David Bowie:
Blackstar:
Sony ISO:
LP/CD/DD:
Out Now:
★★★★★★★★☆☆
From gnomes to Major Tom to Ziggy to the Thin White Duke and through to his most recent trilogy of straight pop-rock album spearheaded by the excellent Heathen, Bowie's importance as an artist and performer has been discussed at great length of late. Partly because of this, Blackstar could be his most anticipated release for decades. It's certainly his strangest, one of his best and sadly, his last.
After surprising the interweb in 2013 with the enjoyable, relatively straight-forward though slightly mysterious and playful The Next Day, Bowie's return to left-field indulgences in 2016 is rather more welcome than some might have imagined.
Skittish sub-drum 'n' bass drums decorate the first morose portion of the title-track like ball-bearings in a tin, before celestial harmonies and psychedelic keyboards usher in the next stage. After a few more minutes, the new light begins to shine, a sweeping melody kicks in and for the final six minutes or so we're back in a similar musical hemisphere to Space Oddity.
With just seven tracks, you won't be surprised to learn that there are no three minute belters on here. The nearest to a short pop-song is Dollar Days which, during its five minutes, traverses some woozy saxophone, mentions of English evergreens and hefty epic drums. But with both feet firmly rooted in melancholia once again, Bowie's chances of appearing on Graham Norton or The National Lottery are thankfully dashed.
Also rather epic is closer I Can't Give Everything Away, a cracking song that ably demonstrates its creator's still-strong and eternally-emotive voice. He sounds as fresh at 69 as he did in '69. And then there's the previously-difficult but now re-recorded (and still wilfully atonal) single Sue (Or In a Season of Crime) which now sounds like Magazine if they'd bumped into LTJ Bukem at a session for their last album. Its flipside 'Tis Pity She Was a Whore is also present, sounds resplendent and makes for a surprisingly fitting inclusion than Sue.
Which leaves two songs that intrigue more than thrill. Girl Loves Me is a profane slice of lumbering spaced-out crunk that'll have Kanye West calling up for permission to use. And Lazurus which has Bowie at his vocal best but it's drowned in sax and more bleeding sax before going all Joy Division for its meandering epilogue. Cram all that into four minutes and you'd have a winner. Over six minutes plus, I'm wondering what it all means. It probably doesn't matter.
Ultimately as a listening experience, Blackstar is unequivocally markedly different to most iconic mainstream act's recent output and after peering through the fug of dewy-eyed critique and whiff of 'emperor's new clothes' fandom, I concur with many commentators that the world still needs some Bowie in its collection, way way more than another Sam Smith or Ed Sheeran. After fifty years, Bowie's creative (black)star continues to burn very very brightly indeed. A fitting epitaph from music's most adventurous rock icon.
Blackstar:
Sony ISO:
LP/CD/DD:
Out Now:
★★★★★★★★☆☆
After surprising the interweb in 2013 with the enjoyable, relatively straight-forward though slightly mysterious and playful The Next Day, Bowie's return to left-field indulgences in 2016 is rather more welcome than some might have imagined.
Skittish sub-drum 'n' bass drums decorate the first morose portion of the title-track like ball-bearings in a tin, before celestial harmonies and psychedelic keyboards usher in the next stage. After a few more minutes, the new light begins to shine, a sweeping melody kicks in and for the final six minutes or so we're back in a similar musical hemisphere to Space Oddity.
With just seven tracks, you won't be surprised to learn that there are no three minute belters on here. The nearest to a short pop-song is Dollar Days which, during its five minutes, traverses some woozy saxophone, mentions of English evergreens and hefty epic drums. But with both feet firmly rooted in melancholia once again, Bowie's chances of appearing on Graham Norton or The National Lottery are thankfully dashed.
Also rather epic is closer I Can't Give Everything Away, a cracking song that ably demonstrates its creator's still-strong and eternally-emotive voice. He sounds as fresh at 69 as he did in '69. And then there's the previously-difficult but now re-recorded (and still wilfully atonal) single Sue (Or In a Season of Crime) which now sounds like Magazine if they'd bumped into LTJ Bukem at a session for their last album. Its flipside 'Tis Pity She Was a Whore is also present, sounds resplendent and makes for a surprisingly fitting inclusion than Sue.
Which leaves two songs that intrigue more than thrill. Girl Loves Me is a profane slice of lumbering spaced-out crunk that'll have Kanye West calling up for permission to use. And Lazurus which has Bowie at his vocal best but it's drowned in sax and more bleeding sax before going all Joy Division for its meandering epilogue. Cram all that into four minutes and you'd have a winner. Over six minutes plus, I'm wondering what it all means. It probably doesn't matter.
Ultimately as a listening experience, Blackstar is unequivocally markedly different to most iconic mainstream act's recent output and after peering through the fug of dewy-eyed critique and whiff of 'emperor's new clothes' fandom, I concur with many commentators that the world still needs some Bowie in its collection, way way more than another Sam Smith or Ed Sheeran. After fifty years, Bowie's creative (black)star continues to burn very very brightly indeed. A fitting epitaph from music's most adventurous rock icon.