David Bowie, (The Rise and Fall of) Ziggy Stardust (and the Spiders from Mars)

Compare with Lou Reed around this time: Bowie had some of the same challenging subject matter, definitely a similar milieu, clearly cross-pollinated styles, and yet delivered a cleaner, clearer product with actual performance value. (Thought question: whose fault was Transformer, performer Reed or co-producer Bowie?) The turbulent early 1970s still ring true in "Five Years," but the net effect is more carefully constructed, and even prattly nonsense like "Soul Love" and throwaway tracks like "It Ain't Easy" or "Suffragette City" (a good glam bopper, at any rate) rub shoulders with richer productions in "Moonage Daydream," sharp character studies in "Lady Stardust" and of course gorgeous crown jewels like "Starman" and the title track. Even though his lyrics (and for that matter the bare wisp of a concept) aren't always on point, when they are they cut deep, even literally in closer "Rock'N'Roll Suicide" which manages to be sensitive without being (too) maudlin. Not all Bowie's contemporaries learned the artistic lesson this album teaches — maybe Ian Hunter, but probably one of the few — and definitely to their detriment. (Content: adult references and mild language.)

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David Bowie, ★ (Blackstar)

What album would you write knowing it would be your last? That, posthumously, you could rest in the grave, the recording done, your sensibilities preserved and your artistic vision unfettered? Every musician should hope God grants them a last word on their own terms, and David Bowie got one: no compromises, no concessions to the pop charts, an eccentric, eclectic self-elegy shipped under the noses of a public unaware he was even ill. And, two days after its release, we have this album yet we have not him. Eternity suffuses the unfiltered emotions in the lyrics, from a man saved from his own execution by another ("★") to Lazarus in heaven against us collective Divëses below ("Lazarus"), even as he reassures Sue — or maybe us — that the clinic called and the X-ray's fine ("Sue (Or In A Season Of Crime)"). Was he telling us all along he was "dying to[o]" ("Dollar Days")? Was he trying to? Every style he wanted he played: there's Nadsat and Polari ("Girl Loves Me"), earthy baroque ("'Tis A Pity She Was A Whore") and symphonic pop along with classic Bowie at the end with "Dollar Days" and the album's heartfelt closer "I Can't Give Everything Away" — a presumably deliberate irony as he gave us this very treasure to remember him by, its brilliance and unyielding intransigence even extending to the unreadable black on black of the liner notes. Everything about this masterpiece is sumptuous and unsullied, daring you to take him as he was and rewarding you with its sophistication when you do. Even a jerk music critic like me can't pierce the grave with my sharp wit nor effusive praise, but for an album as incredible as this one, let this summary be my attempt to try. (Content: sexual themes in "'Tis A Pity She Was A Whore," F-bombs in "Girl Loves Me," mild language in "Lazarus" and "Dollar Days.")

★★★★★

David Bowie, Black Tie White Noise

The new Bowie hit when I was in college. "Jump They Say," they hissed at him, his musical output dwindling, his artistic influence shriveled. "The Wedding" of him and Iman was the last shred of the old Bowie, they gossiped, and there was nothing left in him to pour forth. And they were very wrong, for the new Bowie was very very good. "Jump They Say" is the track that got the most airplay, and deservedly so from its smooth production and solid blend of ambient and dance; ostensibly it was his feelings for his schizophrenic half-brother who committed suicide, but it could just as easily be interpreted as reaction to the demons whispering "has-been" in his ear. A non-trivial amount of instrumental gives the album a symphonic texture ("The Wedding" leading off but also the ominous "Pallas Athena" and "Looking for Lester") as much as the loosened, liberated lyrics of "I Feel Free" and his marital joy in "Miracle Goodnight" provide it uplift. The title track is nothing special and there are possibly more covers than there ought to be, but they are handled as competently as the rest, especially the wonderfully schmaltzy rework of the Morrissey track "I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday" which was itself originally a homage to Bowie's Ziggy Stardust. Fresh, fearless and fascinating, this transformational album more than anything proved he could self-reinvent and reboot, thus setting the tone for the personal renaissance that followed. The original CD issue included three bonus tracks, two rather slight remixes of "Jump They Say" and "Pallas Athena," and the whimsical "Lucy Can't Dance" which truly deserved to be on the main album. The later 10th anniversary disc keeps that last but replaces the others with still other alternate remixes, including three different versions of "Jump They Say," two of "Black Tie White Noise" and even an Indonesian version of "Don't Let Me Down & Down." I suppose it's interesting for comparison but it's questionable how much it would be for listening. (Content: mild profanity.)

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