Beyond 'Fame': Ten Deep Cuts That Reveal The True Genius Of David Bowie

David Bowie passed away on Monday, January 11. The following was posted in 2014 on the occasion of a new museum exhibit about the rock icon. Read and listen to more of our David Bowie coverage here.

The opening of the museum exhibit David Bowie Is has once again focused attention on this shape-shifting, game-changing artist. Bowie’s hits, like “Fame,” and “Rebel Rebel,” and “Changes,” are in the air again. And that’s fine – but the real reason people become lifelong Bowie fans lies in his deeper cuts. Most of Bowie’s albums are carefully sequenced, and when they end, they usually end with a song that’ll stick with you for a while.  

In fact, if you just listened to the last track on each Bowie album, you’d have a pretty great playlist. Even his uneven 1967 debut ends well: with the darkly comic “Please Mr. Gravedigger,” a two-minute scene, without any instruments, of Bowie out in the rain, digging a grave while singing – barely, and pausing to sneeze at one point.  “Rock’n’Roll Suicide” from The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars and “Fame” from Young Americans are two more notable final tracks.   

Here, in chronological order, are ten of my favorite “album cuts” from David Bowie. (Note: the ones with marked * are the last track on their respective albums.)

“The Bewlay Brothers” from Hunky Dory (1971)*

The strangest of Bowie’s final tracks, and quite possibly the strangest song he’s ever done. And yes, I’m including the experimental tracks on Low and "Heroes" in that statement. Full of impenetrable imagery and ending with an eerie, weightless chorus, it might be a portrait of madness (a recurring theme in Bowie, especially in the early '70s). Listen on headphones as the final chorus dies away to get the full effect.

“Moonage Daydream” from Ziggy Stardust (1972)

Bowie’s breakthrough album is full of songs that have become fan favorites. His performance of “Starman” on the BBC’s Top Of The Pops was one of those defining moments in music history – akin to The Beatles’ performance on The Ed Sullivan Show. But “Moonage Daydream” -- recorded here and also in an earlier, alternate version by Bowie’s alter ego project Arnold Corns -- sports one of guitarist Mick Ronson’s finest moments, where he plays a memorable anti-solo: no shredding, just an ascending series of long, almost impossibly clean notes.

“Lady Grinning Soul” from Aladdin Sane (1973)*

Bowie relied on pianist Mike Garson for two of the most striking moments on Aladdin Sane: the wild solo on the title track, and the piano-bar-at-the-end-of-the-galaxy sound of this song. With Mick Ronson contributing a delicate Spanish guitar solo, this song is Bowie at his lounge-lizardy best.

“Joe the Lion” from Heroes (1977) 

In the Berlin twilight, Bowie sits, cutting up phrases and taping them together to unlock the creative process. The resulting album is an unparalleled mixture of brooding funk and sonic experimentation. “Joe The Lion” seems to refer, in part, to the performance artist Chris Burden, with the line “Tell you who you are / if you nail me to my car” -- echoing one of Burden’s most notorious pieces, Trans-fixed, where he was crucified to the back of a Volkswagen. As for the rest of it, well, you’re on your own.

“The Secret Life of Arabia” from "Heroes" (1977)*

The conclusion of "Heroes", after the teeming, fraught darkness of side two, is this parting of the clouds – a walk through a Rudolph Valentino movie seen through a haze of cigarette (let’s just say it’s cigarette) smoke. A great, catchy, and wholly overlooked gem.

“Look Back in Anger” from Lodger (1979)

Brian Eno co-wrote this song, and contributes the electronic sounds of the “horse trumpets” and “Eroica horns,” both of which are aptly named. But listen to the guitar work, by Bowie himself and especially his longtime collaborator Carlos Alomar, whose brief but tasty solo makes the song.

“It’s No Game, Parts 1 and 2” from Scary Monsters (1980)*

Have to put an asterisk on the asterisk here: Part one of this song starts the album; part two concludes it. Part one is the sound of things falling apart. A frantic Japanese voice, Bowie half-screaming the vocals and draaaaaggging out the vowels, Robert Fripp offering one of his most angular guitar solos, and Bowie finally shrieking at him to “Shut up!” Part two is a complete transformation. Things are still falling apart, but instead of the high anxiety of part one, here we have resignation, and perhaps some meds.

“I Have Not Been To Oxford Town” from Outside (1995)

Bowie’s return to form after his dalliance with pop music was also a return to the studio with producer Brian Eno. Outside was a concept album/radio play revolving around a detective, a murder, and the arts world. The story is pretty elliptical, but this song stands out for its funk-rock rhythms and its catchy chorus.

“New Killer Stars” from Reality (2003)

Not only isn’t this a final track, it’s actually the album’s opener. Here Bowie shows that he still knows how to take a classic rock chord progression and make something new with it. But Reality, appearing after the well-received Heathen, was somewhat overlooked. Heathen was seen as Bowie’s post-9/11 record, even though it had mostly been recorded earlier. So lots of people missed this track, which is Bowie’s true post-9/11 song. “See the great white scar / over Battery Park,” he begins, and you know what he’s talking about.

“Heat” from The Next Day (2013)* 

“I tell myself / I don’t know who I am,” Bowie sings. That sounds about right for a guy who’s been so many characters during his career. But what do we make of the repeated “My father ran the prison,” or the strange opening lines, or even the song’s title? Bowie has always been a fan of the dark, dystopian songs of Scott Walker. That influence pervades this eerie, atmospheric, and completely unnerving finale to Bowie’s sneak attack album of 2013.