Look up here, I’m in heaven/I’ve got scars that can’t be seen
— David Bowie, “Lazarus,” Blackstar (2016)
I’ve been putting this off for a bit — That’s if, of course, you consider a month under the definition of, “a bit.” I honestly felt that David Bowie’s swansong, and final effort, Blackstar, deserved some time to grow, to escape the swelling press and nonsense attributed to a famed celebrity’s passing. The Blackstar review needed to be objective. The review needed to feel sincere. My love for Bowie’s music and his various personas would’ve clouded the discussion and led to a completely biased post. What else could you expect when one of your personal artistic influences dies the day after you purchase his last album?
After listening to Blackstar multiple times, and watching the “spectacle” of Lady Gaga’s Grammy tribute, I can safely say this is one of the Thin White Duke’s finest achievements, a record pulling from the melancholy of the Berlin trilogy and jazzing it up. Yeah, yeah, bias be damned.
For projecting such a flamboyant stage presence, Bowie seemed to operate behind the camera’s eye. Nobody, not even hailed producer and Berlin trilogy creative consultant, Brian Eno — whom Ziggy was scheduled to work with on a future project — knew how short the artist’s time was. Yet, Blackstar was recorded. Blackstar dropped.
The record delves deep in symbolism, from the star pieces in the cover spelling out Bowie, to the cryptic lyrics throughout its seven tracks. This highlights the artistic realization of the musician, the finality of the moment. So, does it all mean something? Or, am I just bullshitting away for the sake of word count? You tell me:
In the villa of Ormen, in the villa of Ormen/Stands a solitary candle, ah-ah, ah-ah/In the centre of it all, in the centre of it all/Your eyes
— David Bowie, “Blackstar,” Blackstar
Immediately, Bowie adds an occult, dark tone to a career smothered in glamour, drugs, sex, and good ol’ rock n’ roll. The twelve personas stare into the flame and capture that feeling of hopeful isolation. As the record rolls on to, “Lazarus,” and then closes with, “I Can’t Give Everything Away,” the message is simple and powerful, punctuated by the hopeless notes of a saxophone. Bowie has said his goodbye to the the music world in the only suitable way.
Bowie was a legend on the sheets of stardom. He didn’t give a damn whether the mainstream market approved of his disco number or his funk experiment. He certainly didn’t care if the masses disapproved of his support for minority musician airplay on national media. How many guys can enter the film world as Crotch and Big Hair — I mean, Labyrinth’s, the Goblin King, of course — and then, a few years later, jump on stage with Trent Reznor and seep venom into the crowd with Nine Inch Nails’ industrial rattle, “Reptile.”
Yet, through all of the collaborations, all of the media appearances, Bowie seemed to desire privacy in his personal life. That’s why, on January 10, 2016, the music industry faced shock and reflection on just how much The Man Who Fell Down to Earth influenced the way music was composed, performed, recorded, and understood.
Bowie singlehandedly pioneered glam rock with Hunky Dory and Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars. He brought experimentation to the mainstream, starting with the blues/soul/pop sensibilities of Station to Station and ending with the listener friendly, but serene, Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps). Bowie continued this musical freedom into the eighties, where Let’s Dance and other do-whatever-the-fuck-Bowie-wants records came to fruition. Let’s not even mention the amount of singles and classic tracks he pumped out; “Under Pressure,” anyone? He was a fan of music as much as he was a creator, a trait evident in his — deceivingly random — performances with other musicians.
Basically, if Kanye West cites you as an influence, you know you broke some ground.
Pshhhh, I’m not going to end Bowie’s influence on a Kanye tweet. That’s the last thing I want to do. Either way, David Bowie’s stage presence itself brought theatrics into rock n’ roll, a flamboyant expression inspiring thousands to pick up the guitar, throw on — to mom and dad’s disappointment — a kimono and belt out some, “Wam, bam, thank you, ma’am!”
Bowie was a rock star who, quite simply, did not give a single fuck what the industry pushed or pulled. He performed and inspired artists to pursue what they wanted, rather than cater to the needs of a third party. Of course, this led to fandom chaos, but, fortunately, each Bowie persona was met with embrace rather than alienation. By the peak of his career, the Bowie brand was defined by the eccentricities and flamboyance of Ziggy Stardust.
Bringing it Down
So, it is no surprise that, in this perspective, Blackstar brings a different light to Bowie’s discography, one of sincere sadness, reflection, and longing. Please forgive the pretentious pun. Anyways, take the pairing of the haunting, marching rhythm of, “Girl Loves Me,” and the somber, “Dollar Days.” Both tracks highlight this dark atmosphere, as well as push the boundaries of the musician’s instrumental focus.
As I previously said, Bowie was no enemy of collaboration. However, instead of bringing in A-list or aged names, the album welcomes the talent of prominent jazz musicians. This is not a typical solo artist, half assed vocal performance, where session musicians take a back seat to the ego of their employer. Blackstar often leans on its studio musicians, especially in the umph of the title track and, “Girl Loves Me.” The LP’s rhythm section, courtesy of drummer, Mark Guiliana, and Tim Lefebvre, balance complexity with rhythmic freedom; noticeable, but not distracting. Their chemistry and poise develop Blackstar into a lesson on tasteful, musical freedom. That’s hard to find in a record emphasizing a jazzy style. The record also features a career performance by saxophonist, Donny McCaslin, whose horns bring out, “Lazarus’,” heavy subject matter, making tears nearly inevitable.
Vocally, Bowie doesn’t even sound like he’s aged. There are moments where his voice adopts a rasp, but that only heightens the overall feel; that of a tired man facing the reality of his situation. Sure, his voice is not quite at the quality level of, “Under Pressure,” or, “Heroes,” but there is no denying the emotion transmitted through tracks like the title piece and, “I Can’t Give Everything Away.”
A Final Look
Overall, Blackstar brings the audience to the darker, experimental side of David Bowie. In his final record, he pulls ears in with explorations in jazz form, dark atmosphere, and cryptic lyrics, often alluding to past treasures in the likes of the Berlin Trilogy and his quintessential 70’s classics. A beautiful transition from the idol to the human, Blackstar serves as both a celebration and ode to the life of a musician, that of excess, fear, longing, and fulfillment. Whichever Bowie felt in his final moment, we’ll never know.
We love you, David Bowie. You will be missed. Rest in peace.
ALBUM RATING: 5/5
Disclaimer: All rights, content, and property of the header image belong to its owner. Image found at http://www.cnn.com/2016/01/11/entertainment/david-bowie-death/. All rights, content, and property of the body image belong to its owner. Image found at http://g1.globo.com/musica/blog/antonio-carlos-miguel/post/blackstar-de-david-bowie-geraldo-vandre.html. I have, in no way, used said images for profit or personal gain.