I found out about Bowie’s death just a few hours after turning this review. In retrospect, Blackstar is the kind of swan song only an unpredictable innovator like him could’ve produced.
When you hear the words “David Bowie,” which version of him pops into your head? Perhaps it’s Ziggy Stardust, the White Duke, or that goblin guy from Labyrinth? Enter one more: The wizened icon willing to try literally anything. Released on Bowie’s 69th birthday [and just days before his untimely passing], his new album Blackstar combines elements of jazz, avant-garde and industrial instrumentation, and plunges him farther into the dark musical rabbit hole than he’s ever been.
Two years ago, The Next Day, a serviceable rock record, marked Bowie’s first original material in a decade. But most of Blackstar gives the finger to his well-established musical sensibilities. Helping him to this end is longtime producer Tony Visconti, but he also enlisted New York jazz heavyweights Donny McCaslin (sax, woodwinds), Ben Monder (guitar) and Mark Guiliana (drums).
The disregard for conventions that made him notable in the ‘70s has apparently not reached its limit. The bulk of Blackstar’s seven tracks are bizarre and experimental in their own way, so if you’re looking for three-minute tunes for your pre-game playlist, you may want to skip this one.
The title track is probably the biggest departure, a behemoth clocking in at 9:55. It begins with a kind of bleak Gregorian monk chant with some abstract religious imagery (“In the villa of Ormen stands a solitary candle/On the day of execution, only women kneel and smile”), and switches completely to ghostly soul with a menacing refrain (“I’m a Blackstar”).
My favorite is “Lazurus,” written for a musical of the same name. It builds on an atmospheric groove, with sax lines that fade in and out and guttural, Pixies-like guitar. As usual, Bowie’s lyrics remain cryptic on the album: “This way or no way/I’ll be free-just like that bluebird/Ain’t that just like me?” “Sue (Or In a Season of Crime)” is an eerie eardrum assault, with heavy, distorted riffs, off-kilter vocals, and a sludgy outro that borders on metal.
Horns punctuate the album, but this isn’t your father’s “Young American” saxophone – it’s jazzy flourishes and impressive solos. Also notable throughout Blackstar is the subtle yet aggressive drumming by Guiliana. The insanely intricate groove in “Sue” isn’t the type of playing you’ll often hear from rock sessions players.
The few tracks on Blackstar that aren’t aggressively anti-pop fail to make a big impression: “I Can’t Give Everything Away” is a tepid synth and “Dollar Days” is a fairly forgettable ballad.
Still, give Blackstar a chance. These songs aren’t exactly easy listening stuff you’ll be humming in your car for days on end, but for an artist that has constantly stretched the boundaries of what he’s capable of, it’s not that surprising. If you’re trying to recapture the ‘glory days’ of Bowie, this album is definitely not for you. But in that case of a man constantly changing, was there ever any real Bowie anyway?
