A cut-out-and-keep review of the new David Bowie album


Blackstar is a ground-breaker/game-changer/startling reinvention of Bowie’s own oeuvre/legacy/past that never/rarely/occasionally fails to astonish/enlighten/surprise, the sort of album the Thin White Duke/Ziggy Stardust/that bloke who appeared as an extra in Extras has not produced/managed/achieved since the last one/Scary Monsters/Station to StationHis band is the greatest/wildest/oldest one he’s had surrounding his muse/soundmystique since Spiders from Mars/Let’s Dance/Tin Machine II, and on this startling/incredible/world-changing new/new/new album Bowie does for jazz/hip-hop/the post-Adele blues what ‘The Laughing Gnome’/‘Boys Keep Swinging’/some cack from the 1990s or 2000s did for rock/R&B/folk music way back when.

Gone are the genial/friendly/Savile-scary wigs and face-paint/makeup/knuckledusters of the past 50/100/300 years, this is a brand new/invigorated/recharged/reborn refreshingly/pleasingly outward-looking/inward-looking Bowie as he tackles/creates/mumbles/whistles chirpily through songs like the title track/challenging new single, the haunting/rambling/drivel-laden Blackstar and the saucily-/provocatively-/smartly-/surprisingly-titled ‘Tis Pity She Was A Whore (a track/song/ode about Angie/Mick Jagger/David Cameron?). Blackstar is truly/totally/awesomely ominous/haunting/chilling/spine-tingling and also the longest/most extensive/dullest song he has recorded/done/puked out since 1976’s epic/mind-bending/old track Station to Station. The track itself feels like it could be two/10/millions of songs stitched/joined/hastily tacked together while simultaneously/conclusively/definitely not feeling/sounding/smelling like two songs stitched/tacked/welded together.

The music video meanwhile looks like Nirvana’s Heart-Shaped Box/The Residents’ Commercial Album/Robin Thicke’s ‘adult’ version of Blurred Lines crossed with Pan’s Labyrinth/Pirates of the Caribbean/Captain Pugwash as reimagined/made/directed by Alejandro Monteverde/David Lynch (of course)/Tom Cruise.


From the occasional/frequent/random blurtings/blarings/farts of the saxophone/sax/type of brass instrument I need to check up on, it is clear/apparent/pitifully obvious that Bowie has been mugging up/listening to/mainlining/ripping off jazz giants/stalwarts/figures such as Coleman/Basie/Sam Smith and absorbing/breathing/liquefying their inspiration/muse/licks 24/12/0.005 hours a day/week. Not to mention Scott Walker/Scott Walker/Scott Walker’s difficult/unlistenable/so soulful later/early/middle period.

Blackstar does not make for easy/pleasurable/happy listening (and we’re not just talking about the title track!). Songs like Sue (Or In A Season of Crime)/Dollar Days/check album sleeve for other song titles take multiple/many/numerous listens to become acquainted/familiar/conversant with – this is not a record/album/experience that will just/immediately/surreptitiously come over and lick your shoes/tickle your tonsils/butt-serve you vodka, although if you let it, it might. Multiple/compound/myriad listens in the serious moonlight/on drugs/on a tight deadline with a Bowie-loving editor to please will reap their own rewards/just desserts/25p a word, though. On Blackstar, Bowie has once more proven/displayed/verified/recognised his ability/chameleon-like charms/desire to go far beyond his brawling/mewling/sheep-like fan-base and their dull/undemanding/useless expectations and create/mumble/whistle chirpily a whole new style/genre/gender-bender of music, and style/fashion/genius. But you need to stay/remain/persist with it or you will just not understand/recognise/comprehend the genius of his genius on songs/tracks/musical milestones like Lazarus/Dollar Days/check album sleeve for another song title.

God/Christ/Ziggy above, this is such a marvellous/wonderful/incredible record, the best I/we/the general populace as a whole have/has heard since his last/the one before that/Station to Station, a total/real/genuine/authentic game-changer/ground-breaking/reinvention of his legacy/past/oeuvre (you’ve done this already – Ed) that shows most/all/more than all of today’s pop/rock/zydeco swing stars up for the shallow/torpid/money-chasing fakes/losers/stupid vacuous cunts they really are. A real ground-breaker of a ground-breaker. (You’ve done this one too – Ed)

A genius from a genius.


2 Responses to A cut-out-and-keep review of the new David Bowie album

  1. […] Everyone else seems so sure of themselves, or the few articles I have glanced at. They know Bowie was a genius. (I do not.) They know he was a rock star. (I do not.) They know the importance of believing in Bowie. Not me. Sometimes I used to think he was used as an excuse by the mainstream for their ignorance of the slipstream. Is that heresy now? It was immediately apparent his newest album would receive great reviews everywhere because the media is comprised of Bowie fans. Or is that the whole world? I am not so sure. I voiced that opinion a few days ago (it feels like an eon), but…  […]

  2. […] Similar posts (albeit a little longer): the troubled diary of a David Bowie fan, day 20 the troubled diary of a David Bowie fan, day 17 ‘Your friends are a massive bunch of dicks’. Bowie fans and Guardian readers get personal. reasons i am not that sort of bowie fan a dozen of my favourite covers of David Bowie songs reasons I am not a David Bowie fan the troubled diary of a David Bowie fan, day 6 the troubled diary of a David Bowie fan, day 5 the troubled diary of a David Bowie fan, day 4 the troubled diary of a David Bowie fan, day 3 The next day after in London: a photographic tribute to David Bowie David Bowie and the 7 stages of grief A tribute to David Bowie (the playlist) The Man Who Changed The World A cut-out-and-keep review of the new David Bowie album […]

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