Reminded of the date by Sal, over on Burning Wood, of
today’s Tin Machine anniversary, a quick re-post of this classic and well-loved
album was deemed necessary for all to enjoy.
A remarkable recording for many reasons, the debut of Tin
Machine predates by nearly five years much of the guitar-oriented alternative
poop that followed the grunge explosion of 1991-1992. This does not sound like
Bowie in a band; missing are the quirkiness and theatrics that characterize
much of Bowie's solo work. This is a band with a band attitude, not exactly
what the fans were wanting at the time. Stunt guitarist Reeves Gabrels provides
much in the way of ambient guitar solos, not unlike Adrian Belew's work.
Drummer Hunt Sales provides a sticky tenor vocal similar to Bowie's own voice
in a higher register; they blend very well together. The music is hard-edged
guitar rock with an intelligence missing from much of the work of that genre at
the time. Highlights include the emotional "Prisoner of Love" and the
driving "Under the God." The band does a rocking rework of John
Lennon's "Working Class Hero," with a killer machine-gun
fire-sounding riff that permeated the track. The strongest analogue to Bowie's
earlier work is a five-minute number toward the beginning of the record called
"I Can't Read"; with its deliberately out-of-tune guitars and
half-hearted vocals, it's a nice piece of artistry. This record would have been
more popular had it been released five or six years later.
By the end of 1987, David Bowie had been a superstar for
15 years. Mentioned in the same breath as Madonna, Michael Jackson and Bruce
Springsteen, Bowie was a very wealthy man with hit albums, movie roles and
top-grossing concert tours. However, the sheen of pop stardom faded after the
mega-excess of the Glass Spider tour. “Being shoved into the Top 40 scene
was an unusual experience,” Bowie admitted during an interview at the time. “It
was great I’d become accessible to a huge audience … but not terribly
fulfilling.” The tour was financially in the black, but the reviews from
critics were harsh, causing Bowie to question the authenticity of his music and
the nature of superstardom. He wasn’t interested in being a greatest-hits singer,
but was eager to reinvent himself once again.
The creation of Tin Machine, with Bowie as lead singer,
would be the path to his reinvention. And although the band released only two
studio albums (the first of which was released on May 22, 1989) and one live
album in its brief lifespan, Tin Machine became David Bowie’s musical
redemption.
The group was created as a way for Bowie to purge his
past while making his usual deft assault on the market. The first part of that
statement certainly turned out to be accurate. Bowie teamed up with Reeves
Gabrels, Hunt Sales and Tony Sales to form a band where every member was equal.
Favouring jamming with each other versus having a songwriter bring in lyrics
and a demo for the group to learn, Tin Machine were a cathartic experience for
all involved.
The Sales brothers were part of Iggy Pop’s Lust for Life
tour with Bowie, while Gabrels was a relatively recent musical partner Bowie
met during the Glass Spider tour. Together, they were ready to create music
that weaved in their influences from the ‘60s to the ‘80s. Bands like Cream,
the Pixies and Jimi Hendrix were all mentioned as key influences in Tin
Machine’s sound. And from the opening track of their record, the bluesy
“Heaven’s in Here,” it’s clear that a kind of British interpretation of blues
was part of the group’s sound; a sound that was grittier than most rock bands
in the music business at the time.
Even the way the album was recorded (live takes, few
overdubs, and no finessing the lyrics), was at odds with production standards
of the day. It took a certain leap of faith on the part of the engineers to
trust in the way they wanted to record.
The band relished its unorthodox approach and the
creative freedom this process produced, ignoring the modern rules of recording.
The result was an unvarnished, proto-grunge sound that had Gabrels’ screeching,
yet melodic, guitar at one end, the Sales brothers adding deep, rhythmic
foundations of drums and bass on the other. Bowie remained at the centre, an
angry middle-aged man.
Tin Machine’s sound was ahead of its time. As such, when
the band made its 1989 debut, the general reaction seemed to be collective
confusion. Rolling Stone, MTV and Melody Maker all gave Tin Machine fairly
positive press, but the majority of the media simply savaged the group. Many of
Bowie’s fans were not pleased with the music, either. Few knew what to make of
a bearded Bowie simply serving as a singer in a hard rock band.