I hadn't even finished my post about the winner of 2015's calendar, To Pimp a Butterfly by Kendrick Lamar, when suddenly the music year 2016 began with the unexpected and tragic death of David Bowie on
January 10th. It was the second Monday of the year, and the news struck
me really hard. I had been listening to his excellent new album
Blackstar, which was released on Friday the 7th. It sounded fresh,
exciting, inspired, really like a new beginning for Bowie,
who I could easily see making great music for plenty of years still.
After many years out of the limelight, and a rather underwhelming return with The Next Day in 2013, his first studio album in ten years, Blackstar was a very positive surprise. A weird mix between grand, epic statements about death and mortality on one hand ("Blackstar", "Lazarus", "I Can't Give Everything Away"), and strangely carnal jams about dancing and women and cities ("'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore", "Sue (or in a Season of Crime)", "Girl Loves Me"), it came across being very much an ode to life, a life well lived, the beauty of life in all its forms. The jazz-rock fusion of the backing band sounded similar to the style adopted on the aforementioned To Pimp a Butterfly, but gives the album a beautiful, timeless feel. And then the news broke, and we realize that the album was a last goodbye, hurriedly finished by a Bowie being weakened by cancer every day, but making the most of his little time remaining. He reportedly even had half of a next album finished, and was working hard on the musical Lazarus. I imagine most people who have heard Blackstar have only listened to it after Bowie's death, and will still be able to recognize it as a great album. But the feeling when the meaning of the album was flipped around for me just thanks to that first weekend in blissful ignorance of his liver cancer - going from symbolizing a new, fresh beginning, then turning into a bitter but beautiful farewell from one of the greatest heroes of our time - is one I'll remember forever.
Blackstar is truly a one-of-a-kind album. It's on this list because the music is fantastic, but what really sets it aside is the amazing concept of narrating ones own death in such a way. Bowie's continued creativity and bold experimentation until the very end can be seen as an ultimate life goal. It's not always pretty, he pushes his voice strangely and tries new things, like the croaks in the odd, lilting "Girl loves me", and even if it doesn't turn out cool every time there's, no way of finding continued success if you're afraid of a few failures. Why stop creating even though you know you're going die? We all will.
Many have taken to calling this past year call "horrible" for all the famous people that have died. But Bowie's story of his own death celebrates both life, death and renewal, urging us not to mourn him, but to treasure and remembering him. Though it may seem vain, it's a valuable lesson for not just his millions fans, but all people who tend to get stuck in the past. Bowie is a prime example of someone who never did, but always changed, always challenged, always lived.
After many years out of the limelight, and a rather underwhelming return with The Next Day in 2013, his first studio album in ten years, Blackstar was a very positive surprise. A weird mix between grand, epic statements about death and mortality on one hand ("Blackstar", "Lazarus", "I Can't Give Everything Away"), and strangely carnal jams about dancing and women and cities ("'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore", "Sue (or in a Season of Crime)", "Girl Loves Me"), it came across being very much an ode to life, a life well lived, the beauty of life in all its forms. The jazz-rock fusion of the backing band sounded similar to the style adopted on the aforementioned To Pimp a Butterfly, but gives the album a beautiful, timeless feel. And then the news broke, and we realize that the album was a last goodbye, hurriedly finished by a Bowie being weakened by cancer every day, but making the most of his little time remaining. He reportedly even had half of a next album finished, and was working hard on the musical Lazarus. I imagine most people who have heard Blackstar have only listened to it after Bowie's death, and will still be able to recognize it as a great album. But the feeling when the meaning of the album was flipped around for me just thanks to that first weekend in blissful ignorance of his liver cancer - going from symbolizing a new, fresh beginning, then turning into a bitter but beautiful farewell from one of the greatest heroes of our time - is one I'll remember forever.
 |
| It took a while before I realized that the star fragments below spell out "B O W I E". Not the best design gimmick, perhaps, but it's still a simple and pretty cover. |
The album's opening song and first single, the 10-minute long "Blackstar", was released in November 2015 and was accompanied by a stunning music video that drifted like a never-ending nightmare through its satanic rituals in outer space. In it, Bowie transforms from a terrifying, bandage-wrapped creature with buttons for eyes in the opening verses, to a lively, bright and teasing figure in the song's spectacular breakdown, crooning the beautiful chorus lines "Something happened om the day he died / His spirit rose a meter, then stepped aside / Somebody else took his place and bravely cried / I'm a blackstar." It's not often a music video by a frail 69-year-old has me excited like a fanboy, but this performance really stands out and hyped me for the album.
On the day of the album's release, "Lazarus" was released as the second single along with a music video. The song is perhaps even better than the jaw-dropping title track, and the music video is equally captivating, at least. The bandaged, button-eyed Bowie is now hospitalized and striving for the heavens, and though he sings "Look up here, man, I'm in danger / I've got scars that can't be seen", I still didn't see his death coming. But revisiting the album and the videos dozens of times after his death, what stands is out is the artfulness with which Bowie narrates his own death. All the lyrical snippets and details in the videos just describe it so beautifully and bittersweetly, with so many emotional layers. There's a figure in the "Lazarus" video that crawls out of a cupboard dressed in a striped black-and-silver outfit, clearly distressed and desperately scribbling down some notes on his desk before retreating back into the cupboard. It's the artist, the Bowie that is still glamorous, still a star, still a storyteller, despite his illness. There's the phrase in "Dollar days", where "I'm dying to / [do some things] / I'm trying to / [do more things]" morphs in the outro into a repeated "I'm trying to (too) / I'm dying to (too)". And there's the final song, "I can't give everything away", so clearly a swan song, with its elements from past songs, and a reminder of all he's given us.
Blackstar is truly a one-of-a-kind album. It's on this list because the music is fantastic, but what really sets it aside is the amazing concept of narrating ones own death in such a way. Bowie's continued creativity and bold experimentation until the very end can be seen as an ultimate life goal. It's not always pretty, he pushes his voice strangely and tries new things, like the croaks in the odd, lilting "Girl loves me", and even if it doesn't turn out cool every time there's, no way of finding continued success if you're afraid of a few failures. Why stop creating even though you know you're going die? We all will.
Many have taken to calling this past year call "horrible" for all the famous people that have died. But Bowie's story of his own death celebrates both life, death and renewal, urging us not to mourn him, but to treasure and remembering him. Though it may seem vain, it's a valuable lesson for not just his millions fans, but all people who tend to get stuck in the past. Bowie is a prime example of someone who never did, but always changed, always challenged, always lived.
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