Jumping into the saddle of modern electronica, Bowie grabbed the reins and turned the bleeping beast of techno to traverse his fertile fields of creativity.
Opening with “I Wanna Live,” with its easy-anthem chorus, the album slides into the giggling, Tourette’s Syndrome, cock-in-pocket swing romp of “Pussy Walk.”
nd is a beautifully haunting, haunted collection. Songs are treated with respect, but without the sycophantic reverence that makes most tribute albums bores.
I don’t love Whale so much as lust after them. The frontwoman of the threesome has an almost David Byrne-like charisma and a voluptuous lemon juice squeal.
Cheapness and Beauty is supposed to be a forum for George to proselytize on a number of subjects, but the lyrics rarely do little more than scratch the surface.