Continuing a series of overviews of records that seem to be generally unloved, but in many cases I actually find something worthwhile lurking in the grooves of these scorned efforts, and I hope to make a case. And other times, I find nothing defensible and I’m compelled to discuss that as well. So… as I usually say when I begin these things:
Mick Ronson’s 1974 debut solo album Slaughter on 10th Avenue is liked by many, but I dare say it’s no one’s favorite album, not even among Ronson solo albums, of which there are precious few.
In 1973, Bowie decided to take the words of his song “Ziggy Stardust” to heart and he broke up his band, the Spiders from Mars, via a surprise announcement on the last show of the Aladdin Sane tour. Drummer “Woody” Woodmansey was shown the door first, although the two other Spiders, bassist Trevor Bolder and guitarist/arranger Mick Ronson, stayed to arrange and play on Bowie’s next album, the all-covers Pinups. Since Woodmansey and Bolder had expressed unhappiness with the pay structure of the band, it was pretty obvious why they had to go. Poor Woody, as the legend goes, got sacked on his wedding day. But the ever-agreeable and amiable Ronson, the co-architect of the Bowie sound… that was less obvious. Was the ever-creatively-restless David looking for new avenues to express himself and new styles to work in? As it turned out, yes he was. Was he a bit miffed that Ronson was receiving almost as much credit and praise for his playing and arranging skills as the Artiste was when the press discussed his music? Maaaaybe. Some thought so. Either way, though the split didn’t seem to be as brutal as with the other guys, Pinups would be the last time Ronson appeared on a Bowie album of new material for decades.
Their management, MainMan’s Tony DeFries, had also been grooming Ronson for a solo career, hedging his bets against Bowie’s star fading like Bolan and most of the glam stars’ had… and when the big split happened, DeFries went into motion. Ronson began recording his solo debut in August of 1973 (Bowie graciously contributed some song lyrics), and it came out in February of 1974, around the time of a two night debut concert engagement at the Rainbow in London. A 13 date tour in April of that year was next. Reaction was mixed, to say the least. And that will have to do for a segue, as I give my reactions, song by song.
Slaughter leads off… leads off, mind you, not with a bang but with a cover of “Love Me Tender”, not inspired by Elvis but by avant-garde singer Annette Peacock, who had interacted/collaborated some with Bowie and Ronson a couple of years prior. Bowie had wanted her to sing on his Aladdin Sane album, but she declined. Peacock, who had an adventurous way with vocals, took her “Tender” at a slow bluesy tempo, all the better for her to improvise vocally. Ronson took his cue from this, and his version was like a stately processional which he chose to lead the record off with, as well as release it as the lead single, so he was obviously pleased with the result. Me, well, I think it’s a lovely take, and I do think it’s probably Mick’s best vocal on the record (he even plays a little guitar, which was not a given as we’ll see as we go through these songs) but as a choice for the lead track, something to grab attention and “get the party started”, well, it’s a curious, dubious choice at best.
”Growing Up and I’m Fine” is one of the Bowie handoffs, and doesn’t stray far from their successful formula of working, i.e., Bowie writes words and Mick arranges. The song itself, as Mick does it, alternates quiet, reflective verses, backed only by an echoey Mike Garson piano, with loud stomping choruses in which Mick’s guitar is heard but not felt. It’s really not bad, but my impression is that had DB recorded it with the Spiders, it would have been a B-side at best. Like Chris O’Leary says, there was a time when Bowie was generous enough to give out a “Life on Mars” or “All the Young Dudes”… but those days were gone.
Finally, Ronson gets around to rocking out a little on one of the Scott Richardson co-writes, titled “Only After Dark”. Set to a tribal beat and with a similar feel, at least it has Ronno’s buzzy rhythm guitar at its foundation, but it’s all chant power and percussion and there are no guitar pyrotechnics, another curious choice for a record to showcase a Glam guitar hero. Most who remember this record at all remember this track, which was not a single but probably should have been.
Bowie contribution #2 was “Music is Lethal”, an admittedly great song title but the song itself, a recasting of “Io vorrei... non vorrei... ma se vuoi", by Italian singer Lucio Battisti, is Ronson trying to channel Jacques Brel or Kurt Weill or some kind of theatrical muse and ultimately comes across as bathetic and more than a bit campy, rather than poignant. Bowie translated the words to Battisti’s song, but Battisti had nothing about cocaine bookers and mulatto hookers, so it seems DB folded in some of his Diamond Dogs preoccupations in doing so. For Ronson’s part, he does set it with an appropriately theatrical, grandiose manner, with ringing guitar and singing strings. Problem is, these theatrics sounded old hat even then, as if Ronson thought his strengths lay in songs like Bowie’s “Time”. At least Ronson does play some anthemic guitar notes as the song fades out, just to remind us that he’s a guitarist or something, I suppose. DeFries, or Ronno, or someone thought highly enough of this little musical play to make it the theme of the entire record; its cover shows Mick’s tear-stained face, and the back cover image pulls back to reveal a long shot of him sitting on a street corner, cradling what I assume is meant to be a dying loved one in his arms, thus trying to illustrate the story Bowie cooked up in the song. History has borne out that this perhaps was not the best way to launch your career in 1974.
Side two’s opener takes Mick’s Annette Peacock fixation to another level, it’s a cover of Ms. Peacock’s synthed-up blues song “I’m the One”. It’s given a brassy, showbizzy presentation, with Ronson trying to sound as louche and theatrical as he possibly can. Peacock’s version is full of bleepy boopy synthesizer noise, and she gives it a typically histrionic vocal. Ronson has none of that, though he does get a bit adventurous as he sings. This track features as much of a showcase for Mick’s guitar playing as you’ll find on the album. He doesn’t really cut loose, but does indulge in a little noodling around and blends in some sci-fi reverb sounds. Yet another odd song choice. One wishes Tim Curry, or even La Bowie his own self, would have been moved to sing it.
Next up is a mini-medley of Ronson/Richardson co-write #2, “Pleasure Man”, a pensive track in which Ronno informs some object of conquest that he has “molten magic in his fingertips to ease all your pain”. It stops and starts and Mick attempts another theatrical vocal, the kind of thing that Bowie did with ease. A barrage of more sci-fi noises, Garson piano, and guitar licks (even a pick scrape or two!) segues this one into Bowie gift #3, “Hey Ma Get Papa”, which is given a really goofy tra-la-la kind of Brecht/Weill vocal arrangement, more theatrics. It seems to tell some kind of Damon Runyun-esque story about a murder someone did, necessitating the summoning of Papa... O’Leary thinks he invented Queen with this one, and I’m not so sure he’s wrong there.
Finally, we get an instrumental, an adaptation of a Richard Rodgers composition, that gives this album its name. It’s atmospheric, a bit moody, tastefully played and arranged by Mick, and best of all it isn’t too long so it doesn’t drag on and on. Mike Garson also contributes some really nice piano runs in the mix as well.
In hindsight, I’m not so sure Ronson was all that into this solo career idea, but had nothing better to do after Bowie sacked him. He certainly didn’t have a front man persona; while he did do well when the spotlight was on him in the Bowie days, his unassuming, ego-free manner left him looking uncomfortable as the face of a band, and it showed. Also, heaven knows why, other than just falling back on ideas he was familiar with, i.e. Bowie’s theatrical bent, he didn’t get advised to go the rock and roll guitar slinger route rather than somehow trying to be seen as the “next David Cassidy”, as he was quoted later as being told. In the few solo performance clips out there, you get the feeling that he is doing it as an obligation, like someone who has given his two weeks notice and is just doing the job. Just my impression, not canon.
Not long after this, he hooked up with Ian Hunter and briefly was a part of Mott the Hoople, but unfortunately the band broke up before they could get going. There were management issues, of course, DeFries was going nowhere and Hunter & Co. wanted no part of him but Mott was a dead band walking anyway so it didn’t matter really. Ronson did team up with Hunter for Ian’s first solo album, which saw release in 1975, and it was a triumph for both men, featuring some of Hunter’s sharpest songs and some of Ronson’s best guitar work. About the time they were doing Ian Hunter, Mick took the same group more or less he used on Slaughter and recorded Play Don’t Worry, a record that had far fewer expectations placed on it- and while it suffers from some of the same things that muddled up its predecessor, it’s an all around better record. He also had, by then, disabused himself of any pretense toward a solo career and played the sideman for various people for the rest of his life- not only Hunter, but David Cassidy, yep, Dylan and Roger McGuinn (he produced, arranged, and played on the former Byrd’s stellar solo album Cardiff Rose in 1976) in Bob’s Rolling Thunder Revue, Morrissey on his solo Your Arsenal, US singer Ellen Foley on her debut album Nightout with Hunter, and more. One wishes he’d lived long enough to see how much he’s become revered among musicians and guitarists, and had found many more fruitful collaborations. His death from cancer in 1994 put an end to all of that, but his legacy as a guitarist’s guitarist lives on… and his solo career is just an puzzling footnote, really.
Listen to Mick Ronson’s Slaughter on Tenth Avenue on the streaming service of your choice.