1. Speed of Life
2. Breaking Glass
3. What in the World
4. Sound and Vision
5. Always Crashing in the Same Car
6. Be My Wife
7. A New Career in a New Town
8. Warszawa
9. Art Decade
10. Weeping Wall
11. Subterraneans  

Released in 1977, Low is David Bowie’s eleventh album and his first collaboration with Brian Eno (Low being the first in a conceived series of albums named the ‘Berlin Trilogy’ – the irony being that only the second instalment in the trilogy, “Heroes”, was recorded, produced and developed wholly in Berlin).  The story behind Low is almost as fascinating as the music created in this extremely productive time in David Bowie’s career.  Previous album, Station to Station, had shown a cocaine-hooked Bowie losing the plot in his personal life – a grave fear of the occult, secret messages being given to him and him alone – while he was becoming evermore experimental in his music – the gargantuan title-track from Station to Station (bring on the synthesized trains!).

Knowing changes had to be made in his personal life, David Bowie fled from his previous lifestyle, seeking solace elsewhere in Europe while recovering as a cocaine addict.  The title of the record can only hint at what is Bowie’s most intensely personal and darkest record – an anomaly when considering that more than half the album is made up of lethargy-ridden instrumentals.  Yet, it is these instrumentals which say so much more than words ever could about Bowie’s self-inflicted mental trauma.

The opening instrumental, Speed of Life, joins A New Career in a New Town as the bookends of what would have originally been the A-side of Low.  The only two relatively upbeat tracks to be found during the Low sessions, their plan is to surely sweeten this most bitter pill.  Relying heavily on synthesizers, Speed of Life is the natural evolution of the musical themes explored during Station to Station’s title-track and Bowie’s abandoned work on the soundtrack for The Man Who Fell to Earth.  The final visible traces back to the aforementioned film can be found on the LP sleeve, which displays a still-shot from The Man Who Fell to Earth (in a similar fashion Station to Station had also included on its sleeve a still-shot from the film).  Bowie gets off to a fine start, expelling the last of his personal demons in a challenging guitar skirmish, Breaking Glass.  Under 2 minutes in length, it has the destructive nature of a bull in a China Shop, and before you know it the damage is done and the beast is set free.  “Baby, I’ve been breaking glass in your room again,” confesses Bowie, “such a wonderful person, but you got problems!”

Sound and Vision is Bowie’s finest song.  The album’s themes of isolation and segregation, or if you will quarantine from society, have rarely been so well illustrated, “Blue, blue, electric blue, that’s the colour of my room,  pale blinds drawn all day, nothing to do, nothing to say.  I will sit right down, waiting for the gift of sound and vision!”  I’d say its success is solely on the grounds of Bowie’s career-defining vocal performance, however, it is not.  The reasons are legion but here are two:  It bridges the gap perfectly between the instrumentals on the album and the ‘standard’ vocal tracks, and the melody is quite possibly one of the greatest things ever conceived.  Once you’ve heard it you will not be forgetting it in a hurry.  Uprooting standard procedure of the domestic dream, Be My Wife is an unfeigned plea for companionship.  The emotion Bowie displays is not sad or woeful, but of frustration and anger.  Yes, he sounds downright aggravated that even camaraderie, perhaps, has eluded him up until this point, “Sometimes you get so lonely, sometimes you get nowhere, I’ve lived all over the world, I’ve lived every place!”  Sad times for the B-man.

Side-B of the record is what’s either going to make or break Low for you.  Out is going standard vernacular and common inequality, coming in is peculiar renderings of what it is to be alone.  The alien soundscapes contained within are nothing short of staggering.  Even today, when looking back on these segments of Low, you can see Bowie’s sanity slipping away as he takes comfort in these haunting, homogeneous, graphic representations of a desired tranquillity.  Of all Eno’s collaborations his work with David Bowie is his most successful. His influences cannot be appreciated enough, and I’m confident that without his help Low would never have turned out this way (Eno had been experimenting with electronic instrumentals some years earlier in his solo work). 

The first chapter of this terrifying journey, Warszawa, changes its daedal guises many times throughout its running time.  An austere beginning soon develops into a dynamic mid-section, before culminating in Bowie’s incomprehensible chants in an alien language.  Whether you like it or not, this defines avant-garde art.  Weeping Wall sees Bowie distancing himself even further from the audience, and if Weeping Wall is perhaps a less structured experience than Warszawa, it is certainly no less chilling, illustrating Bowie’s perceived estrangement from humanity.

The record, and indeed this enigma, has the curtains drawn upon it by Subterraneans.  Whereas Low’s follow-up album, “Heroes”, painted vivid mental pictures of a scene via its instrumentals, I’ve never found that Low does this.  Furthermore, I do not think it is even trying to achieve this.  Instead, rather than visual imagery, Low evokes overwhelmingly strong emotions.  Indeed, as sad as it sounds, it fills a void in my heart, demonstrated nowhere better than on Subterraneans.  It’s almost impossible to describe the exact emotions brought about by Subterraneans.  I’m crying, now, while listening to it, but it isn’t necessarily a sad piece of music.  It’s simply beautiful and – as is so often the case with Low - a mystery to me.

I remember a friend and I having a discussion about music with a guy we met down the pub – about 20 years our senior.  Eventually, we came to the topic of David Bowie and I stressed that I was a big fan of his work.  He looked me in the eyes and said, “So, what’s your favourite Bowie record?”  Quickly and sharply I answered, “Well, it’s Low.  It’s fantastic.”  Slightly taken aback, he said, “Yes? Can you honestly say you enjoy Low? Or do you admire it?”  How deep was this conversation getting?! Yet, he had made a very valid point.  Thankfully, I do enjoy this record and it’s in my top five albums of all time.

However, I know of many people who do admire Low without actually enjoying the record – and that’s what the personal status of this record is always going to hang upon.  Are you patient?  Are you willing to commit to multiple listens? And how deep are you prepared to dig? Because you may just be in need of a shovel!  But as with all the best treasure hunts, what you’ll find is priceless.