I was back at my wife’s family’s place in Park Slope, Brooklyn last weekend and, in keeping with that vow I made in 2012, I carved out a little me-time and took a stroll over to Music Matters on 7th Avenue, as I’d long been planning on checking out Bowie’s new record, Blackstar. I’d dutifully picked up his previous effort, The Next Day, but never fully got into it, but the buzz on Blackstar was already pretty pronounced, ever prior to the great man’s devastating passing last week. I now figured I was pretty much obligated to go get it.
As much as I do like Music Matters, I’m frequently heard to bitch that they never have the specific items I’m looking for, at the time. Happily, this instance was the exception to that rule. I snapped up a copy of Blackstar off the shelves immediately, and then spied a handsome, hard-book-formatted limited edition of Bad Magic, the newly released (and, sadly, newly final) Motorhead album. Since I was feeling ill-advisedly spendy (I don’t get the opportunity to splurge in disc shops all that often), I sprang for that, too. Again, it felt like the least I could do.
I paid up, hit the bricks, hand have spent the following few days soaking both albums in.
I’d only seen a little bit of the frankly bizarre video for the title track of Blackstar, but true to that small taste, the opening, nine-plus minute song is indeed an ominous tone-setter. A former colleague and scrupulously encyclopedic rockhead friend of mine had mentioned that he was initially “freaked out” by the song, and I totally agree. It makes for unsettling listening. Given all that we (think we) know about what Bowie knew about his own impending fate while recording this album, it’s incredibly difficult to listen to its seven songs objectively (i.e. without trying to “de-code” them, so to speak). Was he, as some project, trying to prepare us for what was coming? There are some tantalizing hints to support that theory, but we’ll never know for sure. Regardless, I continue to find “Blackstar” (the song) indefinably creepy, and the malaise it establishes is hard to shrug off over the next six songs.
Obviously, those fair-weather fans -- and they are legion -- who might be expecting the poppy strains of Let’s Dance…Again when they pick up Blackstar are in for a chilly disappointment, but there are some less impenetrable moments on the record, notably “Dollar Days,” arguably the most accessible song of the seven. While comparatively brief (barely over 40 minutes), Blackstar is not a record that is going to reveal itself fully to the casual listener. It demands immersion, and I don’t really feel like I’ve done that yet. Stay tuned.
I wasn’t originally planning on buying Motorhead’s Bad Magic. I’m not positive, but I believe it’s something like the 25th (!!!) studio album from the band, whereas I started basically tapering off buying each new successive Motorhead disc after 1991’s blistering 1916. Sure, they continued to crank out some great isolated tracks (I remain a fervent fan of 1992’s title track to March or Die and “Rock Out” from 2008’s Motorizer), but given their storied, iron-willed adherence to stylistic consistency (see also their brethren in AC/DC and the Ramones), I was kinda feeling like I had all I needed from the band.
But, given that Bad Magic turned out to be Lemmy’s swan song (or at least until the contents of the Motorhead vaults are explored, if anything’s left), I figured I should dutifully hear it. I’m happy to report that it’s better than I ever would have expected, given the circumstances.
Does Lem sound slightly old and wheezy throughout? A bit, but not as much as you might think. Moreover, Lemmy has always kinda sounded like this, although there is certainly no lack of signature bite. Lemmy’s body may have taken several hits by this point, but his sensibilities hadn’t otherwise mellowed in the slightest.
And while disarmingly consistent with the band’s storied sound, proceedings still sound remarkably fresh (thanks in part to some great production). To listen to tracks like “Victory or Die” and “Tell Me Who To Kill” (my favorite of the set), you would never know that this was a band about to be silenced.
As with Blackstar I did indeed find myself listening for signs that Lemmy knew his number was up. Less oblique that Bowie, he does pretty much address his final convictions and lack of regret in the fittingly titled and introspective “In the End,” but it’s not executed in so much a somber manner as it is a declaration of intent. Lemmy knew who he was, knew what he wanted, knew how he wanted to live and knew what ultimately was waiting for him. That said, this wasn’t the first time he’d expressed as much.
The album closes with an endearingly unlikely cover of “Sympathy for the Devil.” While it may lack the serpentine slinkiness of the Rolling Stones original, it’s still delivered with a credible amount of chutzpah. I’m curious to hear what Mick and Keef might have to say about it.
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