It’s a strangely common trait among musicians to have ‘Daddy Issues’ with your own back catalogue.
I must have read a thousand interviews in my time where a big-name star besmirches one of their own smash hits and champions a lesser-known album track as the finest thing they have ever produced. No doubt a multitude of factors are at play when they make these startling admissions, and quite often, they end up going full circle anyway. David Bowie was unique in every other way, but in this regard, he was no different. He was the goblin king of back catalogue Daddy Issues.
There was a period in Bowie’s career when he was at the far end of the love/hate loop, and he abandoned the rich tapestry of his best work from bygone eras, stating that he was intolerably bored by old classics that were “of [their] time”. As a musician who had always looked to find the future of music, he saw resting on his laurels as inherently artless.
This cursed disposition placed two former classics, in particular, firmly in the bad books. The Starman grew to resent his former successes when the lofty heights of fame finally befell him. Suddenly, despite always wanting to be an “influencer” he felt like a pop sham when he should’ve been an avant-garde saviour. In his mind, two old tracks came to epitomise this misstep. The rest of the world might have loved them. But he didn’t. He hated them, in fact.
The irony in Bowie’s case is that two of the songs he hated were arguably commercially the most important of his career. One of them kickstarted it in earnest, and the other sustained him during the creatively brilliant but commercially flailing years that followed.
In 2000, the legendary producer, near-constant Bowie collaborator, and dear friend Tony Visconti told journalist Steve Pafford, “he loves what he does,” but thereafter, he gets itchy feet and is incredibly keen to abandon his previous herculean creative accomplishment and move onto the next one.
On some occasions, however, he was keen not just to move on but to sprint away from his past work. ‘Young Americans’ may well have brought the bacon home for Bowie in the 1970s and sustained him during the time when, remarkably, masterpieces like the famed Berlin trilogy failed to reward him in a monetary sense. Still, the Starman declared that he “loathed” the track. Although he liked ‘Win’ from the fabled ‘White Soul’ album, its titular track grated on him to no end, and he retired the song for good after his Sound + Vision tour in 1990.
The second track that met with Bowie’s retrospective self-loathing is even more inexplicable. The early years of Bowie’s career have always offered a fascinating insight into the celestial stardom that would follow. He was absolutely determined “to have an impact”, but he refused to waiver from his creative ideology. When he finally did achieve minor notoriety, it was through a track that looked at the societal implications of space travel, the isolation of fame (perhaps specifically Syd Barrett’s fame), and Stanley Kubrick-inspired oblivion with ‘Space Oddity’.
Remarkably, this anthem only peaked at number 124 in the US Singles Chart and number five in the UK. However, it seemed to showcase everything that he was about as an artist. It paired unrivalled scope with deeply personal reflections. It was timely but far from the “cheap shot” Visconti once dubbed it, hitting a prescience beyond the moon landing it was tied to. And it had a gorgeously catchy but jazzy melody to boot. These are all elements that define Bowie, but for decades, he hated it.
Strangely, he was not alone in hating the song. Although he may have warmed to it since, upon release, even the ever-upbeat Visconti disliked it, taking his “cheap shot” comment further and calling it “a gimmick to cash in on the moonshot”.
Over the years, Bowie even threatened to break into his own vault and burn the master tapes. Once again, Bowie retired the song from his live sets. He played it during the Diamond Dog tour of ’74, then gave it a lengthy spell in exile until it was revived for 1983’s record-breaking Serious Moonlight tour.
Perhaps it is simply a case that you become over-exposed to your biggest numbers and retreat away from them as some sort of preserving defence. After all, it’s a trope that has befallen Radiohead for their generation-defining anthem ‘Creep’; the same can be said for Nirvana and ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’, as well as Liam Gallagher disliking Oasis’ smash hit ‘Wonderwall’, and The Beastie Boys claiming that ‘Fight For Your Right’ was a joke that the wrong people took seriously.
However, Bowie’s reasons for hating ‘Space Oddity’ and ‘Young Americans’ are rather more inscrutable. While some artists deride their former glory in a bid to bask their present output in a more favourable light, there are also songs from the past that Bowie heaped praise on. There are deep cuts he adored, but big hits like ‘Life on Mars’ which he held in equal fondness.
All in all, it seems the tracks he loathed simply show that he was a star who always keenly discerned his own discography. Frequently looking back in a bid to move forward. As a man who created myriad characters and clearly orchestrated his own artistic chapters, the mythology of Bowie was never lost on the man beneath it all.
This is evidenced further by his appraisal of what may well be the most underrated song from his whole back catalogue: ‘Teenage Wildlife’. “So it’s late morning and I’m thinking, ‘New song and a fresh approach’,” Bowie said of the track – rather indicatively. ” I know. I’m going to do a Ronnie Spector. Oh yes I am. Ersatz just for one day.’ And I did, and here it is. Bless.”
He concluded, “I’m still very enamoured of this song and would give you two ‘Modern Love’s for it anytime.”
