Never let you down? How about never letting us down? On this 1987 dry well of an LP David Bowie–who thanks to 1983’s Let’s Dance and 1984’s Tonight had finally achieved the vast popular success that had eluded him throughout the years–stooped yet again to conquer, and put paid to his reputation as a genius/ trendsetter in the process. Never Let Me Down wasn’t just a stumble, or even the worst LP of Bowie’s career–it was a harbinger of the lost years to come.
One hardly knows where to start. With the second-rate dance rhythms? The forgettable melodies? The overweening (let’s go big big big!) but ultimately counter-productive production? The ubiquitous (and headache-provoking) ’80s drum drum drum? The horrifying harmonica Bowie seems to have borrowed from Boy George? His lackluster vocals and lack of commitment to the material? The inexplicable presence of Mickey Rourke? Did I just say Mickey Rourke?
On Never Let Me Down Bowie shamelessly panders to his newfound audience. Pandering is but a form of condescension, and on Never Let Me Down he doesn’t just make a whore of himself; he makes whores of us all. I’m one of those people (Velvet Goldmine director Todd Haynes being another) who thinks Bowie sold his soul for fame with Let’s Dance. But the devil always exacts his due. He spared Bowie eternal damnation; guess he figured Never Let Me Down was punishment enough.
Inexplicably many critics–blinded perhaps their fond memories of past glories and unwilling to face up to his precipitous fall from grace–had nothing but good things to say about the album. Bowie himself was far less deluded, telling a 1995 interviewer, “My nadir was Never Let Me Down. It was such an awful album…I really shouldn’t have even bothered going into the studio to record it.”
Never Let Me Down has an almost hostile feel to it, as if Bowie is punishing his audience for adoring the crass abomination he’d become–an artist who followed the trends instead of creating them, who abandoned his muse in quest of filthy lucre, and who eternally tarnished his good reputation by cavorting and mincing about in that inadvertently hilarious video with frenemy Mick Jagger. Especially for cavorting and mincing about in that inadvertently hilarious video with Mick Jagger. As T.S. Eliot once wrote, “After such knowledge, what forgiveness?”
Never Let Me Down is a veritable shit parade, so where to begin? Mickey Rourke’s “rap” on the jittery pop imbroglio “Shining Star (Makin’ My Love)”? The tres enervated take on Iggy Pop’s “Bang Bang”? “Day-In Day-Out” with its awful horn arrangements, wooden leg beat, and Bowie’s continual “Woo! Woo”s? The title track, which is subpar Culture Club and proof that Diamond Dave should never be entrusted with a harmonica? Or “New York’s in Love,” which is undercooked scrapple from the Apple?
Never Let Me Down’s “best” songs–by which I mean those songs that blow least–are “‘87 and Cry” and “Beat of the Drum.” The former’s hard edge presages Tin Machine, no big compliment for sure. But for once Bowie is looking to the future rather than sucking up to the present. And he’s in excellent vocal form on the surprisingly listenable “Beat of Your Drum,” which includes the telling line, “Disco brats following the pack.” As was David for that matter.
On Never Let Me Down the good songs aren’t merely few and far between; they’re none and far between. It’s one thing for the greatest musical artist of the 1970s to cater to the popular taste and succeed, quite another for said artist to cater to the popular taste and fall flat on his thin white face. Bowie didn’t just sell out–he threw an “All Genius Must Go” fire sale. To quote a very famous man, this ain’t rock ’n’ roll–this is genocide.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
D-
