One of the CDs I bought from Real Groovy in Auckland last December was a second hand copy of Bowie's Outside (in excellent condition, and less than seven bucks.) It's been receiving substantial play since then, mainly because it's excellent, and partly because Bowie's death has made me focus on the great man more than somewhat since the sad news.
Yesterday I managed to find time to listen to the full CD without interruption and it was one of those occasions when everything about the piece came together for me, building on the earlier listening I had done. I'd regard it as up there with the absolute best of Bowie - which, believe me, is high praise. And yet, somehow I'd completely missed out on it at the time of release and was playing catch-up some twenty-odd years late.
And now I come to the point. I find these gaps in my knowledge of the works of musicians and writers I admire exciting and useful. I don't necessarily want to have been exposed to the full range of what they've done all at once, as it were, because it leaves nothing to look forward to. There're only two bands I can think of with regard to whom I own all the studio albums: The Beatles and King Crimson, and it's only very recently I managed the full set of the fab four. Think of it: someone who regards himself as a fairly major Dylan fan, but falls far short of completism.
Anyway, no prizes for guessing what I've lined up for my late-night listening, which begins now. Bye!