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Although the full review of the album isn't finished yet, the occasion of beginning the David Bowie discography on what would've been his 72nd birthday was too good to pass up. So in honor of David's 72nd birthday, here's the analysis of the title track to Space Oddity, Bowie's earliest 'hit' and a song that turns 50 in July (it was released as a single less than a week before Apollo 11 was launched for the moon landing):
“Space Oddity” (5:16)
At the time of this writing, it’s almost hard to believe that this song—the earliest ‘hit’ in David Bowie’s catalog—has crossed the half-century milestone in 2019. That span of time and how “Space Oddity” has endured in the public imagination belies how it’s ostensibly a novelty song—a genre of music known for an incredibly-short lifespan. That David Bowie sparked his career with the most-famous novelty song ever written remains a testament to Bowie’s unorthodox approach towards music—and proof that Bowie’s instinctual oddities were present right at the beginning of his career. And the occasion of the increasing Space Race between the USA and the USSR (not to mention the moon landing later in 1969) were events which prompted the public to co-opt “Space Oddity” as a song that captured the zeitgeist of the moment.
Which leaves one wondering how a song seemingly tailor-made for a specific historical moment has not only remained one of David Bowie’s most iconic songs (in fact, it’s among his five most-played songs by Spotify listeners), but a staple of popular music—rock or otherwise. Coming to such a conclusion demands looking at the song’s mixture of sparse folk-esque acoustic guitar and lush melllotron arrangements (played by a then-unknown Rick Wakeman—later known as the keyboard wizard of progressive rock band Yes) as a pitch-perfect embodiment of spaceflight. Of course, that image of a spaceman can mean many different things to many different people: with isolation, uncharted territory, risk, wonder, and terror all serving as valid interpretations. Furthermore, there’s evidence suggesting that the meaning of “Space Oddity” changed for Bowie himself. But explaining that requires a look at one of Bowie’s enduring characters: Major Tom.
In one literal reading, Major Tom is a mere astronaut who’s met with a nasty surprise (more on that later). But the existence of David Bowie’s 1980 song “Ashes to Ashes” (with the chorus containing the lines “Ashes to ashes, funk to funky./We know Major Tom’s a junkie”) retroactively forces one to reconsider “Space Oddity” as a drug song. And with Bowie’s tendency to keep himself behind personas during much of the 70’s, the repudiation of Major Tom in “Ashes to Ashes” serves as Bowie turning his back on a past that led him down the road to addiction. Even moreso, the progression of technology which the space race embodied as an optimistic, spirited march—indeed, the feeling of society whenever “Space Oddity” was written—also becomes flipped on its head in “Ashes to Ashes” since the cynicism of the 70’s eroded any promising future until it resembled a husk. As a result, “Space Oddity” now inhabits an air of tragedy since the optimism of the moment of its creation proved ill-founded. Yet the soaring nature of the latter parts of the song—especially with David’s voice—transmit the optimism in an air which makes it feel timeless.
And perhaps a source of that timelessness stems from how “Space Oddity” revolves around communication as a theme. That’s evident from the motif of radio communication shared between astronaut and “Ground Control” as well as the limitations of said communication. Such motifs are even apparent from the way the song begins—with a couple seconds of silence prior to an acoustic guitar’s (played by Bowie himself) arrival (at 0:02). Slowly, the acoustic guitar increases in volume while scarce bass (played by noted session musician Herbie Flowers) and a set of marching-band-esque snare-drum-rolls (from jazz and folk drummer Terry Cox) gradually filter in before the presence of a stylophone (played by Bowie via overdubs) arrives. Considering that the lyrics entail a radio communication, that last instrument feels as though it aids the idea that the song itself is being transmitted through a radio signal.
As the song continues to build, David Bowie sings (at 0:31) the album’s first verse. But there’s substantial usage of harmonies present via overdubbed backing vocals, which creates an ethereal and scene-setting effect:
Ground Control to Major Tom. [x2]
Take your protein pills
And put your helmet on.
(10) Ground Control (9) to Major Tom (8)
(7, 6) Commencing (5) countdown.
Engines on (4, 3, 2).
Check ignition (1).
And may God’s love (Liftoff) be with you.
This constant affirmation of “Ground Control to Major Tom” that recurs throughout the song (a refrain, but an irregular one) provides a lyrical focus on the theme of communication. And space-travel demands that there’s a consistent and concise method of communication present at all times—hence the simplicity of the language. As for the name of “Major Tom,” that’s allegedly been inspired by a poster promoting Tom Major, a chamber musician and father of future Prime Minister John Major.
Whilst on the topic of procedures undertaken by astronauts, the next two lines outline some of them via the actions of “Take your protein pills/And put your helmet on.” Regarding “protein pills,” the astronaut food during the period of the Space Race usually consisted of a convenient, tasteless package that was pill-like and akin to military rations. All of which convey a hollow quality towards both the food itself and the system which believed that the Space Race was such a matter of life-and-death that it warranted endangering human lives—and killing them in the cases of Apollo 1 and Soyuz 1. Then, there’s the phrase “put your helmet on,” pointing towards an essential part of an astronaut suit—and not just for oxygen-based reasons. The headgear alone contains neck parts which stymie whiplash, shielding that affords extra protection from radiation, and a visor that shields one’s eyes from sunlight—vital since it hits more intensely without the benefit of an atmosphere.
Just as the third use of “Ground Control to Major Tom” is uttered (by both participants, achievable by Bowie performing vocal overdubs), an audible countdown appears within the backing vocals. Although there isn’t a ‘T minus’ like with actual NASA astronauts, the countdown does serve a function: generate additional suspense and place the listener in Major Tom’s state-of-mind just before his launch into orbit.
As the countdown continues within the final lines of the verse (“Commencing countdown/Engines on./Check ignition”), there’s the final preparations being made to ensure everything’s in order prior to liftoff. Even though this is an extremely simplified version of all the happenings that occur inside a rocket. There’s a large number of acronyms and technical jargon which (although not relevant to the song itself) benefits rocket technicians who would know what the acronyms mean—and a set of acronyms would allow them to operate quicker than if they were to state the whole thing each and every time.
With all the technical terminology within the song thus far, the last line of this verse (“And may God’s love be with you”) registers peculiarly for several reasons despite it being a well-intended message hoping that Major Tom has a safe journey. One of which has to wonder what religious viewpoint Bowie wrote the lyric from—and that’s not as simple as one may think. Namely because there’s evidence suggesting that—depending on which point of his life—Bowie was a spiritualist, a mysticist, an agnostic, a non-denominational Christian exhibiting a distrust of organized religion, or a Buddhist (the last of which ties into a stipulation of his will: that his ashes be scattered in Bali “in accordance with the Buddhist rituals”). Depending on which view is present, the form of prayer expressed in this particular line can register as genuine or as darkly sarcastic—and the song does leave room for both readings. In the case of the latter, there’s Major Tom’s fate in the final verse indicating that this prayer fell on deaf ears. But for the former, a believer could construe that since outer space (like Heaven) exists as another realm, God’s in outer space since He’s everywhere.
Once the first verse ends, one expects a song to shift immediately to the chorus. However, “Space Oddity” doesn’t do that. Instead, an instrumental bridge commences (at 1:14) and provides the listener with an auditory representation of Major Tom’s ascent into orbit. Part of which is achieved by a spacey guitar line played by Mick Wayne (delivered in an odd tuning). However, this section remains tense—appropriately so since all the working parts of a rocket are potential things that can go awry. Such tensions render the mellotron from Rick Wakeman as a signal to breathe a sigh of relief. Apparently Rick himself thought similarly since he’s quoted as describing this particular moment of the song as “one of half a dozen occasions where it made the hair stand up in your neck and you know you’re involved in something special.”
On cue with the mellotron’s arrival comes the return (at 1:25) of David Bowie’s spry vocal delivery atop instrumentation that’s clearer than before. As for Bowie’s second verse, the lyrics are as follows:
This is Ground Control to Major Tom.
You’ve really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirt you wear.
Now it’s time to leave the capsule if you dare.
This is Major Tom to Ground Control.
I’m stepping through the door
And I’m floating in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today.
Simply the manner in which Bowie raises his voice in the lines “This is Ground Control to Major Tom./You’ve really made the grade” conveys a few notions to the listeners. One of which is that Ground Control echoes the general public’s joy that nothing went wrong—a joy which the ending indicates was short-sighted. Perhaps this risk of failure has an inkling in the phrase that Major Tom “really made the grade.” Although that phrase appears like an endorsement, it’s a half-hearted one since Ground Control’s acutely aware of what can still go wrong. Which leaves open the idea that Ground Control’s a corrupt institution that sent Major Tom out even knowing the likelihood of things malfunctioning.
On the topic of corruption and short-sighted authority, the line “And the papers want to know whose shirt you wear” contains relevance. In this instance, the detail of Ground Control informing Major Tom of his newfound fame—while having the function of raising Major Tom’s spirits—also serves as a satirical point. Namely that of all the questions that the media could ask of an astronaut, to endorse a shirt seems like a petty and shallow one. In that sense, it’s akin to how Bowie’s 1975 song “Fame” roasted the music industry on similar grounds. However, the detail of a “shirt” may also contain historical relevance regarding the Space Race between the USA and the USSR: the “shirt” conveys allegiance to one’s nation or to a political ideology.
Another method of potential malfunction arises via the line “Now it’s time to leave the capsule if you dare.” Upon considering that the resources available to astronauts in the 1960’s are rather primitive compared to those of modern astronauts, there’s further risks associated with the tiresome discomfort of a spacewalk. But the wording of “dare” paints this with the language of a challenge—almost as if it’s an overtly-masculine game of ‘chicken’ that ends up undermining the whole mission. Regardless of the risk, the lines which follow (“This is Major Tom to Ground Control/I’m stepping through the door”) make it clear that Major Tom accepts the challenge raised by Ground Control as if it were part of his job.
Unfortunately, that’s a façade which becomes complicated by means of the next line: “And I’m floating in a most peculiar way.” Namely that this line factors into multiple meanings. On a literal level, it’s Major Tom experiencing the effects of zero gravity. On another level, the hindsight provided of “Ashes to Ashes” have led some to assume—wrongly or not—that this line refers to Major Tom tripping on drugs and possibly having an out-of-body experience induced by them. A third possible interpretation pertains towards a difficulty in connecting with others emotionally—possibly the most thematically-relevant one to “Space Oddity” and one where a listener should consider that Bowie recorded the song the day after breaking up with Hermione Farthingale. As in the instance of Major Tom, the third meaning can factor into the first and/or the second insofar as the third marks the moment where Major Tom realizes that he prefers that he’s not returning. Whether by space-based isolation or drug-based hallucination, either are just a mechanism.
Another line which holds a few kernels of truth in relation towards fame emerges directly ahead: “And the stars look very different today.” Although the literal meaning of this line entails that—without Earth’s air pollution—Major Tom can now gaze as far as the stars are able to stretch. For David Bowie, the line holds a more figurative meaning insofar as his newly-famous state imbues celebrities with a different lens—and that’s including the factors such as success, rampant sexuality, false glamour, drug abuse, and a downward spiral from any of these things being taken too far. With that in mind, this line’s one where the later subversion found in “Ashes to Ashes” registers poignantly—especially considering the coke-addled state in which Bowie spent the mid-seventies languishing in.
In a seamless manner, the song transitions (at 2:13) into the first chorus, wherein there’s a different drum rhythm consisting of a barrage of ride-cymbals with the occasional accented snare-drum. Which creates a manic undercurrent bubbling beneath the dulcet woodwinds of Tony Visconti, Paul Buckmaster’s string section, Rick Wakeman’s continued presence of mellotron and David’s still-incredible vocals. The last of which deliver the following lines:
For here am I sitting in a tin-can
Far above the world.
Planet Earth is blue
And there’s nothing I can do.
Bowie’s initial lines in the chorus to “Space Oddity” (“For here am I sitting in a tin-can/Far above the world”) are definitely indicative of the state of spaceflight in the late 1960’s—and it’s not a pretty portrait. On one level, the confined state of “a tin-can” is miniscule compared to the infinite vastness of space which surrounds Major Tom. But the historical context of 1967—a year where three astronauts (in Apollo 1) and a cosmonaut (in Solyuz 1) perished in their tin-cans—informs these lines. In fact, that context embeds the lines (and the song) with fatalistic connotations. Such connotations factor into the pursuit for glory which fueled the Space Race, the resultant tragedies of Apollo 1/Solyuz 1, and function as a pretty heady metaphor. In reading the song (with the aid of “Ashes to Ashes”) as describing a drug trip, than the state of the space program in the 1960’s serves as a metaphor for the throes of drug addiction—both the euphoric highs and the subsequent crashes. But there’s another metaphor inherent to the ‘tin-can’—a fragile bubble of optimism which excesses and bitter realities end up bursting.
Indeed, it’s this state of reality clashing with ambitions which ends up informing the rest of the chorus: “Planet Earth is blue/And there’s nothing I can do.” This one’s another set of lines loaded with secondary meanings, but all of them point towards Earth’s insignificance and humanity’s limitations. Considering that “blue” can hold connotations of sadness, there’s the connotation that the professions of Major Tom and Bowie aren’t dissimilar in one regard: they feel as if they can’t do anything to permanently alleviate that sadness. Also consider the miniscule nature of the planet and how the planet where Major Tom’s spent his whole life on now resembles a blue marble, a sight which can induce a sensation of helplessness. Part of that helplessness stems from Earth’s reduced size entailing that Major Tom’s already too far gone for anyone or anything to help him. But a second (and more relevant) method connotes that all of humanity’s ideas of progress and self-importance as a species amounts to a tiny blue dot—regardless of anyone’s words and/or actions. In turn, this deflates any significance assigned towards the Space Race—effectively rendering Major Tom’s goal a meaningless one.
Immediately following the chorus, a lone acoustic guitar riff commences (at 2:37) just before a saxophone fill from Tony Visconti ushers the rest of the band back in. Whilst drums and bass keep this section rhythmically-airtight, the stars emerge via Mick Wayne’s sparse lead guitar and the otherworldly veneer which Rick Wakeman’s mellotron casts over the whole affair. At least before a jazz-like drum fill segues into Bowie’s third verse (at 3:05), where everything goes wrong for Major Tom—and why this song is not an inspirational anthem:
Though I’m past one-hundred-thousand miles,
I’m feeling very still.
And I think my spaceship knows which way to go.
Tell my wife I love her very much (she knows).
Ground Control to Major Tom.
Your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong.
Can you hear me, Major Tom? [x3]
Can you—
It’s telling that only the first four lines of this verse are delivered from Major Tom’s perspective, shifting the remaining lines to Ground Control.
On the subject of the first pair of lines (“Though I’m past one-hundred-thousand miles,/I’m feeling very still”) from the Major Tom segment of this verse, it’s denoted that Major Tom’s still within Earth’s orbit. Consider that the sensation of “still” is one enabled by the fact that (since he’s outside the atmosphere) there’s nothing relative to the ship’s movement—despite that the “tin-can” rotates at such a velocity that Major Tom can’t feel it. Therefore, that Major Tom’s “past one-hundred-thousand-miles” refers to velocity, not to distance. Yet “still” harbors a dual meaning insofar as it applies to Major Tom’s mental state at this instant. Although one would think he’d grow panicked in how his spaceflight’s unfolding, “still” suggests that he’s grown calm or complacent about what may befall him.
That same sense of complacency factors into the subsequent line: “And I think my spaceship knows which way to go.” If one believes that this line marks the moment where Major Tom decides to sever connection from Ground Control, than it’s not too far of a stretch to assume that predeterminism plays a part. In other words, the helpless feelings brought on from the chorus has convinced Major Tom to stop believing in himself because his insignificance in regards to the universe amounts to the voyage’s outcome being already set-in-stone. With this consideration, the steering of a spaceship is analogous to charting one’s course in life—and stopping either one entails a total faith in destiny over free-will. All of which does get cast into doubt with “I think,” entailing that there’s no way Major Tom can be truly sure. Which suggests that the connotations of the chorus have so overwhelmed Major Tom’s mind that his insistence on destiny amounts to a coping mechanism.
Even then, the coping mechanism does have a hole emerge during the next line: “Tell my wife I love her very much (she knows).” Despite the last line leaving some ray of hope, this line outright acknowledges that Major Tom’s never returning to Earth. For all the talk of Major Tom as being calm in this moment, his last message to the people on Earth may be borne of panic. And that’s in spite of Ground Control’s reassurance of “She knows,” a portion of information which Ground Control can’t possibly know—and would be concerning (on a level of privacy) if they did. It should be stated that a similar line (“I miss the Earth so much, I miss my wife”) in Elton John’s “Rocket Man” have led some to deem the latter song as a parallel to “Space Oddity”—with both songs sharing Gus Dudgeon as producer.
Now that the final words of Major Tom have passed, the next usage of the familiar “Ground Control to Major Tom” refrain mark the exact instant where everything takes a morbid turn. For all the connections people have made between “Space Oddity” and the ‘hopeful’ spirit of the culture which spawned it, the song is quite a dark one. And people tend to focus on the earlier parts of the song and gloss over how it ends. Which is a mistake since the ending lyrics are inseparable from the rest of the song’s meaning—especially if one intends on linking it towards the progression in mindset Bowie had between 1969 (“Space Oddity”) and 1980 (“Ashes to Ashes”).
For the line which follows (“Your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong”) to fully cohere, one should recall that a radio circuit was how astronauts communicated to Ground Control. Although Major Tom’s ship no longer transmits the signal, he could still receive communications from Ground Control as long as the receiver’s still functional. One could try to link the Major Tom character to the various personas that Bowie would don over the course of the 70’s by suggesting that—despite being aware of the possible critiques he’d receive—Bowie didn’t give a shit and simply marched to the beat of his own drum. This would make the subsequent subversion of “Ashes to Ashes” just another step in that march. However, it is striking that such a triumphant conclusion can stem from something as catastrophic as “there’s something wrong” since—for both astronaut and Ground Control—the failure of communication is undoubtedly the worst thing which can befall a space-bound journey. But this was disarmingly prescient on Bowie’s part since Apollo 11 (which launched on July 16, 1969—five days after “Space Oddity” was released as a single) experienced a misfire in its emergency systems as it approached the moon.
But unlike the triumphant spirit of the event surrounding the song’s release, the plea uttered by Ground Control (“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”) evokes an unquestionable defeat. Not only has contact with Major Tom been severed, it’s guaranteed that he will die an agonizing death. Furthermore, Major Tom’s corpse is at the mercy of forces such as zero gravity, zero oxygen, and eternity. In a macabre sense, Major Tom’s mythos has permanence in its loss.
Although there’s a final “Can you—,” the word ‘hear’ never arrives. Instead, the word “Here” acts as a homonym and abruptly starts a second chorus (at 3:49). Only now, the contents of the third verse imbue this iteration of the chorus with a different flavor than the one from earlier. Sure, the previous chorus contained themes of isolation and hopelessness, but they still had a faint glimmer of hope. Such a faint glimmer vanishes from this variant of the chorus once the severity of the situation is illuminated by the third verse.
That severity becomes frightening once the return of the acoustic guitar riff (from 2:37) gives way into an outro guitar solo (at 4:18) which has instrumental elements of both bridge sections. What’s most alarming comes from the discordant high-pitched pickings of guitar (at 4:34) which continue to ascend in pitch to the point where it achieves tones that a guitar can’t achieve naturally. If one goes by the song’s literal meaning, these guitar pickings are the auditory representation of Major Tom suffocating from lack of oxygen—something supported by one interpretation of an image found in the music video for 2016’s “Blackstar.” Apart from the guitar pickings, Rick Wakeman’s mellotron evokes a nightmarish tone which warps the song into a malaise of chaos just as the song’s fade-out marks the end of the signal. With the later subversion found in “Ashes to Ashes,” one can conclude that this nightmarish soundscape has another meaning: that the optimism of the late-sixties was woefully misplaced.
Regardless of anything which I can possibly state about “Space Oddity,” it’s a classic song without question and remains the earliest example of the promise which David Bowie would deliver upon in the decade to follow. And with the existence of the later subversion via “Ashes to Ashes,” the song remains one of the most important songs that David Bowie ever wrote.
Full Review Coming As Soon As Possible