Blackstar

Bowie reflects on his position as an entertainer in a pan-political, abstract, theological way. He stretches beyond pure anger -- neither the lyrics, his video, or the composition scope in on the music industry, but hang in the air as a memoir, though given his recent death, the term eulogy might be more appropriate. In a style he exhibited from his early years, Bowie forbids us the expected dissertation, shunning the traditional format of a performer giving something to the consumer. Instead, he crafts them into the song, acknowledging the central role of "your eyes" in determining success.
He at once declares that the crowd keeps him alive, but also that he stands alone, a work centered on a "solitary candle" in a little-known inhabitance. He declares his separation from performers at large, marking himself as a -- one might say "The" -- Blackstar, an antagonist to any of society’s typical formulas for stardom, formulas he paints as shameful lies, mockeries of the bold individual who "talks tall." Bowie promises an awakening, branding himself a medicine against typical consumerism, but declares that he cannot ultimately offer explanation. His declaration “I don’t know why” pairs with the accompanying video’s dark imagery in separating his presentation from a religious, all-encompassing theology. Subliminally, he condemns false hope in systems designed for the masses, further exalting the image of a crowd-condemned rebel finding truth through rebellion. Perhaps his most inscrutable line “Only women kneel and smile,” requires knowledge of Bowie’s background. Much of his initial fame occurred in the later half of the 20th century, concurrent with much deeper views of women as weaker-minded creatures than men. Regardless of current attitudes favoring empowerment, his lyrics employ women as a symbol of the repressed, receptive side of humanity, for whom death means freedom from their domination. But our masculine side receives no better treatment -- the happiest fellow in the composition hangs from stakes as a scarecrow, laughing in his inability to ward off the evil that encroaches, becoming nothing more than an impotent symbol of resistance. Inevitably, all meet their end, all songs fade, all careers become little more than gem-encrusted death riding on the backs of those that accept such a burden. However, a brave few stand against the tide, and enrichen the world by their efforts, if not by a conventional measure of success.