David Bowie

The Width Of A Circle

The Bowie production line continues, here with a mix of the familiar and the not so.

Once, the release of a David Bowie album was a major event; now it’s beginning to feel like a chore, as limited editions, deluxe boxed sets, alternative versions and endless, endless live albums roll off the conveyor belt.

Mixed feelings therefore attend the release of The Width Of A Circle, which is apparently a “companion album” to Metrobolist, a record which itself was an ever-so-slightly different version of The Man Who Sold The World. Here for our marketing pleasure are two CDs, or variants thereof, this time comprising a variety of songs recorded in or around 1970, the year of the original US release of The Man Who Sold The World (1971 in the UK). Some are previously released, several are different versions of the same song, and quite a few are previously unreleased, although it’s difficult to tell which, as a quick scan of the CD collection suggests some crossover with the already available.

The good news, though, is that after all the fuss and noise, The Width Of

A Circle turns out to be a useful and decent addition to the David Bowie catalogue. Yes, there are the usual pointless ‘2020 mixes’, suggesting that producer Tony Visconti is kept busy around the clock, mixing and mixing again. There are the now-usual semirarities, released from the big boxed sets rarities (the Mercury Holy Holy, All The Madmen as a single edit). There’s also a slight sense of incoherence, as Bowie ranges from arts lab ringmaster (the full live concert hosted by John Peel) to melancholy mime (the BBC film soundtrack with its Pierrots and Harlequins and Columbines) to full-on rocker (a session for Andy Ferris, backed by Hype). In 1971, pre-Hunky Dory, Bowie was still trying on everything in the dressing-up box. Which is what makes this collection worth having, as the music ranges from cheery pop (London Bye Ta Ta) to songs about clowns (Twopenny Pierrot, set to the tune of London Bye Ta Ta) and finally apocalyptic eyed rock (a crunchy

Waiting For The Man, The Supermen, and other songs that are nothing like London Bye Ta Ta). Like a caterpillar dissolving and re-forming in a transparent pupa, David Bowie is becoming something new before our ears. When he finally emerges, he’ll be months away from Ziggy and the world will be different for ever. But for now, as The Width Of A Circle displays brilliantly, he’s not so much planning his next move as constantly shape-shifting. ■■■■■■■■■■