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David Bowie’s "David Live - Available Now", a one-page advert in New Musical Express, November 2, 1974.

David Bowie’s Aladdin Fatigues, a cover and two-page feature in New Musical Express, November 16, 1974.

David Bowie’s "Carmen Bowie's Friends", a one-page feature in Circus Magazine, December 1, 1974.

David Bowie’s "Barbra's New Beauty", a one-page advert in Rolling Stone, January 2, 1975 Butterfly is a spectacular assemblage of songs written by such diverse talents as Paul Anka, Bill Withers and David Bowie, plus classics like Since I Don't Have You and Let the Good Times Roll. They're all Barbra: the voice and the style. Barbra takes you on the floating wings of song as only she can. CATCH BARBRA ON HER NEW ALBUM, "BUTTERFLY." ON COLUMBIA RECORDS AND TAPES TRACKLIST "Love in the Afternoon" 4:06 "Guava Jelly" 3:19 "Grandma's Hands" 3:27 "I Won't Last a Day Without You" 4:16 "Jubilation" 3:52 "Simple Man" 3:03 "Life on Mars" 3:13 "Since I Don't Have You" 2:52 "Crying Time" 2:51 "Let the Good Times Roll" 4:57 ```

David Bowie’s "Omnibus", a one-page advert, January 25, 1975. Omnibus Sunday 10.15 See David Bowie on Omnibus BBC1 Sunday Jan 26 10.15 All the tracks featured are available from your local record store DAVID BOWIE ZIGGY STARDUST Space Oddity LSP 4813 The Man Who Sold The World LSP 4816 Hunky Dory SF 8244 The Rise And Fall OF Ziggy Stardust SF 8287 DAVID LIVE DIAMOND DOGS Aladdin Sane RS 1001 RCA Pin Ups RS1003 Diamond Dogs APL10576 David Live CPL2 0771 MAINMAN

David Bowie’s "Why be so Greedy", a one-page article in Melody Maker, February 1, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Cracked Actor", a one-page article in New Musical Express, February 1, 1975.

Mick Ronson’s "Play Don't Worry", a one-page advert in Rolling Stone, February 13, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Young Americans - A New Single From David Bowie", a one-page advert in Scrapbook, February 22, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Young Americans Single - Last Years Mr Zero", a one-page review in Scrapbook, February 22, 1975. SINGLES OF THE WEEK 1. DAVID BOWIE: "Young Americans (RCA). Vis-à-vis the Philly Soul remarks available free of charge elsewhere in this column, here comes last year's Mr. Zero with his own mutation of the black 'n' white axis. Rhythmically as English as only Bowie can be, this large-scale performance scores most noticeably with its startling offset of white lead (The Preacher) against black chorus (The Gospel Choir). As yet the words are only sounds to this listener, but them sounds are good and what is intelligible is also abrasively positive. Note also the fruits of "Diamond Dogs" in the instrumental bridge; this kind of texturing is very far out. And, while I'm hearing the sounds of marching feet, how about the Lennon inflections in the final verses (not to mention the more obvious "Day In The Life" allusion hurled out by the chorus during the coda)? A Bowie-Lennon partnership could just be what we've all been waiting for; try, for example, to imagine the sound of the better stuff from "Some Time In New York City" matched with sharp lyrics. Be that as it may, nothing can stop "Young Americans" from being a monster - and, if it's typical of Bowie's new album, there seems equally little reason to suppose that the man's not back in business in a big way.

David Bowie’s "Worlds Problems Solved", a one-page article in New Musical Express, February 23, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Young Americans - The New Single", a one-page advert in New Musical Express, March 1, 1975.

David Bowie’s "David Bowie New Album Due", a one-page article in Sounds, March 8, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Young Americans - Ain't No Soul", a one-page review in Melody Maker, March 15, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Bowie To Sue", a one-page article in Disc, March 29, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Young Americans - Bowie's New Soul Album", a one-page advert in Melody Maker, March 29, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Young Americans - Bowie's New Soul Album", a one-page advert in New Musical Express, April 5, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Grammys Hard Rock's Soft Underbelly", a one-page article in Rolling Stone, April 10, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Shock Split", a one-page article in Bowie Scrapbook, April 12, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Fame - From David Bowie's Hit Album", a one-page advert in New Musical Express, July 26, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Images - Rock Giants", a one-page advert in Melody Maker, May 17, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Young Americans - A Bizarre Mixture", a one-page review in Rolling Stone, May 22, 1975.

David Bowie’s "From Starman To Soulman... The New Model", a one-page article in Scrapbook, June 14, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Images - A Total Rip Off", a one-page review in Melody Maker, June 14, 1975.

David Bowie’s "This Isn't Soul Music", a one-page article in New Musical Express, June 28, 1975.

David Bowie’s "A Fortnight at the Bowie's", a six-page feature in Hit Parader, July 1, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Now Where’s He at!- The Latest Chapter", a one-page advert in The Sunday Times, July 19, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Fame - The King Of Excess", a one-page review in Melody Maker, July 19, 1975.

David Bowie’s "The New Face", a one-page cover in The Sunday Times Magazine, July 20, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Request Spot", a one-page Young Americans lyrics article in Smash Hits, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Did We Use Him? Did We Abuse Him?", a one-page article in New Musical Express, August 2, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Meanwhile, Down By The Riverside" , a one-page article in New Musical Express , August 9, 1975.

David Bowie’s Dictatorship, The Next Step , a cover and two-page feature in New Musical Express , August 23, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Bowie To Play Ziggy", a one-page article in Bowie Scrapbook, September 6, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Signs Roy Young", a one-page article in Scrapbook, September 25, 1975.

David Bowie’s "Three Tracks For The Price Of Two", a one-page advert in New Musical Express, September 26, 1975.

David Bowie’s "A Mothers Anguish" , a one-page article in New Musical Express , October 18, 1975.

David Bowie’s The Bowie Oddity, a cover and two-page feature & news clip in Record Mirror, November 1, 1975.

David Bowie’s On the Silver Screen, a cover and five-page feature in Creem Magazine, December 1, 1975.

David Bowie’s Directing Bowie, a cover feature in Street Life, January 10–23, 1976.

David Bowie’s "Bowie Stands Alone", a one-page article in Melody Maker, January 24, 1976. DAVID BOWIE: "Station To Station" (RCA APLI 1327). David Bowie (vocals), Carlos Alomar (rhythm guitar), Earl Slick (lead guitar), Dennis Davis (drums), George Murray (bass), Roy Bittan (piano). Arranged by David Bowie. Produced by David Bowie and Harry Maslin. IN AN interview which appeared some two years ago in the magazine Image, Nicholas Roeg offered as an illustration of his approach to filmmaking this observation: "I like the idea of secrecy. I like the idea of a magician. I don't think the personalities of the director or artist should be made public. It destroys every kind of illusion." Those critics who have characterized David Bowie's career as no more than a series of casual and superficial flirtations with fashionable musical forms and popular ideas will, I'm sure, find it entirely appropriate that Roeg should have directed Bowie in his movie debut, The Man Who Fell To Earth. The two artists would seem to share a mutual admiration for ambiguity and disguise, qualities which mark their respective endeavors. Bowie, for instance, has preferred throughout his recording career to immerse himself in carefully contrived roles and personae through which he has sought to elaborate his various concepts and futuristic visions. He has established a reluctance to adopt any kind of intimate, confessional stance and a determination to assimilate a multiplicity of styles and techniques which has led his detractors to conclude that he has no real or substantial identity of his own. That argument has, however, become less persuasive and has lost much of its credibility since Bowie made public his confusion and desperation with the audaciously conceived "David Live", an album of documentary intensity. Bowie, it seemed, had become less concerned with the manipulation of fantasy and, on that album, was approaching his work with a hitherto unexpressed directness. With "Young Americans", released early last year, Bowie established a mode of expression which made it possible for him to explore the anguish of his isolation with articulate insight. "Young Americans" was a protracted examination of a particular predicament (the loneliness of stardom etc.); much of his earlier work, though expressing similar strain or melancholic despair, has been less specific. The appeal of "Young Americans" was, however, limited by its insularity. It is difficult, after all, to sympathize with such privilege. Bowie may have been suffering all kinds of confusions, but he, at least, had the material benefits of his stardom to alleviate his pain if the going got too tough. All that, though, has gone out the window with "Station To Station". The album has all the desperate and immediate drama of, say, Neil Young's "Tonight's The Night". And, while it bears certain stylistic similarities to "Young Americans", this record is entirely devoid of the luxurious and exotic arrangements which graced much of its predecessor. The music here is mostly dominated by vivid, cutting guitars of Alomar and Slick. There are only fleeting moments of musical extravagance from Bittan, whose baroque keyboard flourishes flicker through the album like echoes of Mike Garson's work on "Aladdin Sane" (though it should be stressed that Bittan most efficiently avoids Garson's unfortunate tendency to sound like Liberace on a bender). Overall, the sound can be compared to a mutation of the kamikaze guitar riffs which provided the driving force behind "The Man Who Sold The World" and the insistent disco beat which propelled "Fame". There are also occasional flashes from Alomar of Bowie's own guitar work on "Diamond Dogs". In short, a strange and confusing musical whirlpool where nothing is what it seems. The title track opens the album, and is, at ten minutes, the longest song Bowie's recorded since "The Width Of A Circle" (which opened "TMWSTW"). The first sounds we hear are of shunting trains panning across the speakers (which also, of course, allude to the kind of uncomfortable static precipitated by fiddling with the dials on a radio "hazy cosmic jive"?). The band lock into a savage, relentless riff which only begins to disintegrate with Bowie's utterly chilling vocal entry. If the first line he sings ("The return of the thin white duke/Throwing darts in lovers' eyes") doesn't immediately faze you, then the peculiarly operatic, if detached, quality of his voice surely will. The significance of the lyrics remains elusive, but there's a terrifying anxiety here which runs through all the subsequent compositions, even "Golden Years". It's as if Bowie is performing with the knowledge of the fact that there is, as R. D. Laing once wrote, "nothing to be afraid of", because outside our own private self there exists nothing else. If anything, it's this kind of cosmic anguish which forms the emotional center of "Station To Station". And the tension which is precipitated stems from Bowie's refusal to believe this, and his attempts (expressed most forcefully on the lunatic ballad "Word On A Wing") to confront some omnipotent deity which he suspects may have deserted us. All the nightmares came today, and it looks as if they are here to stay. The terror implicit in the opening section of "Station To Station" is assuaged slightly by the infectious climax which has Bowie stressing the need to believe in something and concluding that "it's not the side effects of the cocaine/I'm thinking that it must be love." The aforementioned "Word On A Wing" finds Bowie seeking to enter a dialogue with, gulp, God (the boy's nothing if not ambitious). Against Bittan's eloquent and lyrical piano and Slick's stylish guitar, Bowie crooning like a debauched balladeer asserts that he is willing to relinquish his independence to the Lord's "scheme of things" if only he had conclusive proof of his existence. As if in answer to those agnostics who would question this decision he sings: "Just because I believe, don't mean I don't think as well/Don't have to question everything in heaven and hell. It's an incredibly disquieting performance which leaves this listener, at least, mortally confused. The second side of the album offers some respite from the psychic turmoil. "TVC 15" is, on the surface, hilarious, with Bittan's barroom piano and rousing guitars stabbing away at yet another infectious riff, and a fabulously loony chorus. Bowie's vocals are exhilarating and reckless, though he still manages to unnerve the listener with unexpected, offhand observations like, "One of these nights I may just jump out of that window". The following cut, "Stay", is probably the most straightforward statement on the album: a simple request for someone to share the author's isolation. It features the same claustrophobic intensity as "Fame", with Slick and Alomar (and, rumor has it, Ron Wood), slashing across the impenetrable rhythm section with colossal urgency. "Station To Station" closes as enigmatically as it began with the Dimitri Tiomkin/Ned Washington ballad, "Wild Is The Wind", a full-blown romantic recalls earlier Bowie pieces like "In The Heat Of The Morning" (from his first Deram album). Its forceful, unashamedly dramatic, totally appropriate to the record's overall sense of barely-controlled hysteria. I realize that I might check my enthusiasm, but I must say that I find "Station To Station" to be not only the most important recorded statement Bowie has ever made, but also one of the most significant albums released in the last five years. I don't pretend to understand completely the complications and paranoia of Bowie, but as a commentary on the spiritual malaise of this decade it is as powerful as anything by Thomas Pynchon, and in rock it stands alone. A.J.

David Bowie’s "David on the Set", a two-page feature in Rock Scene Magazine, January 1, 1976.

David Bowie’s "Station to Station - Well Worth Stopping For", a one-page album review in Melody Maker, January 31, 1976.

David Bowie’s Rolling on to Rule, a cover and six-page feature in Rolling Stone, February 12, 1976. GROUND CONTROL TO DAVY JONES Despite a new album and tour, David Bowie claims to have rocked his last roll. It's the devil's music, he warns-sterile, fascist, downright dangerous. That's why he's abdicated his glitter throne for more promising careers. Like films. Or world domination. CORINNE SCHWAB IS PROBABLY THE last holdover from David Bowie's glitter-glam phase—the days of Ziggy Stardust, Moonage Daydream, gaudy costumes, hulking bodyguards, ex-manager Tony De Fries, and the back-room-at-Max's-Kansas-City mystique. In her three years as his secretary, Corinne has watched Bowie shrewdly work up to his most difficult move yet: the switch from cultish deco rocker to a wide-appeal film and recording star/entertainer. "I want to be a Frank Sinatra figure," Bowie declares. "And I will succeed." Wheeling a cart in a Hollywood supermarket just three blocks from where David is working on his new LP, Station to Station, Corinne says she has no doubts about something so obvious as Bowie's success in achieving his stated goal. The way she sees it, David has only one problem. "I've got to put more weight on that boy," she sighs. And with that, she carefully places eight quarts of extra-rich milk in the basket. Down the street at Cherokee Studios, David Bowie is just back from three vice-free months in New Mexico where he starred in Nick Roeg's film, The Man Who Fell to Earth. He is still glowing from the experience and, says Corinne, the healthiest he's been in years. He is relaxed and almost humble as he scoots around the studio and directs his musicians (Carlos Alomar and Earl Slick, guitars; George Murray, bass; and Dennis Davis, drums) through the songs. It is a complete evolution from the David Bowie of six months before. But then, of course, anything less than a total personality upheaval would be entirely out of character for him. "I love it," he cracked several months earlier. "I'm really just my own little corporation of characters." He is actually anything one wants him to be at any given moment—a paranoid hustler, an arrogant opportunist, a versatile actor, a gentleman, maybe even a genius. He had, after all, made a warning up front. "Don't expect to find the real me ... the David Jones [his true name] underneath all this." May 1975—It's four in the morning, Hollywood time, and David Bowie is twitching with energy. He's fidgeting, jabbing a cigarette in and out of his pursed lips, bouncing lightly on a stool behind the control board in a makeshift demo studio, staring through the glass at Iggy Pop. Bowie has spent the last nine hours composing, producing, and playing every instrument on the backing track, and it is finally time for Pop to do his bit. After all, this is Iggy's demo. Bowie touches a button and the room is filled with an ominous, dirgelike instrumental track. The shirtless Iggy listens intently for a moment, then approaches the mic. He has prepared no lyrics, and in the name of improv, he snarls: You go out at night from your sixty-dollar single down in West Hollywood

David Bowie’s Spiders from Mars... Have Landed a one-page advert in Melody Maker, February 14, 1976. THEIR NEW SINGLE DON'T WANNA DO NO) LIMBO 7N 45578 OUT NOW An edited version from the album spiders FROM MARS ... have landed with an incredible debut album that's out of this world. NSPL 18479 Available on cassette ZCP 18479 RECORDS - The Spiders

David Bowie’s Station to Station - Alarm, a one-page album advert in Melody Maker, February 14, 1976.

David Bowie’s "Ziggy the Crooner!", a one-page article in Melody Maker, February 14, 1976. Special report from the States on David Bowie's return to touring SWEET THING spent nearly three hours getting her costume ready for the David Bowie concert. It was a big investment, especially for the gold-tipped ivory cane. She flaunted it alongside her Shirley Temple jumpsuit, which was strategically pasted over with Gulf and Exxon decals. Her boyfriend looked as if he spent most of 1975 modeling himself after the "Young Americans" cover photo. A pure Bowie duplicate, down to the pompadour and casually dangling cigarette. Every few seconds they both struck another elegant pose. "You know, I think that's him," said the Sweet Thing, flicking her Benson and Hedges. She craned her neck for a better look. "Yes, it's him. It's David! Oh wow, let's move up closer and watch. We paid seven dollars for this." Glitter kings draw strange crowds, but of the 13,000 people attending David Bowie's concert at Seattle Coliseum, the second date of his American tour, only a few bothered with decadence. Sweet Thing and her friend were obviously out of step. The crowd (patiently sitting through a Twenties surrealistic film) expected more than just costumes and choreography. But that is exactly what they didn't get. Instead, Bowie and his brand new supporting unit produced nearly two hours of electronic daydreams, laced with Philly soul and occasional crooning. It was Sinatra-styled Bowie alternating the role of rocker with that of cabaret ballad singer: Ziggy Stardust versus the Thin White Duke. The Thin White Duke is how Bowie describes himself on the title cut of his new album, "Station To Station." But his 39-concert, 54-day tour will finance Bowie's film production company, Bewley Brothers. Much of his concert material came from the album, as did most of the musicians. Guitarist Carlos Alomar played on the "Station To Station" sessions with Bowie's rhythm section of Dennis Davis (drums) and George Murray (bass). Organist Tony Kaye played keyboards, and Stacey DAVID BOWIE: electronic daydreams Heydon (guitar) was, until recently, part of the Canadian Heydon Brothers group. All are capable musicians. None are particularly eye-catching, and Bowie apparently isn't sharing the limelight with what is obviously meant to be a backup group. Not once during the Seattle concert did he introduce the band. The crowd was just beginning to get restless; there were some fights when the lights dimmed for a screening of Un Chien Andalou, the Salvador Dali/ Bunuel surrealistic film of the Twenties. A series of terrible images (putrefying donkeys, eyes slashed with razor blades) met only with gasps and shouts of "we want Bowie" from uncomprehending glitter freaks. After a short intermission, Bowie did finally appear, strolling casually into the empty spotlight while Alomar chopped out wailing guitar feedback and Kaye played dirge-like piano chords which signaled the intro to "Station To Station." Bowie wore Noel Cowardish black evening clothes and had the pallor of a recently-revived corpse. He flashed a quick smile and, eyes closed, breathed the first cryptic lines into the mike: "The return of the Thin White Duke, throwing darts at lover's eyes, here we are, here we are, in one magical moment." A few forlorn boogie children near the stage wondered out loud when David was "gonna play 'Fame' and get down," but for the most part Bowie's sheer elegance kept the audience's mouths open through the first two numbers. Lighting an endless pack of Gitanes, he rolled up his shirt sleeves for a whipcord version of "Suffragette City," which gave Alomar a chance to solo. Unfortunately, the mix was so loud that Carlos' fuzz-saw lead sounded like an electric toothbrush, and this sound problem bedeviled most of the night. Only Bowie's voice consistently carried over the thunderous wall of noise. The pattern of the concert was set after Bowie reached his third number. Benzedrine rockers secured the audience's attention for songs that were a bit more sophisticated. Bowie's taste for Jacques Brel airs surfaced in "Word On A Wing," also from the new album. It has a vaporish, hymn-like quality that allows him to use his full repertoire of impassioned gestures. During the song he becomes the tortured lover, face buried in hands, red hair gleaming under the blue baby spot. About as far away from Ziggy Stardust as one changeling could get. "TVC 15" represents another side. Bowie wrote this Orwellian number for the Man Who Fell To Earth, the film he recently completed with director Nicholas Roeg. The song is about a lonely teenager who's upset because a hologramic television ate his girlfriend. It's a song Bowie obviously enjoys performing, and he adds lots of Rudolph Valentino melodramatics and a quick sax solo that should not alarm Gato Barbieri. He seemed to relax as the crowd gradually warmed to the music. During "Panic In Detroit" Bowie did some scat-singing and slipped into a half-disco, half-karate step he synchronized with Dennis Davis' drum solo. By then the audience had stopped lighting matches long enough to listen. Midway into "Jean Genie," Carlos Alomar fluffed a guitar cue and Bowie filled in for him with some quick mouth percussion "bugedy bugedy bugedy bugedy." Then, after returning (the crowd had whistled and stomped for 15 minutes) Bowie leaned into the gallery for "Rebel Rebel." But within 15 minutes he had left for an after-concert party at his hotel. WADDINGTON RICK

David Bowie’s "The Spiders Have Landed", a one-page advert in Melody Maker, February 21, 1976.

David Bowie’s Station to Station - Penalty for Improper Use , a one-page advert in Scrapbook, February 21, 1976