Missed part one? Read it here.

When The Next Day was announced on Bowie’s 66th birthday, I had long since given up any hope of hearing new material. It was as if a limb I had amputated years ago had suddenly reappeared one morning; the phantom pains I had gone through such lengths to banish merely a prelude to a second act. I was surprised and excited, but also skeptical. The song that accompanied the announcement, “Where Are We Now,” was good, but Bowie sounded old, tired, morose (which was odd, because a number of the lyrics sounded like they had been written by an undergrad who’d just returned from a semester abroad in Berlin). I was terrified that The Next Day would be crap, or even worse, that it would be just okay, a pleasant-smelling brainfart released after a decade-long hiatus.

But it wasn’t either of those things. The Next Day is great. In the context of the album, “Where Are We Now” reveals itself to be a song that sounds worn out and exhausted by design; a worn out, scratched up memory of Bowie’s time in Berlin. And it’s not typical; in places, Bowie sounds as virile as ever, such as when he’s barking at the celestial celebrities of “The Stars (Are Out Tonight).”*

Bowie is usually at his most interesting when he’s a thief, swiping the aesthetics and structure from everything from Krautrock to Philly soul, from Industrial music to Marc Bolan stomp; yet his main point of reference on The Next Day, however, seems to be himself. The album is, in a way, a complex, interwoven history of the Bowie cannon, Ziggy Stardust tempered by the Berlin Triptych, the Tin Machine years rubbing shoulders with the futurefolk of Space Oddity, Earthling‘s breakbeats sharing a roof with the no-nonsense pop of the eighties. Bowie even sees fit to have the ghosts of “Five Years’” remorseful drums haunt the end of “You Feel So Lonely You Could Die.” The exception to this rule seems to be album closer “Heat,” which cribs from everything Scott Walker’s been doing the past two decades; that being said, Bowie’s been ripping off Walker since the late sixties, so maybe cribbing from Walker is part of what makes Bowie Bowie.

Lyrically, it’s Bowie’s greatest release since 1.Outside. His songwriting is generally at its strongest when it’s at its most macabre and gothy, and boy, is this a gloomy record. There are tales of school shootings, lynch mobs, young men sent off to fight pointless wars, disaffected models dying on the vine, and the hollow deification of Hollywood heroes. The writing is nuanced and smart, and one gets the impression that the songs were made because Bowie legitimately felt he had something to say. The only track that really falls flat is “(You Will) Set the World On Fire,” which, though a beautifully written meditation on the Greenwich Village folk scene of the sixties, sounds like a boring, schlocky late period single forced into the world by someone who peaked decades ago.

That’s not who Bowie is. That’s not what this album is. The Next Day is the signpost for Bowie’s next, and perhaps last, permutation: the mortal. He is no longer an alien, a nightmare only seen in the peripheral, an undying song and dance man with perfect hair and the Devil’s smile; he is human, and just like the rest of us, he is dying. David Bowie and I both made the assumption that a Bowie that was not pure myth, not pure music and pop and spectacle, would be in some way wanting, in some way less effective. I’m happy to report that we were wrong.

*goddammit, that video is an article unto itself. Suffice it to say that it would be perfect if it weren’t for the shitclumsy use of Adobe After Effects at the beginning and end.

And that just about wraps it up for this week. If it tickles your fancy, follow Simon Lazarus Vasta on Twitter @Hunter_S_Narc

On the first of March it was announced that The Next Day, the first new David Bowie album in ten years, could be streamed in full on iTunes, a week and a half before the record’s actual U.S. release. When I read this, my skin crawled and my stomach curdled. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready.

I had become a Bowie devotee at age fourteen, back when it wasn’t uncommon for the man to release something every couple of years. I have this distinct memory of sitting on a park bench in Stuy Town one chilly afternoon, popping a used copy of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars into my CD player for the first time, and having my little mind blown wide open (I also remember I was reading Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman’s Good Omens at the time, which also blew my mind, but in a completely different way and to a slightly lesser extent… but that’s another story for another time). I spent the rest of my high school years assembling the Bowie discography, jumping from glam rock to plastic soul to drum ‘n’ bass to avant-garde Burroughsian experimentation. Bowie could be everywhere, try his hand at anything; and what’s more, he was always making more. My third Bowie album was 2002′s fantastic Heathen, a return to form after his less-than-successful ’90s work (some of which is actually fantastic, but damn, another story, another time) and a critical smash. It was followed up a little over a year later with the less-good Reality, but still. David Bowie made music, and I was never gonna run out. Ever. Bowie was an ageless immortal gifted to the people of earth to create and inspire.

Except for the part where he, y’know, wasn’t. Within a few years of Reality‘s release, the Thin White Duke had all but stopped performing, and the vague promises of new material became vaguer and vaguer before completely petering out. Bowie attempted to stay relevant for a bit by playing with Arcade Fire during the 2005 Fashion Rocks event and providing backup vocals for TV On the Radio’s “Province,” but soon after he just quietly stepped out of the spotlight he’d been sitting under for his entire adult life. Some pointed to a heart attack and the consequential surgery and recovery as the culprit behind Bowie’s departure; I blame a lollipop.

I felt abandoned. I was resentful. How dare this man, this artist who was admittedly getting up there in years make a rational and well intentioned decision to safeguard his physical and mental well-being? How dare he stop making me beautiful things? I found I was drifting away, listening to Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) only once a month instead of the standard twice a week. David Bowie had been my first big musical love, but the honeymoon was over. Sure, every once in a while I’d find myself getting excited about Bowie again, maybe after listening to an album for the first time in a few years, or discovering an alternate version of “Moonage Daydream” I’d never heard before, or discussing the creation of a Bowie tarot deck with a friend, but it was never the same. An unproductive and reclusive Bowie was a mortal Bowie, and a mortal Bowie just wasn’t as important to me as the myth he had built himself into. Or so I thought, because I was stupid.

Join us again tomorrow for part 2 of NTTOD’s The Next Day Review. Follow Simon Lazarus Vasta on Twitter @Hunter_S_Narc

Since the release of 2008′s astoundingly mediocre Modern Guilt, Beck has all but stepped away from conventional rockstardom. He’s spent the past few years on idiosyncratic projects like the Record Club,  a collaboration with such luminaries as Annie Clark, Angus Andrews, Devendra Banhart, Thurston Moore, Jeff Tweedy, and, uh, Giovanni Ribisi. Beck assembled these Superfriends of Indie at his Los Angeles studios to cover classic albums like The Velvet Underground & Nico, Songs of Leonard Cohen, and Yanni Live at the Acropolis, because why not. The results were ramshackle and frequently annoying, but you get the impression that the Record Club re-imaginings were always meant to be things that were more fun to make than to listen to. Beck was also remixing everyone from Lykke Li to Philip Glass, as well as writing songs for Charlotte Gainsbourg, comic book movies, various vampire-based media, and video games, amongst other things. Last year, he released an album, but only  in one nigh-obsolescent format: sheet music.

So it seemed that while Beck was interested in staying busy and producing music, he was done with the spotlight. No more crazy touring and break-dancing and puppet shows; it was now time to jam with your friends, contribute to soundtracks, and let the new kids get a chance to shine. But last week, Beck stepped back out of the shadows. Well, sort of.

To launch Lincoln’s “Hello-Again” campaign (a vain attempt to get twentysomethings interested in buying Towncars, now that their customer base has all but died off), they commissioned a cover of David Bowie’s classic “Sound & Vision” from the ’90s Indie darling. But, as the above video proves, this was no mere cover. Beck enlisted the help of 160+ musicians, including a gospel choir, a drum line, a gamelan orchestra, horn and string section, neo-soul group the Dap Kings, a harpist, guitarists playing everything from fancy electro-acoustics to flying vs, a bunch of mandolinists, a dude playing a singing saw, another dude playing a theremin (aka the sci-fi singing saw), and a frigging yodeler, all conducted by noted composer, Scientologist, and Ron Paul supporter David Campbell, who, by the by, is also Becks father. All of this is staged 360º around a slowly rotating audience (watch the video; it’ll make sense) with Mr. Beck Hansen strumming and singing his heart out in the dead center.

The whole thing is an experiment in maximalism that goes beyond the absurdly large backing band; Beck & Co. stretch Bowie’s pared-down proto-new wave song (which, by my count, lyrically consists of less of fifty words) into a nine minute plus, multi-movement opus. Yet it’s not decadent or tacky (okay, maybe a little, but in a good way); the elaborate, intertwining arrangements and Beck’s radical reinterpretation of the original turn it into something bold, new, and truly moving. It never feels excessive, and each instrument and voice is in service of the song. While it wouldn’t work without those 160+ musicians, it’s all really about our man Beck at center stage, not just singing but performing, basking in the spotlight for the first time in a good long while.

That’s Now Take Them Out, Devils for ya. If you want to see what Simon Lazarus Vasta finds funny at three in the morning, you can follow him on Twitter @Hunter_S_Narc

My Bloody Valentine, TBA (TBA)

The music masses have been waiting for a follow-up to My Bloody Valentine’s last album, the modern-classic-that-has-been-around-so-long-now-it’s-just-a-classic Loveless, for twenty-one years now. Many, myself included, had given up the faith, stopped chasing that particular white whale, and resigned themselves to crate-digging for early MBV obscurities. But when Kevin Shields reassembled the band in 2007, he did so with accompanying promises of a new record, allegedly 75% finished. Virgins conceived. The sky turned magenta. Popgeeks worldwide wept tears of joy into their Primal Scream bedsheets. But as the weeks turned into months and the months into years, it seemed Shields was making empty promises. The band continued to play sold out shows, but any talk of a new album was seen as just that: talk. That is, until last November, when Shields told the NME to expect a new album by the end of the year. Then, on Christmas Eve, the band confirmed that it had finished mastering three days previous. So, yeah, we don’t have a name, we don’t have a release date, sure, it was supposed to come out last month, but heck, it’s done. It’s coming.

I just hope it isn’t the shoegaze Chinese Democracy.

The Joy Formidable, Wolf’s Law (January 22)

The Joy Formidable are responsible for some of the most ferocious and affecting Indie Rock I’ve heard in ages. One of my favorite things about this Welsh three-piece is how they manage to sound so big, so restless, so undefeatable, and lead single “This Ladder is Ours” is no exception. More maximalist, blow-the-bloody-doors-off pop in 2013!

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Push the Sky (February 18)

After wading around in the sludgy blues-rock purgatory of Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! and the Grinderman records, Nick Cave seems to finally be returning to the surface. If “We No Who U R” is anything to go by, Push the Sky seems to be a return to the plaintive, sorrowful, nature obsessed poet last heard on 2004’s double album Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus. And while I dug my namesake album and Grinderman quite a lot, I’ve missed this guy.

ScHoolboy Q, Oxymoron (TBA)

While last year’s Habits & Contradictions was nothing short of fantastic, Oxymoron looks like it’s shaping up to be a whole different animal. It’s to be Q’s major label debut on Interscope, and in the wake of Black Hippy compatriot Kendrick Lamar’s phenomenal good kid, m.A.A.d city, he’s set the bar pretty high for himself, according to this interview. Here’s hoping he clears it.

David Bowie, The Next Day (March 12)

There is a new Bowie album coming out.

There is a new Bowie album coming out.

There is a new Bowie album coming out.

THERE IS A NEW BOWIE ALBUM COMING OUT AND IT’S THE FIRST ONE IN TEN YEARS AND I’M HYPERVENTILATING OVER HERE YOU GUYS

OH GOD HE’S BACK HE CAME BACK FOR US I’M SO HAPPY

THERE’S A VIDEO WITH PROJECTION PUPPETS AND A SONG OF NORWAY T-SHIRT AND ALSO A LITTLE PUP WALKING AROUND

VISCONTI’S PRODUCING AND THE SONG’S ABOUT BERLIN AND THE END OF THE VIDEO IS ODDLY REMINISCENT OF DAVID MALLET’S BOWIE VIDEOS FROM THE LATE SEVENTIES AND EARLY EIGHTIES

I’M SO EXCITED YOU GUYS

(cough, pant, cough, et cetera)

Achem. Sorry.

I just hope it isn’t the Bowie Chinese Democracy.

We’ll be back next week with more jokes at Axl Rose’s expense, but that’s all for now here at Now Take Them Out Devils HQ. Follow Simon Lazarus Vasta on Twitter @Hunter_S_Narc, and gander at his Tumblr here, where he’ll be obsessively posting screencaps from Revenge for some reason.

By Veronica Hoglund

Veronica Hoglund

This past Saturday evening, Ziggy Stardust enthusiasts from across the five boroughs—and perhaps even beyond—gathered at the Lower East Side’s (Le) Poisson Rouge to celebrate the singer’s 65th birthday at the Bowie Ball. The annual event drew an animated crowd of all ages dressed in their best Bowie gear and makeup, so great that the man himself would have been proud.

With a number of performances, DJ sets, makeovers, sing-alongs and a late-night costume contest, the night’s attendees went above and beyond to honor the great man.

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Beginning with her debut single, “As Tears Go By” in 1964 (also the first song ever written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards), Marianne has created an enduring legacy with her distinct, emotive, and truly haunting voice. She has also established herself as a powerful songwriter with a gift for crafting visceral melodies and deeply resonant lyrics. Her timeless sound has allowed her to collaborate with such modern and varied legends as David Bowie, Metallica, Beck, Morrissey, Billy Corgan and Blur.

For more information or to purchase tickets go to: http://citywinery.com/events/199577