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David Bowie: Reality

A l b u m D e t a i l s
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	Label:	ISO Records
	Released:	2003
	Time:	49:23
	Category:	Pop/Rock
	Producer(s):	David Bowie, Tony Visconti
	Rating:	********.. (8/10)
	Media type:	CD
	Web address:	www.davidbowie.com
	Appears with:
	Purchase date:	2008.10.23
	Price in €:	9,99

S o n g s , T r a c k s
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[1] New Killer Star (D.Bowie) - 4:40
[2] Pablo Picasso (J.Richman) - 4:05
[3] Never Get Old (D.Bowie) - 4:24
[4] The Loneliest Guy (D.Bowie) - 4:11
[5] Looking for Water (D.Bowie) - 3:28
[6] She'll Drive the Big Car (D.Bowie) - 4:35
[7] Days (D.Bowie) - 3:18
[8] Fall Dog Bombs the Moon (D.Bowie) - 4:04
[9] Try Some, Buy Some (G.Harrison) - 4:24
[10] Reality (D.Bowie) - 4:23
[11] Bring Me the Disco King (D.Bowie) - 7:45

A r t i s t s , P e r s o n n e l
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David Bowie - Synthesizer, Guitar, Percussion, Keyboards, Baritone Saxophone, Background Vocals, Producer, Stylophone

Tony Visconti - Bass, Guitar, Keyboards, Background Vocals, Producer, Engineer, Mixing
Mario J. McNulty - Percussion, Drums, Engineer, Assistant
Sterling Campbell - Drums
Matt Chamberlain - Drums
Mark Plati - Bass, Guitar
Gerry Leonard - Guitar
Earl Slick - Guitar
David Torn - Guitar
Mike Garson - Piano

Gail Ann Dorsey - Background Vocals
Catherine Russell - Background Vocals

Bill Jenkins - Engineer
Brandon Mason - Engineer
Héctor Castillo - Mixing
Vlado Meller - Mastering
Emily Lazar - Mastering
Frank W. 3 Ockenfels - Photography
Frank Ockenfels - Photography
Rex Ray - Illustrations

C o m m e n t s , N o t e s
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2003 CD ISO/Columbia 90576
2003 CD Sony 90752
2003 CD Sony 5125553
2007 CD Sony 1348
2007 CD Sony Japan 1348
2008 CD ISO/Columbia 90576

The Thin White Duke returns with his 26th album, the follow-up to 2002's 'Heathen'. Produced once again by longtime collaborator Tony Visconti, this is a more musically diverse and harder rocking offering and includes covers of the Modern Lovers' 'Pablo Picasso' and George Harrison's 'Try Some Buy Some', as well as the track 'Bring Me The Disco King' which is featured on the OST of vampire flick 'Underworld'.

Expectations have long been the mixed blessing of David Bowie's illustrious, if at times frustrating career. Whether he addresses the inherent paradoxes of his own chameleonic past on this loose concept album (or, given his statements arguing that there's "not any ultimate reality," is it anti concept?) is almost beside the point: The real glue that holds it together is the renewed strength of Bowie's songwriting. If his success at reinvention arguably went off the rails sometime between the dance-club affectations of Let's Dance and Tin Machine's noisy, overweening art-rock, he continues the renewed embrace of basics heralded by Heathen here. Not surprisingly that album's producer, Tony Visconti, has returned, framing Bowie's muscular efforts in ever more ambitious and far-ranging productions that paradoxically echo both Bowie's modern Manhattan roots and his 60's-70's musical prime (an era during which Visconti was often a key collaborator). Be they oblique, if cutting commentaries on current geo-politics (the Low/Heroes-era evoking "New Killer Star," "Fall Dog Bombs the Moon" and "Looking For Water"), surprising cover choices (Jonathan Richman's "Pablo Picasso" all dizzy and beefed-up; a suitably grand, Wall-of-Sound recreation of Ronnie Spector's obscure, George Harrison-penned "Try Some, Buy Some") or more personal concerns (the vaguely Incan "Days"; the rhythmic Low-isms of "Never Get Old"), Bowie's work here is powered by a renewed sense of dramatic focus and musical purpose that's refreshingly free of the shackles of fashion and self-imposed reinvention. It's true you can't go home again; but damned if Bowie hasn't found his most compelling music in decades trying.

Jerry McCulley - Amazon.com

David Bowie, jahrzehntelang Pop-Trendsetter, hat inzwischen vor allem einen Narren an der neuen Technologie Internet gefressen. Ob der cleveren Vermarktungsstrategien in eigener Sache fragt man sich, wann der Engländer eigentlich noch Zeit und Muse für neue Songs findet? Die aktuelle CD Reality bringt also nicht viel Neues, wenn auch gut gemacht Bewährtes. Im Kielwasser von The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust: 30th Anniversary und Heathen hat er mit raffiniertem Kalkül und Ziggy-Produzent Tony Visconti eine Neuauflage aus diesen und anderen Alben eingespielt: die 60er-Jahre-Reprise "Never Get Old" als Motto unserer Zeit, Glamrock-Gitarren à la "The Young Dudes" mit der nötigen Theatralik auf dem lässigen Rocker "New Killer Star", und Ziggy-Recycling mit Orchester für "Try Some, By Some". Fast ärgerlich profan die Einsprengsel spanischer Gitarre bei "Pablo Picasso", wäre da nicht die atonale Kontrapunkt-Kakophonie. Die schlägt Bögen zu den elektronischen "Heroes"-Zeiten, mal zerrig, stampfig auf "Looking For Water", mal dissonant und mysteriös bei "Shell Drive The Big Car", und bei "Fall Dog Bombs The Moon" ersetzt eine E-Gitarre die Elektronikspur. Neben zwei elegisch-sanften Pop-Liedchen und einem verblassten "Disco King" wird auf dem Titelstück freejazzig und endlos dahin improvisiert, so etwas kann Joe Jackson eindeutig besser. Fazit: Bowie, das Chamäleon, ist halt auch als Retrotrend-Spurensammler noch souveräner und geschickter als seine Epigonen.

Ingeborg Schober - Amazon.de

Mit "Heathen" hatte Bowie bereits kühnste Erwartungen übertroffen und sein erfolgreichstes Album seit zehn Jahren abgeliefert. Warum also unnötig Experimente wagen? Weniger elegisch, dafür umso bodenständiger ist das neue Werk geworden. Kleine anekdotische Notizen über seine Wahlheimat New York, denen sein langjähriger Produzent Tony Visconti (wie bei der Single "New Killer Star") meist einen gradlinig satten, von schlichten Rhythmen getriebenen Rocksound verpasst hat. Die getragenen Balladen kommen stattdessen mit sphärischen E-Gitarrenklängen und kargen Pianoakkorden aus. Elektronisches bleibt spärlich; stattdessen gönnt man sich mal eine Mundharmonika oder einen Choreinsatz im Refrain. Bowie ist sich seiner Mittel, seiner Ausdrucksfähigkeit bewusst - und auch der Grenzen seiner Stimme. Zeitlos routiniert, aber auf höchstem Niveau.

ascho - Kulturnews

Youth, as the old adage goes, is wasted on the young, although surely Reality highlights the ambiguously chameleonic and now comfortably middle-aged David Bowie as an honourable exception to the rule, a man whose soul and creative metre endures to pursue eternal youth within the accelerating self-awareness of his own mortality. Times were when he'd never get away with it. In recent years Bowie has had a frustrating tendency to handle his own past with varying degrees of bemusement--whether to suffer it, stroke it, spit on it or merely borrow from it (some of Reality's best tracks, the quasi-political "Fall Dog Bomb the Moon" and the electronic punk of "New Killer Star", both shadow his past while exploring the neurosis of our post-9/11 world) while, in a manner most unbecoming of one of rock's most eminent pace-makers, he's chased juvenescent pop fads like some Botox-injecting fashionista. However, Reality, much like its immediate predecessor, the highly-regarded Heathen (Tony Visconti remains at the production helm), finds Bowie reacclimatising to his muse and his life - both as an Englishman in New York and as a doomed rider on the proverbial storm of existence - just beautifully. There are home truths and cognitive mirror gazes on the title track, a sleazy roughed-up diamond with Johnny Rotten-ish cackles and squawky guitars on which he casts a conciliatory glance towards his previous rock & roll personae and despairs at how he "hid amongst the junk of wretched highs" whereas the equally excellent and morbidly cheery "Never Get Old" (musically, imagine a more flippantly sing-along "Sound and Vision") is as comically fatalistic as a two-fingered salute from a retirement home window. Despite cracking a wicked smile on a rampant strut through Jonathan Richman's "Pablo Picasso", Reality favours brooding philosophising over light-hearted chuckles--see "Looking for Water", the dramatic grand piano and images of dislocated metropolitan topography on the 'Loneliest Guy" and the sullen dying breath of "Bring Me the Disco King"--but Bowie admits to being just like the rest of us in not having the answers. Still, Reality consolidates Bowie's artistic rehabilitation and ranks as another fine album from a man still willing to ask questions of himself.

Kevin Maidment - Amazon.co.uk

Instead of being a one-off comeback, 2002's Heathen turned out to be where David Bowie settled into a nice groove for his latter-day career, if 2003's Reality is any indication. Working once again with producer Tony Visconti, Bowie again returns to a sound from the past, yet tweaks it enough to make it seem modern, not retro. Last time around, he concentrated on his early-'70s sound, creating an amalgam of Hunky Dory through Heroes. With Reality, he picks up where he left off, choosing to revise the sound of Heroes through Scary Monsters, with the latter functioning as a sonic blueprint for the album. Basically, Reality is a well-adjusted Scary Monsters, minus the paranoia and despair - and if those two ingredients were key to the feeling and effect of that album, it's a credit to Bowie that he's found a way to retain the sound and approach of that record, but turn it bright and cheerful and keep it interesting. Since part of the appeal of Monsters is the creeping sense of unease and its icy detachment, it would seem that a warmer, mature variation on that would not be successful, but Bowie and Visconti are sharp record-makers, retaining what works - layers of voices and guitars, sleek keyboards, coolly propulsive rhythms - and tying them to another strong set of songs. Like Heathen, the songs deliberately recall classic Bowie by being both tuneful and adventurous, both hallmarks of his '70s work. If this isn't as indelible as anything he cut during that decade, that's merely the fate of mature work by veteran rockers. So, Reality doesn't have the shock of the new, but it does offer some surprises, chief among them the inventive, assured production and memorable songs. It's a little artier than Heathen, but similar in its feel and just as satisfying. Both records are testaments to the fact that veteran rockers can make satisfyingly classicist records without resulting in nostalgia or getting too comfortable. With any luck, Bowie will retain this level of quality for a long time to come.

Stephen Thomas Erlewine - All Music Guide

Much as Low and Lodger reflected David Bowie's surroundings in Berlin, Reality follows 2002's Heathen in documenting the singer's settling into adulthood - if not altogether into middle age - as a New Yorker and a family man. Relatively spare in construct and dominated by straight-ahead guitar songs, the disc has its moments of melancholy ("Fall Dog Bombs the Moon") and warm contentment (the spangly "Days of My Life"), all of which seem connected by Bowie's desire to present himself, in contrast to his persona-hopping of past decades, as just a regular guy. For the most part, he's successful in doing just that: The ballad "The Loneliest Guy in the World" (not nearly as morose a tune as the title suggests) is as open as anything he's ever done, while the wispy "New Killer Star" (a musing on September 11th) reveals a surprisingly empathetic streak. Dating back to his earliest days, documented on Pin-Ups, Bowie's had a knack for cleverly choosing cover songs and smartly refashioning them in his own image. Here, the singer revamps a pair of distinctly different ditties, cloaking Jonathan Richman's snotty, postadolescent plaint "Pablo Picasso" in cocked-eyebrow detachment and then peeling back that attitude for a spare version of George Harrison's "Try Some Buy Some." Think of Reality as a portrait - or, more accurately, a short film - of an artist still finding himself after all these years.

David Sprague - Barnes & Noble

After releasing 25 studio albums that saw him morph through stages of prog, singer/songwriterisms, glam, soul, pop, rock ’n’ roll, experimental and electronic music, there’s little that David Bowie hasn’t done. And although he’s become known for those frequent stylistic changes, with his 26th record, Bowie doesn’t break new ground so much as he simply recaps what made him so influential over the years. Re-teaming Bowie with producer Tony Visconti (who helmed some of Bowie’s greatest records), Reality is a very safe record that, much like last year’s Heathen, continues the attempt to recall the magic of the artist’s work in the ’70s, and - to an extent - it succeeds. “Never Get Old,” for example, spotlights Bowie’s classic pop songwriting abilities while featuring a larger-than-life chorus, while “Looking For Water” playfully jerks to and fro, like a long-lost Heroes B-side. Reality’s crown jewel, however, is the closing “Bring Me The Disco King,” a slow-burning Jazz lounge number that strips down the glitz and glamour to reaffirm that in this man’s Reality, there’s always more than meets the eye.

Louis Miller - CMJ.com
Oct 1, 2003

As a young subversive, David Bowie played with Sixties verities about gender, identity and rock & roll itself, insisting that truth was nothing but another mask. Now fifty-six and a revered figure himself, he's searching for some version of truth -- or, as this album title puts it, Reality -- and it turns out he was right the first time. To his mixed dismay and amusement, meaning comes and goes. "I still don't get the wherefores and the whys," he sings over the roaring guitars of the title track. "I look for sense, but I get next to nothing/Hoo, boy, welcome to reality."

And Reality turns out to be an intriguing place. As on last year's Heathen, Bowie ponders life after 9/11 -- he lives about a mile from Ground Zero -- and his role in a world that has trumped all his apocalyptic fantasies. Part of that role, at least, is rocking hard. With co-producer Tony Visconti, Bowie toughens up his sound, sawing at the edges of Jonathan Richman's "Pablo Picasso" and, on "New Killer Star," reclaiming the insinuating guitar propulsion he'd loaned to Lou Reed when he produced Transformer. On a quieter note, his version of George Harrison's "Try Some, Buy Some" becomes a waltzing memorial to a fellow spiritual searcher. Reality closes with "Bring Me the Disco King," a surreal ballad that runs close to eight minutes. It's another of Bowie's ambivalent farewells to the era in which he wreaked such havoc "in the stiff, bad clubs/Killing time in the Seventies." The difference is he now knows that time is killing him, and all of us, and that the Disco King, that master of revels who promised eternal life on the dance floor, is nowhere to be found.

ANTHONY DECURTIS (Sep 10, 2003)
Rolling Stones

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Pablo Picasso

Swinging on the back porch
Jumping off a big log
Pablo's feeling better now
Hanging by his finger nails

Swinging on the back porch
Jumping off a big log
Pablo's feeling better now
Hanging by his finger nails

Well some people try to pick up girls
They get called assholes
This never happened to Pablo Picasso

The girls would turn the colour of a juicy avocado
When he would drive down their street in his El Dorado

He could walk down your street
Girls could not resist his stare
So Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole
Not like you
Wow!

Swinging on the back porch
Jumping off a big log
Pablo's feeling better now
Hanging by his finger nails

Swinging on the back porch
Jumping off a big log
Pablo's feeling better now
Hanging by his finger nails

He could walk down your street
And girls could not resist his stare
Pablo Picasso never got called an asshole

Well the girls would turn the colour of a juicy avocado
When he would drive down their street in his El Dorado

Well he was only 5'3"
But girls could not resist his stare
Pablo Picasso never got called an asshole
Not in New York
Wow!

Swinging on the back porch
Jumping off a big log
Pablo's feeling better now
Hanging by his finger nails

Swinging on the back porch
Jumping off a big log
Pablo's feeling better now
Hanging by his picture nails

Never Get Old

Better take care
Think I better go, better get a room
Better take care of me
Again and again

I think about this and I think about personal history
Better take care
I breathe so deep when the movie gets real
When the star turns round
Again and again
He looks me in the eye says he's got his mind on a countdown 3-2-1
Forever

I'm screaming that I'm gonna be living on till the end of time
Forever
The sky splits open to a dull red skull
My head hangs low 'cause it's all over now

And there's never gonna be enough money
And there's never gonna be enough drugs
And I'm never ever gonna get old
There's never gonna be enough bullets
There's never gonna be enough sex
And I'm never ever gonna get old
So I'm never ever gonna get high
And I'm never ever gonna get low
And I'm never ever gonna get old

Better take care

The moon flows on to the edges of the world because of you
Again and again
And I'm awake in an age of light living it because of you
Better take care
I'm looking at the future solid as a rock because of you
Again and again

Wanna be here and I wanna be there
Living just like you, living just like me
Forever
Putting on my gloves and bury my bones in the marshland
Forever
Think about my soul but I don't need a thing just the ring of the bell in the pure clean air

And I'm running down the street of life
And I'm never gonna let you die
And I'm never ever gonna get old
And I'm never ever gonna get
I'm never ever gonna get
I'm never ever gonna get old
And I'm never ever gonna get
And I'm never ever gonna get
Never ever gonna get old

The Loneliest Guy

Streets damp and warm
Empty smell metal
Weeds between buildings
Pictures on my hard drive
But I'm the luckiest guy
Not the loneliest guy

Steam under floor
Shards by the mirrors frame
Clouds green and low
No sign, no nothing now
But I'm the luckiest guy
Not the loneliest guy

All the pages that have turned
All the errors left unlearned, oh
Well I'm the luckiest guy
Not the loneliest guy
In the world
Not me
Not me

Looking For Water

Silver leaves are spinning round
Take my hand as we go down and down and down
Looking for water
But I lost God in a New York minute
Don't know about you but my heart's not in it
(Looking looking looking)
I'm looking for water
I'm looking for water
(Looking looking looking)
I can't breathe the air
Can't raise the fight
'Cause all we've got left is a beat in the night
And I'm
Looking for water
Looking for water
Looking for water
Looking looking

Take my hand as we go down and down
Leave it all behind nothing will be found
I'm looking for water
I'm looking for water
Looking for water
(Looking looking)
I'm looking for water
Looking everywhere
Looking for water
Looking here and there
I'm looking for water
I'm looking for water
Looking for water
(Looking looking)

I can't live in this cage
I can't eat this candy
To the ends of the Earth
To this pain in my head
The look in your eyes
That never means never
The dawns early light
Baby dumb is forever

(Looking looking)
(Looking looking)

Looking for water
(Looking looking)
I'm looking for water
Looking for water
(Looking looking)
I'm looking for water
Looking for water
(Looking looking)
I'm looking for water
Looking for water
(Looking looking)
I'm looking for water
Looking for water
(Looking looking)
I'm looking for water
Looking for water

She'll Drive The Big Car

She waited by the moon
She was sick with fear and cold
She felt too old for all of this
Of course she never showed
She lugged her suitcase to the bus
Melted home through the snow
North along riverside

She slips beneath the sheets
A husbands quiet devoted wife
But strangers sad and nervous
By the dawns early light
Loves lies like a dead clown
On a shabby, yellow lawn
Up on riverside

She'll drive the big car
He'll sit behind
She'll keep an eye on Jessica
South along the Hudson

She'll turn the radio high
Find a station playing sad, sad soul
Just a little bit louder now
South along the Hudson yea

Just a little bit faster now
Just a little bit louder now
Just a little bit angry now
South along the Hudson, yea

And she'll drive the big car
And talk herself insane
Just a little bit louder now
Just a little bit angry now

Way back when Millennium
Meant racing to the light
He promised her a dream-life
He'd take her back to street-life

Away from violent water
With its Cormorants and leaves
Up on riverside

She'll drive the big car
But he'll sit behind
Bursting her bubbles of Ludlow and Grand
South along the Hudson
She'll turn the radio way up high
Find a station playing sad, sad soul

Just a little bit louder now
South along the Hudson

Just a little bit faster now
Just a little bit louder now
Just a little bit angry now
South along the Hudson, yea

Just a little bit faster now
Just a little bit louder now
Just a little bit angry now
South along the Hudson, yea

She'll drive the big car
He'll sit behind
She'll keep an eye on Jessica
Just a little bit faster now
Just a little bit faster now

Days

Hold me tight
Keep me cool
Going mad
Don't know what to do
Do I need a friend?
Well, I need one now

All the days of my life
All the days of my life
All the days I owe you

All I've done
I've done for me
All you gave
You gave for free
I gave nothing in return
And there's little left of me

All the days of my life
All the days of my life
All the days I owe you

In red-eyed pain I'm knocking on your door again
My crazy brain in tangles
Pleading for your gentle voice
Those storms keep pounding through my head and heart
I pray you'll soothe my sorry soul

All the days of my life
All the days of my life
All the days I owe you
All the days of my life
All the days of my life
All the days I owe you

All the days of my life
All the days of my life
All the days I owe you

Fall Dog Bombs The Moon

Hope little girl
Come blow me away
I don't care much
I win anyway
Just a dog

I'm God damn rich
An exploding man
When I talk in the night
There's oil on my hands
What a dog

Fall dog is cruel and smart
Smart time breaks the heart
Fall dog bombs the moon

Devil in a market place
Devil in your bleeding face
Fall dog bombs the moon
What a dog

There's always a moron
Someone to hate
A corporate tie
A wig and a date
Just a dog

These blackest of years
That have no sound
No shape, no depth
No underground
What a dog

Fall dog is cruel and smart
Smart time breaks the heart
Fall dog bombs the moon

A devil in a market place
A devil in your bleeding face
Fall dog bombs the moon
What a dog

Try Some, Buy Some

Way back in time
Someone said try some
I tried some
Now buy some, I bought some...
Oh oh oh
After a while
When I had tried them, denied them
I opened my eyes and I saw you...

Not a thing did I have
Not a thing did I see
'Till I called on your love
And your love came to me
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh ohhh

Through my life
I've seen grey sky, met big fry
Seen them die to get high...
Ohhh
And when it seemed that I would only be lonely
I opened my eyes and I saw you

Not a thing did I feel
Not a thing did I know
'Till I called on your love
And your love sure did grow
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh ohhh

Won't you try some
Baby won't you buy some
Won't you try some
Baby won't you buy some
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh ohhh

Reality

Tragic youth was looking young and sexy
The tragic youth was wearing tattered black jeans
Bearing arms and flaunting all her mischief
The tragic youth was going down on me

And I swear
Woo hoo
Yes I swear

I built a wall of sound to separate us
And hid among the junk of wretched highs
I sped from Planet X to Planet Alpha
Struggling for reality

Ha ha ha ha
Woo hoo
Ha ha ha ha
Whoo hoo

Hey, now my sight is failing in this twilight
Da da da da da da da da da
Now my death is more than just a sad song
Da da da da da da da da da
And I swear
Woo hoo
Yes I swear
Woo hoo

I still don't remember how this happened
I still don't get the wherefores and the whys
I look for sense but I get next to nothing
Hey boy welcome to reality

Ha ha ha ha
Woo hoo

I've been right and I've been wrong
Now I'm back where I started from
Never looked over reality's shoulder

Ha ha ha ha
Huh ha ha ha
Woo hoo

Huh ha ha
Wooh
Woo hoo
Wooh

Bring Me The Disco King

You promised me the ending would be clear
You'd let me know when the time was now
Don't let me know when you're opening the door
Stab me in the dark, let me disappear

Memories that flutter like bats out of hell
Stab you from the city spires
Life wasn't worth the balance
Or the crumpled paper it was written on

Don't let me know we're invisible
Don't let me know we're invisible

Hot cash days that you trailed around
Cold cold nights under chrome and glass
Led me down a river of perfumed limbs
Sent me to the streets with the good time girls

Don't let me know we're invisible
Don't let me know we're invisible

We could dance, dance, dance through the fire
Dance, dance, dance through the fire

Feed me no lies
I don't know about you, I don't know about you
Breathe through the years
I don't know about you, I don't know about you
Bring me the disco king
I don't know about you, I don't know about you
Dead or alive
Bring me the disco king
Bring me the disco king
Bring me the disco king
Bring me the disco king

Spin-offs with those who slept like corpses
Damp morning rays in the stiff back clubs
Killing time in the '70s
Smelling of love through the moist winds
Don't let me know when you're opening the door
Close me in the dark, let me disappear
Soon there'll be nothing left of me
Nothing left to release

Dance, dance, dance through the fire
Dance, dance, dance through the fire
Feed me no lies
I don't know about you, I don't know about you
Breathe through the years
I don't know about you, I don't know about you
Bring me the disco king
I don't know about you, I don't know about you
Breathe through the years
Dead or alive, bring me the disco king
Bring me the disco king
Bring me the disco king, bring me the disco king
Bring me the disco king, bring me the disco king
Bring me the disco king, bring me the disco king

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New Killer Star