“This Is Not America” occupies a strange corner of David Bowie’s catalog. The track reached number 14 on the UK Singles Chart in 1985, yet critics and fans tend to file it as a curiosity rather than what it is: a sophisticated three-way collaboration that proved Bowie’s range and showed what jazz-rock fusion could do when it crossed into pop.
The song came from the soundtrack to The Falcon and the Snowman, a 1985 film about American espionage and betrayal starring Timothy Hutton and Sean Penn. Pat Metheny, already a leading figure in contemporary jazz, scored the film. He brought in Lyle Mays, his longtime collaborator, a keyboardist and composer whose harmonic depth had shaped the Pat Metheny Group’s sound through the early 1980s. Inviting Bowie was the bold move: an art rock icon paired with two of jazz fusion’s most respected players.
All three were at interesting crossroads. Bowie was riding the commercial wave of Let’s Dance (1983) but turning back toward experiment. Metheny had won multiple Grammys and proved jazz fusion could sell. Mays had earned a reputation as one of the most inventive keyboardists in contemporary music, blending acoustic piano with synthesizers to build atmospheric soundscapes that felt both warm and alien.
The recording brought together different musical instincts. Bowie’s theatrical delivery and ear for hooks met Metheny’s melodic guitar lines and Mays’ layered keyboard arrangements. The result was neither rock nor jazz but something genuinely hybrid. Bowie sings with his signature detachment, but an undertow of melancholy surfaces throughout, matching the film’s themes of disillusionment and betrayal.
The arrangement shows careful craftsmanship. Mays builds a foundation that shifts between ethereal pads and rhythmic patterns, while Metheny’s guitar provides harmonic support and melodic counterpoint to Bowie’s vocal. The production, handled by Metheny and Mays, keeps the spacious quality of their own records while making room for Bowie’s more direct voice.
The lyrics capture Reagan-era unease about American identity and foreign policy. “A little piece of you, the little peace in me will die” turns political disillusionment into personal loss. The refrain “This is not America” works as both denial and accusation, questioning what the country represents against what it claims to be. The words track the film’s central tension: idealism meeting institutional betrayal.
The song’s chart performance hinted at wider possibilities for jazz-rock crossover in the mid-1980s, though few artists followed. It appeared on Metheny’s The Falcon and the Snowman soundtrack album and later on various Bowie compilations, but neither camp has treated it as essential.
As a model for collaboration, the track still holds up. Genre boundaries keep blurring, and artists keep reaching across them, yet few partnerships achieve what this one did: three distinct voices producing a unified sound without anyone disappearing into the mix. The political themes land now as sharply as they did in 1985. Questions about American identity and credibility have not gone away.
The song’s influence threads through later collaborations between rock and jazz musicians, though few match its integration. It proves that Bowie’s collaborative instincts reached well beyond rock and pop, and that Metheny and Mays could step outside their jazz context without losing what made them distinctive.
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