A Few Quick Words on David Bowie’s Blackstar

Note: I wrote this post earlier today on the spur of the moment. When I came back to post it tonight, I read the news that David Bowie had just passed away due to cancer. Now I wish I had said something more significant, but I’m posting this in its original form anyway. The world has just lost another of its great voices, and this loss hits hard.
 
David Bowie’s first studio album appeared in 1967 and 49 years later we have his twenty-fifth. Fans and critics are hailing Blackstar as some of his finest work, and this not quite three years after The Next Day won similar acclaim. As an on-and-off-and-on-again Bowie fan since his Tin Machine days, I was quick to download Blackstar.

Yes, I had good taste even in 1989 when Tin Machine’s first album came out, just not good enough taste to know who David Bowie was apart from Tin Machine. I didn’t really get into David Bowie until I ran across the three-disc version of Bowie at the Beeb, which includes a number of BBC Radio sessions from 1968 to 1972, plus a concert from 2000. The earlier recordings capture Bowie as an affable and earnest young man with one leg in Dylanesque folk music. This Bowie was more approachable for me than his later more wacked-out material, but it got me headed in that direction.

The rest of Bowie’s career would see the rise of Ziggy Stardust and any number of personas and musical styles that I’ll probably never be able to fully explore. The changes can be frustrating since one album is often completely different from the next, making it difficult for listeners to find their footing, and leaving new listeners without a clear place to start. For those with patience and intrepidity, however, there is always something incredible to discover. Some of my favorite Bowie, for example, is on the 2002 release Heathen:

 

And now there’s Blackstar. I’m still getting to know it, but here’s an early impression. It’s dark and digital, raw and electronic, jazzy and rocking, strange and melodic, and filthy and funny, with many songs weaving among these characteristics with a fluidity that is sometimes missing from the more experimental Bowie. Much of “I Can’t Give Everything Away,” for example, is a blend of slewing saxophone and guitar solos with a smooth drum beat as Bowie repeats the words of the song’s title, drawing them out mournfully. It’s an unusual noodle of a song, but the results are eminently listenable.

The first single is a good summary of Blackstar’s mood, but perhaps a little on the album's darker side:

 

I suppose that video could be off-putting for some, but I’d encourage anyone to begin their own exploration of Bowie’s music, if they haven't already. Start with Bowie at the Beeb, or The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, or Blackstar, but give it a shot and find the Bowie style that strikes a chord with you. It can be powerful stuff.