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On \u2018Station to Station\u2019<\/strong><\/p>\n Station to Station<\/em> is my favourite David Bowie album, and it seemed the natural starting point when I was asked to write a poem about the Dame. Its immediate successor, Low<\/em>, is the better, more important record but Station to Station<\/em> has this rich, readymade mythology to tap into \u2013 all pentagrams, Nietzsche and cocaine-fuelled s\u00e9ances. Musically, too, I\u2019m a big fan of its LA glitz and funk, a hangover from Young Americans<\/em> that lingers as Bowie heads into darker territory. The album catches Bowie slap-bang at the intersection of my favourite things about him: that paradox of slick, artificial soul in one sector of the Venn, crossing over into the genuine, vulnerable soul music he\u2019d invent in Berlin with Brian Eno.<\/p>\n Because I\u2019m a strange and nerdy creature, who grew up as a teenage music obsessive just before the internet made this kind of timeline ridiculous, I read about Station to Station<\/em> \u2013 in some depth \u2013 before I\u2019d even heard it. Ian MacDonald, my favourite pop journalist, has an essay about it in his last book, The People\u2019s Music<\/em>, which I recommend to anyone interested in this album\u2019s very weird hinterland of Gnostic mysticism and pseudo-fascist iconography. A short excerpt might help to give a flavour:<\/p>\n Though he made plenty of pro-Hitler statements around 1975-6, Bowie ultimately remained sane enough to distinguish the ideal of an order-bringing \u00e9lite from Nazi reality. He was, he would occasionally claim, a Nietzschean, his \u2018fascism\u2019 being conceptually benign (if nonetheless arrogant). He favoured a New Order not of domination, but of enlightenment: rule of the \u2018asleep\u2019 by the \u2018awake\u2019. The main snag was that he was doing too many drugs.<\/p>\n A salient fact: Bowie claimed, quite earnestly, that he didn\u2019t remember anything about the recording sessions for this album. Imagine that \u2013 a classic album, and you\u2019re as surprised as everyone else to hear what it sounds like when you come round a year later in a Berlin suburb.<\/p>\n I wanted to capture some of that sense of blackout in the poem: the disorientation and paranoia of regaining consciousness, not knowing where you are, and struggling to piece together the journey. It\u2019s happened to me a few times down the years (a result of booze, not cocaine) \u2013 not that often, but often enough that the atmosphere of Station to Station<\/em> rings true. Whenever I have awoken in that state, I\u2019ve almost always been seized by an apprehension of having committed a calamity. I trust I\u2019ve never done anything much worse than embarrass myself, yet the story of this album haunts me. Bowie did something pretty bad, and public, in May 1976, at the apex of his long bender. Stepping off a train at Victoria Station, he greeted the waiting press corps with a wave that looked suspiciously like a Nazi salute. The Thin White Duke\u2019s dodgy politics have never resonated with me, thank god, yet I saw in that persona a darkly plausible alter-ego to the harmless sot \u2013 a monster capable of doing some serious, and more than reputational, damage. In this poem, I\u2019ve tried to channel him.<\/p>\n Dai George<\/em><\/p>\n Station to Station \u2013 1976<\/em><\/p>\n STATION TO STATION<\/strong><\/p>\n Thin boys crash in second class, all memory Dai George<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n You can buy the pamphlet here.<\/a><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text admin_label=”Subscribe CTA” background_layout=”light” text_orientation=”left” use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid” background_color=”#6d0606″ custom_padding=”20|20|20|20″ header_text_color=”#ffffff” text_text_color=”#ffffff” saved_tabs=”all”]<\/p>\n If you’re already a subscriber then many thanks for the support as we cannot survive without you!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n If you don’t yet subscribe, or you have let this lapse, please do consider it carefully. It’s just \u00a324.00 for an annual UK subscription<\/a> (\u00a319 for people living in the UK on a low income).\u00a0 For everyone overseas it\u2019s \u00a336 (\u00a324 plus \u00a312 shipping charge).<\/span><\/p>\n
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\nof how they got there fried. The journey is
\na midnight trawl through morning\u2019s bluish
\ncertainties. The thin boy is far from certain;
\nhe has a gift in neglect, mysterious injuries,
\na long way to go across a hostile continent.
\nWhite boys gather plaudits for their funk.
\nTheir boogie is a ripe banana splitting
\nto sweet mush in your mouth. Relax,
\nor don\u2019t, for white boys can do opera;
\ntheir high notes scale a peak of need
\nthen slum it, parley, get on down.
\nThe Duke, though \u2013 the Duke repels
\nthe waiting crowd with his half salute.
\nHe forgot where he was. He slicks
\nhis hair to Hollywood and smiles;
\ninvites you to a s\u00e9ance in the louche
\nGrand Duchy of his personal hell.<\/p>\nSubscribing to The Rialto<\/span><\/h2>\n