An illuminating mid-point between David Bowie’s soul-influenced Young Americans album and the experimental “Berlin trilogy” that followed, Station to Station contains echoes of both. Supposedly central to this album is Bowie’s Thin White Duke persona, a darker, megalomaniac version of his Young Americans soul guise, distorted into strange new shapes by cocaine dependence and the stark, futuristic themes of the title track.

Certainly, Station to Station begins with sinister, nameless atmospherics yielding to a creeping dirge and an air of brooding, dystopian malevolence. This effect is bolstered by the first lyrics uttered on the album: “The return of the Thin White Duke, throwing darts in lovers’ eyes…”

In characteristic chameleonic fashion, the second half of the song then shifts without warning to an anthemic, ebullient rocker underpinned by a stomping disco beat, even namechecking Bowie’s then drug of choice: “it’s not the side effects of the cocaine, I’m thinking that it must be love.”

This is followed by the laid-back cool of Golden Years, opening with fingersnaps and meandering guitar before morphing into effortless, hook-ridden funk. This hit single exudes an air of brash confidence, in contrast to the vulnerability of the following track, Word On A Wing.

Ostensibly a sweeping, melodramatic love song, Word On A Wing features Bowie apparently contemplating religious devotion and servitude. Sumptuous, celestial piano abounds as Bowie attempts to reconcile himself with his maker: “just because I believe don’t mean I don’t think as well, don’t have to question everything in Heaven or Hell.”

Moving adroitly from spiritual musings to surrealist, drug-fuelled mayhem, TVC15 opens with a roaringly camp piano intro and concerns a TV set that swallows the singer’s girlfriend. The inspiration for this came from Iggy Pop, hallucinating one night at Bowie’s LA pad. Needless to say, stimulants may have been taken in hideous quantities. Whatever, Bowie’s delivery veers from nonchalance to breathless falsetto over the incorrigible piano and slick grooves, his narcotic ramblings rendered with utter conviction:

“Each night I sit there pleading
Send back my dream-test baby
She's my main feature
My TVC15 he just stares back unblinking
So hologramic, oh my TVC15.”

The next track, Stay, is a dextrous funk workout of rare wonder and grace. Glacial keyboards cast an icy shroud over Carlos Alomar’s rapier riffing, while Bowie’s frustrations at a missed romantic opportunity (“Stay, that’s what I meant to say”) are manifested in the feral snarl of Earl Slick’s white-hot lead guitar. Every note is infused with pathos and longing as Slick provides the sole embers of warmth against the cold white man’s funk and Bowie’s impassive vocal inflections.

Album closer Wild Is The Wind is a cover of the song written for the 1956 film of the same name, though Bowie himself was inspired by Nina Simone’s 1966 version. The lyrics may appear mawkish to some (“with your kiss my life begins”) but this elegant interpretation transcends such foibles and breathes life into otherwise grandiloquent sentiments. Bowie aches with longing throughout, (“love me, love me, love me, say you do”), cooing over fluid, chiming guitars in possibly his finest vocal performance on the album.

30 years after its release this album still sounds fresh and futuristic, retaining the cold, metallic edge that was apparent at the time. Showcasing one of the great artists at the top of his game, this is a jewel in the crown of Bowie’s enduring legacy.

Release date: 23 January 1976
Label: RCA Records
Artist website: www.davidbowie.com

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