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David Bowie
Although we had almost half a century of the unexpected
from the late David Bowie, few – if any – could have
anticipated his remarkable new album , AKA Blackstar.
What we now know was Bowie’s farewell statement bears
no resemblance to its brittle and abrasive predecessor
The Next Day of three years ago, and scant reference to
anything in his vast catalogue of diversity. Perhaps its closest
reference point might be the stuttering electro-shivers of FKA
twigs, except Bowie is more musically ambitious, and deploys
jazz musicians to paint in the widescreen subterranean bass
and astonishing drum work from players who shift emphasis
and tempo.
At times it’s as if Bowie has called up the spirits of jazz
musicians like Don Cherry and Ornette Coleman, but brought
in an academy-trained drum’n’bass crew and taken them
on a left turn into art music. Some of the seven songs have
appeared previously: the 10 minute, shapeshifting title track
which opens the album and moves from a claustrophobic
mood over skittering drums through languid sax and onward;
Sue (Or In A Season Of Crime), was on 2014’s Nothing Has
Changed collection, however this new, more aggressive
version has splinters of guitar piercing it; and nd its B-side on
a 12’’ ‘Tis A Pity She’s a Whore has also undergone a revision
for Blackstar.
But none of these prepare you for the breathtaking scope
of Bowie’s musical and lyrical vision here. The extraordinary
final song I Can’t Give Everything Away (with a tellingly
lengthy pause before the final word) sounds the closest to
anything he’s done previously – a little of his Wild is the Wind
vocal from Station to Station as filtered through a melody akin
to Psychedelic Furs’ Sister Europe – but in truth this is all
new territory.
And what’s he on about on Blackstar? Themes of
alienation, religion and fear abound, but close reading isn’t
rewarding because it sounds like he’s using the cut-up
method. But with his passing just days after the album’s
release, you can pick up many references to death, notably
on Lazarus – such a telling title – where the opening lines are,
“Look up here, I’m in Heaven...”. Graham Reid
THE MARTIAN
After being stranded on a planet in another universe in Interstellar,
Matt Damon again finds himself as an astronaut cast away, albeit this
time closer to home. Left behind on the Red Planet after his shipmates
are forced to make an emergency lift-off, Damon is faced with the
predicament of how he’s going to survive – and more importantly, to
contact NASA to arrange a rescue mission. It’s his optimistic outlook,
resourcefulness and determination to “science the sh*t” out of his
dilemma that makes The Martian so damn entertaining. This is an
atypical Ridley Scott movie: the spectacle and detail is present and
correct, only this time there’s also a sense that the director knows
he’s making a big, crowd-pleasing sci-fi blockbuster; it feels more like
a Ron Howard film than one from the man who gave us Alien and
Blade Runner. The Martian is more than just Robinson Crusoe on
Mars without the monkey – like Saving Private Ryan it never lets us
forget that “the mission is a man”. A survival story that celebrates the
endurance of the human spirit without the obligatory spoonful of sugar,
it’s got all the right stuff. Scott Hocking
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