By Corey Libow
Released January 8th, 2016
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Key Tracks:
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“Look up here, I’m in heaven”
The exit is just as important the as the entrance. David Bowie knew this as well as anyone. His career was a series of costume changes and identity upheavals. Constant forward motion, no time to look back or pander to any audiences. He died on January 10, and instead of mourning the whole world looked back and shared their favorite parts of his career. The baby boomers lionized his Ziggy Stardust glam rock days. Generation X bowed before his Berlin Trilogy. The hip hop generation shouted out his progressiveness in racial equality and genre fusion. WIth his final album Blackstar, released two days before his death, David Bowie has penned a final chapter not just worthy of his historic career but capable of standing next to his classics on its own terms.
When the first singles, “Blackstar” and “Lazarus,” debuted with their videos, no one knew what to make of them. Now it’s sadly too clear what all the mystery was about; what exactly lies after death? These songs provided thematic and sonic direction for the entire album. “Blackstar” is an eerie epic, brooding eastern rhythms propelled by monastic chants before opening into a funky lullaby. It’s as ambitious as anything he has made before. “Lazarus” ranks up with the best of his work. An innately catchy cry for relief, the song plays like cavernous stadium rock for an audience of one. It’s lonely music.
That loneliness pervades the album. The songs are dissonant, keeping the listener from getting too close. “Tis A Pity She’s A Whore” is discordant piano rock right out of Aladdin Sane until it devolves into an acid jazz freakout. “Sue (Or In A Season Of Crime)” channels a bluesy guitar riff then switches into a Radiohead-esque breakdown. These songs are adventurous. David Bowie said that Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp A Butterfly was a major inspiration for ★ through its jazzy influence and genre breaking ambition. Donny McCaslin’s saxophone is all over the album, but he’s miles away from the dizzy, spiritual solos that filled out Kendrick’s joint. His sax is all moody staccato bursts of energy. Sometimes it’s the only thing keeping the songs, sometimes it heralds when it all comes apart.
Bowie’s voice is not what it used to be and with all the moving parts on the album it is rarely the focal point. He still commands attention with his performance, whether it’s his pointed British strut on “Tis A Pity She’s A Whore” or his mountaintop yodel on “Girl Loves Me.” The best performances are saved for the end of the album, with the two final songs. After a whole project of avant garde, experimental jazz rock, “Dollar Days” offers a sublime 60’s britpop ballad, with Bowie’s gentle touch setting it apart from the rest of the work. “I Can’t Give Everything Away” is a synth driven anthem that closes the album with Bowie singing out his final words.
★ might not have been intended as his final statement. There may have been plans for another album. That makes sense; this isn’t some meditation on mortality with David Bowie taking a look back at his career. This is a Kubrickian look at the afterlife, an alienating look at what lies beyond the pale. This is Ziggy Stardust rising from the dead. ★ is an immense work that separates him from his peers, challenges his disciples, and rewards his fans. Instead of validating a lifetime of celebrated personas, David Bowie made everyone look at him as the person he was at the end. He knew the importance of an exit.
When the first singles, “Blackstar” and “Lazarus,” debuted with their videos, no one knew what to make of them. Now it’s sadly too clear what all the mystery was about; what exactly lies after death? These songs provided thematic and sonic direction for the entire album. “Blackstar” is an eerie epic, brooding eastern rhythms propelled by monastic chants before opening into a funky lullaby. It’s as ambitious as anything he has made before. “Lazarus” ranks up with the best of his work. An innately catchy cry for relief, the song plays like cavernous stadium rock for an audience of one. It’s lonely music.
That loneliness pervades the album. The songs are dissonant, keeping the listener from getting too close. “Tis A Pity She’s A Whore” is discordant piano rock right out of Aladdin Sane until it devolves into an acid jazz freakout. “Sue (Or In A Season Of Crime)” channels a bluesy guitar riff then switches into a Radiohead-esque breakdown. These songs are adventurous. David Bowie said that Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp A Butterfly was a major inspiration for ★ through its jazzy influence and genre breaking ambition. Donny McCaslin’s saxophone is all over the album, but he’s miles away from the dizzy, spiritual solos that filled out Kendrick’s joint. His sax is all moody staccato bursts of energy. Sometimes it’s the only thing keeping the songs, sometimes it heralds when it all comes apart.
Bowie’s voice is not what it used to be and with all the moving parts on the album it is rarely the focal point. He still commands attention with his performance, whether it’s his pointed British strut on “Tis A Pity She’s A Whore” or his mountaintop yodel on “Girl Loves Me.” The best performances are saved for the end of the album, with the two final songs. After a whole project of avant garde, experimental jazz rock, “Dollar Days” offers a sublime 60’s britpop ballad, with Bowie’s gentle touch setting it apart from the rest of the work. “I Can’t Give Everything Away” is a synth driven anthem that closes the album with Bowie singing out his final words.
★ might not have been intended as his final statement. There may have been plans for another album. That makes sense; this isn’t some meditation on mortality with David Bowie taking a look back at his career. This is a Kubrickian look at the afterlife, an alienating look at what lies beyond the pale. This is Ziggy Stardust rising from the dead. ★ is an immense work that separates him from his peers, challenges his disciples, and rewards his fans. Instead of validating a lifetime of celebrated personas, David Bowie made everyone look at him as the person he was at the end. He knew the importance of an exit.
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