
A glamorous, cocaine-dusted pivot into Philadelphia soul. Lush arrangements meet a detached, alien vocal delivery for a record that is both warm and deeply paranoid.
March 7, 1975 · RCA
A sleek, high-strung rhythm section and soaring saxophones collide in a sweat-slicked Philadelphia studio, trading the dystopian guitar friction of the past for a sharp, rhythm-and-blues groove. This record captures a restless outsider mimicking the warmth of American R&B, wrapping his nervous, cocaine-fueled vocal delivery in lush gospel-trained backing vocals that constantly threaten to boil over.
How does Young Americans sound next to the rest of David Bowie's catalogue?
By plunging headlong into a soulful warmth, this record trades the cold alienation of the previous years for a sweaty, high-strung rhythm and blues that stands as a singular anomaly in the artist's career.
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