And so it has landed: the grand high Bowie has graced us with his 28th album. At 69, you would think that David Bowie would be beginning to show his age, to falter and crack. Far from it. If anything, Blackstar presents the public with a reinvigorated Bowie, reminding us that, despite remaining out of the public eye, he is very much alive and kicking. Kicking hard.

Although Bowie’s refusal to interview or tour has led to a radio silence, it’s precisely this mysticism that entices and ensnares us. He teases us in ‘I Can’t Give Everything Away’, a song constructed in a swirling haze of heavy drums and dissonant chords that mimics perfectly his determination to keep the world guessing. Taken more literally, he constructs a language barrier in ‘Girl Loves Me’, weaving lyrics from a mixture of Nadsat from A Clockwork Orange and Polari. Even if you have no idea what he’s singing, you can’t help but fall under his spell, drawn in by the punchy bass and defiantly rebellious lines like “who the fuck’s gonna mess with me?” It’s Bowie at his best, refusing to fall into the cookie-cutter outlines of a rockstar.

The title track provides a brilliant chucks-away for the album, morphing from trance to haunting saxophone solos to funk and back again. Bowie claims at intervals “I am a black star/I’m not a gangster”, proclaiming and reinforcing a militant individualism that spans over this ten-minute oeuvre. The performance of ‘Lazarus’ on Letterman by Michael C. Hall was a tempting teaser of what was to come; to hear Bowie crooning above the heavy guitar is a treat.

Blackstar has been touted as the album that takes the most inspiration from Bowie’s extensive back catalogue, but not so. Bowie subtly nods at his past, and turns forwards, creating something new out of what he knows he’s good at. Bowie’s back, and he’s bad.

Jemima Skala