It seems simple when you look at first. It’ll even seem simple after you’ve seen it a thousand times. But this album cover of David Bowie’s Low is one of those specimens that points to the music in a very simple way, but also directs the mind to the artist himself.
Futurism. Apocalypse. Loneliness. Detainment.
To understand this album is to understand David Bowie in a state of being. Bowie’s work prior 1977 (“Space Oddity”, “Changes”, “Ziggy Stardust”, etc.) launched him into veritable superstardom. And as with many stars of the time, he fell to the woes of drug addiction. After public humiliation, he faced self-imposed exile in Berlin, the capital of East Germany, behind the Iron Curtain. This was rehab of an extreme nature; Bowie focused his energy on working to create something avant-garde with a new array of great minds (including Brian Eno), shutting himself off from his past life and often from the outside world.
The first in a trilogy of eccentric and radically different albums, Low’s album art only slightly depicts what lies between the sleeve. In the contrast-bombed profile of Bowie, there is detail, but not much content. You can of course see that the figure is really Bowie, but aside from that fact, he is stripped from most of the things an existing fan would know him for; no evening dress, no lightning bolt face paint, no mismatched eyes, no eyepatch, no fiery mullet.
The degraded orange color of the background is not the consequence of age – it’s a stylistic choice. The color and contrast is washed out, blending with Bowie’s hair and making him one with the scene. The glowing, speckled orange gives a warm aura despite the appearance of the artist looking quite pale and swaddled in layered winter clothing. This odd combination has been seen in movies and media elsewhere in the form of a barren, post-apocalyptic future.
In contrast with his past, this David Bowie looks serious, non-dramatic, and asexual. What’s left is a profile of a very understated rockstar. His statement is understatement, and it proves both his reformation and transformation.
In terms of the music, Low is regarded as a highly-influential album in a similarly understated way. (So understated, in fact, that many people forget about its existence in lieu of Bowie’s more outrageous works.) The music never ceases to surprise me with how modern it sounds, even 33 years later.
I should say that choosing highlights to showcase some of the more interesting songs is nearly impossible. At least half of the songs here deserve at least a little blurb, but I’ll limit myself to two:
The first track on the album (“Speed of Life”) is Bowie’s first ever instrumental piece and starts things off with a crash. The second track “Breaking Glass”, linked above, provides distorted space-age funk as contrast. While a screechy guitar whines away, the rhythm section thumps along steadily. Once Bowie’s distinct wail is present, all of the usual elements of an early period David Bowie song are present, but the result is a little… off. This feeling of unfamiliarity is all over Low, but it stands out particularly on this track, both as the first song on the album to feature vocals, and as the punctuation mark to the noisy first song. Unease, coupled with creepy lyrics about glass, a stranger’s room, and averting vision, add up to create a bizarre and tense setting that will last through the rest of the album.
The second sample listed above, “Warszawa”, is a sweeping glacial masterpiece. (It works best as a mood-setting piece, so go ahead and listen to it as you read the rest of this post. In case you hadn’t noticed, all links on this site open in new tabs.) Purportedly, Bowie’s take on the Polish city influenced the drab and oppressive landscape of the song, but to me it’s a little deeper than that; hearing this song makes me think of old-world sorrow – the kind that’s impossible to define in modern times. This, of course, is counter-intuitive to the progress made by Low, with its use of synth and other avant-garde means. What results is a strong statement of new-age modernity laced with desolate loneliness.
If you spend some time with the album, you’ll find many little quirks: an intro that’s longer than the song itself on “Sound and Vision”; the Atari-ish sound effect on “What In The World”; the Polish-sounding fake language lyrics on “Warszawa”. These are the things that set apart Low from previous Bowie albums and from all other albums of the time. With this in mind, the album art seems like an understatement that works best with proper insight of the artist’s history. Standing alone, we get a sense of the futuristic dread in the music, but no links are made to the many other stylistic choices.
As the breaking point between old career and new, Low’s album cover sends a strong statement – one of crisp and clearcut concentration. The problem here, though, is that on its own the album art falls flat, and it’s because of what made it so distinct – its simplicity. Interesting problem…
Probably Just Hungry 