(Parlophone)
On this new compilation of his mid-60s Davie Jones years, Bowie can’t distinguish himself from the era’s other bands – and ends up hedging his bets
In 1973, David Bowie released Pin Ups, a loving if slightly over-wrought collection of covers from the mid-60s: the moment when the previous driving forces of British pop, Merseybeat and the blues revival started giving way to something noticeably weirder, noisier and more expansive. In an accompanying promotional interview, he waxed lyrical about his memories of seeing the Pretty Things, the Who, the Creation and the nascent Pink Floyd “with dear old Syd” in impeccable mod lingo (“up the Windmill or the Elephant, get blocked, bust over to Richmond”) but tactfully neglected to mention that he was more than an amphetamine-fuelled fan: he’d wanted to be a participant, and had recorded a handful of mid-60s singles inspired by his idols.
That elision shows what a strained relationship Bowie had with his pre-fame material. For most of his career, he simply tried to ignore it, although it doggedly refused to go away: his former labels kept re-releasing it, usually in sleeves that attempted to fool the buyer that it was current. Then, in his 50s, he seemed to reconsider, revisiting his 60s oeuvre on Toy, a 2001 album that was rejected by his then-label EMI – a baffling decision, if you buy the posthumous rewriting of Bowie’s history that insists his Glastonbury performance in 2000 utterly reinvigorated his career and made him as revered as he was in his peak years.
