David Bowie’s Debut Album:

Going Back To Where It All

Began
Released at the dawn of the Summer Of Love, David Bowie’s
debut album contains the seeds of ideas that he would return
to throughout his career.

Born on January 8, 1947, David Bowie was 20 by the time he

released his self-titled debut album, on Deram, on June 1,
1967. By then he had already made his way through London-
based blues and rock’n’roll out ts The King Bees and The
Konrads, irted with the mod scene as singer for The Lower
Third, fronted garage out t (and indulged his early love for The
Velvet Underground) in The Riot Squad, and was immersing
himself in Lindsay Kemp’s dance school. David Bowie’s debut
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 album saw yet another shift – one that contained a multitude of
styles.

It’s perhaps unsurprising that, at such an early stage in his

career, Bowie was yet to synthesize all his in uences into the
unique vision he would later unleash on the likes of Low, The
Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars,
and countless other envelope-pushing long-players, but what
is remarkable about David Bowie’s debut album is that,
underneath the vaudeville kitsch and music-hall sheen, it
contains the seeds of ideas that Bowie would return to
throughout his career.

First, there’s the undeniable pop sensibility that, no matter

what guise Bowie was working under, permeated his music:
“Love You Till Tuesday,” (and period non-album singles “Can’t
Help Thinking About Me,” and “I Dig Everything,”) are
undeniably catchy earworms that, while ultimately failing to
make a dent on the charts, proved that Bowie always had one
eye on mass appeal. (And then there’s “The Laughing Gnome,”
another standalone A-side that tipped a cap to his early
in uence, Anthony Newley, and has been a perennial fan
favorite throughout his entire career.)

Elsewhere, on “We Are Hungry Men,” Bowie assumes the

mantle of a messiah (sound familiar?), while positing a world
where the population count has reached “danger point” and
civilians threaten cannibalism. It’s the sort of dystopian theme
that would run rife through later outings, such as Ziggy
Stardust’s opening cut, “Five Years,” and the 1984-indebted
tracks that make up much of Side Two of Diamond Dogs.
“She’s Got Medals,” meanwhile, with its insistent bass and
cross-dressing protagonist, is a direct precursor to Hunky
Dory’s “Queen Bitch,” – and, as such, ushers in Bowie’s entire
gender-bending oeuvre.

Deluxe reissues of the album have also made it clear that

Bowie was as proli c in this early stage in his career as he was
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during his breakneck 70s period. A slew of bonus tracks reveal
further facets of Bowie’s music from the late 60s, among them
“Let Me Sleep Beside You,” an early excursion into the folk-
rock that Bowie would explore on his follow-up LP.

David Bowie’s performance in the charts (it struggled to

No.125 in the UK) was perhaps hindered by the fact that it was
released on the same day as The Beatles’ all-consuming Sgt
Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. By this point, however,
Bowie himself had, typically, moved on to the next thing. BBC
sessions from December ’67 and May ’68 see him edging out
the LP’s material for newer work. By summer 1969 he had hit
upon “Space Oddity,” and his career was truly in lift-off.