Photo: Press/Jimmy King
'Tomorrow belongs to those who hear it coming' - that was the marketing mantra of Bowie while promoting 1977's classic second part of the Berlin trilogy, "Heroes". It would prove to become a self-fulfilling prophecy, with the three records setting the template for post-punk and a myriad of alternative music to follow in decades to come.
The truth is that little has changed when it comes to The Thin White Duke. He remains a step ahead. After a decade on the downlow and in the wilderness, none could have predicted his triumphant comeback in 2013 with the effervescent The Next Day. He dominated the music media for over a year without uttering a word to a single journalist, with just his musical presence alone proving enough to satisfy ten years of want.
Again, few could have foresaw his relatively swift return with Blackstar. While many cultural statesman of his standing might just retire, fall into self-parody or milk their legacy for all they can, Bowie seems to have no concept of 'yesterday' or even 'today' - but still only on what comes next. Ziggy Stardust pt 2 this is not. Bowie seems restless, and unflinchingly fearless.
The title track alone is an epic and sprawling mini-Odyssey, taking in some late Radiohead era-esque skittering beats before going on an otherworldly journey of post-rock, jazz and ambience - his voice straining and flourishing as he tells the existential tale of a fallen false prophet. It's incredible that 25 albums in, he can still find new ground to tread, and yet it feels so quintessentially 'Bowie'. Chosen as the soundtrack for Sky Arts' The Last Panthers, it's every bit as cinematic as you'd hope. Rather than a three minute radio edit, fit for mass digestion and screaming 'love me again' to the masses, Bowie demands everything of the listener, and returns their trust in kind.
A barrage of left-field elements, 'Tis A Pity She Was A Whore' is a decidedly experimental effort from the icon, offsetting visceral instrumental foundations with the subdued vocal style that carried through The Next Day, a contrast that seemingly brings together a wealth of influences from across his career. Spitting back lyrics like a jaded beat poet over a runaway jazz soundtrack, Bowie is every bit the man possessed by the music alone, rather than playing it safe.
.jpg)
The restrained dream-pop torn inside out of 'Lazarus' calls to mind the sonic landscapes that the likes of Wild Beasts attempt to conjure today, but with Bowie he makes it seem so Lynchian - with a menacing jazz journey met with a lyrical narrative quite filmic, vivid and pretty damn menacing.
'Girl Loves Me' calls to mind the art-rock spirit of 1995's Outside, albeit with the sense of Bowie writing very much with a sense of 'now' and anchored in what always set him apart - remaining a constant well of the elements that would go on to influence the likes of Joy Division and The Cure, yet sounding so much of this time than any other. He's not chasing any kind of era or scene; we're always catching up with him.
'Dollar Days' is a work of elegiac soft jazz, proving that Bowie can still be as powerful with his craft now without the shock of the past, but rather an economy of grace and poise. Closer 'I Can't Give Everything Away' gives more than a subtle nod to the sounds and wistful krautrock of Low's 'A New Career In A New Town', but now uses it as the foundation to build something more palatial and informed.
Bowie could have delivered a smattering glam-rock-lite hits, a pastiche of his past glories - but there would be no challenge in that. It's not in his nature to make the same record twice. One can't help but feel that this may have been part of his plan all along. If The Next Day was his bridge back on to the world stage, one can't help but feel that Blackstar is him again leaping sideways into the breach. This is a far more bold, artful and fulfilling affair. Never second guess Bowie. Tomorrow never knows, especially when it comes to an artist always with one foot in the future.
