Blackstar [LP] David Bowie Artist

{|David Bowie|} died within days after the January 8, 2016 release of {|Blackstar|}, an event that immediately shaped perceptions of his 25th album. Unbeknownst to all but his inner circle, {|Bowie|} wrote and recorded {|Blackstar|} after receiving w... Read more

{|David Bowie|} died within days after the January 8, 2016 release of {|Blackstar|}, an event that immediately shaped perceptions of his 25th album. Unbeknownst to all but his inner circle, {|Bowie|} wrote and recorded {|Blackstar|} after receiving word that he had liver cancer, so the album was certainly shaped through the prism of this diagnosis. A close listen reveals how the album is littered with references to dying -- indeed, it concludes with a note of acceptance in I Can't Give Everything Away -- but {|Bowie|}'s remarkable achievement with {|Blackstar|} is how it's an album about mortality that is utterly alive, even playful. Unlike its predecessor, 2013's {|The Next Day|}, {|Blackstar|} doesn't carry the burden of ushering a new era in {|Bowie|}'s career. Occasionally, the record contains a nod to his past -- two of its key songs, Sue (Or in a Season of Crime) and 'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore, were even aired in 2014 as a supporting single for the {|Nothing Has Changed|} compilation (both are revamped for this album) -- but {|Bowie|} and producer {|Tony Visconti|} are unconcerned with weaving winking postmodern tapestries; now that they've shaken free their creative cobwebs, they're ready to explore. Certainly, the luxurious ten-minute sprawl of Blackstar -- a two-part suite stitched together by string feints and ominous saxophone -- suggests {|Bowie|} isn't encumbered with commercial aspirations, but {|Blackstar|} neither alienates nor does it wander into uncharted territory. For all its odd twists, the album proceeds logically, unfolding with stately purpose and sustaining a dark, glassy shimmer. It is music for the dead of night but not moments of desolation; it's created for the moment when reflection can't be avoided. Fittingly, the music itself is suspended in time, sometimes recalling the hard urban gloss of '70s prog -- {|Bowie|}'s work, yes, but also {|Roxy Music|} and, especially, the {|Scott Walker|} of {|Nite Flights|} -- and sometimes evoking the drum'n'bass dabbling of the '90s incarnation of the Thin White Duke, sounds that can still suggest a coming future, but in the context of this album these flourishes are the foundation of a persistent present. This comfort with the now is the most striking thing about {|Blackstar|}: it is the sound of a restless artist feeling utterly at ease not only within his own skin and fate but within his own time. To that end, {|Bowie|} recruited saxophonist {|Donny McCaslin|} and several of his New York cohorts to provide the instrumentation (and drafted disciple {|James Murphy|} to contribute percussion on a pair of cuts), a cast that suggests {|Blackstar|} goes a bit farther out than it actually does. Cannily front-loaded with its complicated cuts (songs that were not coincidentally also released as teaser singles), {|Blackstar|} starts at the fringe and works its way back toward familiar ground, ending with a trio of pop songs dressed in fancy electronics. This progression brings {|Blackstar|} to a close on a contemplative note, a sentiment that when combined with {|Bowie|}'s passing lends the album a suggestion of finality that's peaceful, not haunting. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine Less