“Young Americans”, Young Americans, 1975
Nick Johnston
Growing up, my father bought David Bowie records because they were easy to score for cheap at stores in Raleigh, and found himself loving them enough to buy CDs of each of them when I was a kid. Amongst those records was Young Americans, his ninth, an attempt to create “plastic soul” with Luther Vandross, amongst other titans of soul. Bowie’s vocal on this track is perhaps the most dynamic of his entire career, with its peaking highs contrasting with (what was then) his newfound baritone, and its manic energy, though perhaps a side-effect of heavy cocaine use, forms the foundation of an incredibly memorable song on what’s otherwise a boring record. That manic energy, not unlike a sonic Tex Avery cartoon, translated well to a child forced to endure his father’s singalongs in the family car and would later help to form an obsession that’s causing me a lot of pain tonight. As he sings, “Where have all of papa’s heroes gone?”, I find an answer: in our memories, in my father’s voice, in the fact that there’ll always be Bowie songs to make me break down and cry to.