photo: adam bielawski · cc by-sa 3.0 ↗David Bowie spent five decades treating identity itself as an instrument, slipping from folk troubadour to Ziggy Stardust's alien messiah to the icy soul man of the Berlin Trilogy without ever losing the threadline of his own restless curiosity. Born David Jones in Brixton, he fused glam theatrics, art-rock experimentation, and a magpie's appetite for outside sounds into a body of work that reshaped what a rock star could look and sound like. He died in New York in 2016, days after releasing Blackstar, his final and characteristically enigmatic reinvention.
Bowie's manager Ken Pitt steered the young singer toward cabaret and Anthony Newley's records, and Bowie absorbed Newley's plummy, overenunciated cockney delivery wholesale for his earliest recordings.
listen forListen to Newley's clipped, theatrical phrasing on 'What Kind of Fool Am I,' then to Bowie's 1967 novelty single 'The Laughing Gnome' — the vocal impression is almost uncanny, right down to the vowels.
Bowie shared a birthday with Elvis and treated it as a kind of destiny; when RCA asked him to write a song for Presley, Bowie obliged, and when Presley never recorded it, Bowie released it himself.
listen forCue up 'Heartbreak Hotel' for that lonesome, echo-chamber ache, then play Bowie's own 'Golden Years' — written with Elvis's voice in mind — and hear how directly Bowie was writing toward his idol, even in absentia.
Bowie said hearing Little Richard's records as a kid felt like hearing God, and that raw, whooping, rock and roll abandon never fully left him — it just kept resurfacing under new makeup.
listen forPut 'Tutti Frutti' next to 'Suffragette City' and listen for the same pounding, hollered momentum — Bowie trades the sax-and-piano stomp for glam guitar, but the wild-eyed, foot-to-the-floor commitment is pure Little Richard.