For people who weren't born before the Kennedy assassination, the rock and roll canon as preached on the pages of Rolling Stone and on classic rock radio airwaves is cruelly out of reach. It seems that every significant moment occurred between Elvis appearing (from the waist-up, of course) on the Ed Sullivan show and the Ramones' first gig at CBGB's. Anything after that is a backwards looking reunion tour or a commemoration of the 30th anniversary of some lost weekend in the ‘60s or ‘70s. And yet, for all the irritating pitfalls of the boomer-centric myth, there is the reality that later generations have missed out on some incredible concerts from the icons of rock.
As someone who is spending his college years in apartments on the sites of high-profile ‘70s venues the Palladium and the Filmore East, I come at David Bowie's Live Santa Monica '72 not as a nostalgic dad trying to remember his wild days—presumably the deluxe reissue's target audience—but as a museum goer, curious about life in a period before my time. In that sense, Live Santa Monica delivers (if you're a member of the other audience, you'll have to ask my father). From the frenetic energy of show opener "Hang on to Yourself" to the last, pleading notes of "Rock and Roll Suicide," the album captures Bowie at his most recognizable, and arguably, his best musical stage.
In '72, Bowie was touring in support of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars—a loosely fitting concept album about a fictional, alien rock band—and living the decadent and destructive life of its title character. The setlist draws heavily from Ziggy Stardust, but also touches on some other classic early Bowie albums. Though they may not appear on the album, these tracks mesh musically and thematically with the Ziggy Stardust material. "The Supermen," "Life on Mars?" and "Queen Bitch" would all fit in on an extended Ziggy Stardust album, and that cohesion keeps the show moving without a hitch. In fact, Ziggy Stardust opener "Five Years," with its anticipatory beginning and its dramatic finish, sounds so perfect coming after "The Supermen" and "Life on Mars?" one wonders if that's where it was always meant to be.
Aside from the usual hits and Ziggy tracks, the album also features a few unexpected gems. Bowie introduces "Andy Warhol" off of Honky Dory intoning, "This is a painter, from New Yorrrrk. Terrrrific," in his best Warhol impersonation. His cover of Belgian songwriter Jacques Brel's "My Death" expresses Bowie's insecurities and those of his Ziggy Stardust alter ego as he sings, "My death waits to allow my friends a few good times before it ends" in a tortured yell. On the Velvet Underground's "Waiting for the Man," he trades in the seediness of the original for his own glammed-out version.
The big hit "Changes" is a revelation in its live version as a jazzy piano and heartfelt vocals add depth to the song. But more important than these elements, the simple act of hearing a different version allows the listener to hear the song itself, and not the sanitized studio version that's been ingrained in our heads through so many insurance commercials and movie soundtracks. On "Space Oddity," Bowie toys with our expectations by stopping completely and revving his voice like an engine taking off before the refrain "This is Ground Control to Major Tom." In either case, the subtle ch-ch-changes make the songs fresh, like hearing it for the first time. For someone who missed out the first time around, that's the best I can ask for.
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