but I found myself droning on about Diamond Dogs enough to call it a logical stopping point. I've listened to both Young Americans and Station to Station extensively, and I'm working on a draft to cover those experiences even as I close out this post. I know the Berlin trilogy is next, so I want to have a clean break going into it and cover the whole trilogy in the same piece of writing.

I'll see you soon (yes, soon) for Part 5, then it's on to the Berlin trilogy for Part 6.