David Bowie's new album Heathen arrived in my mailbox today, along with $680 in unexpected and throughly unpleasant bills (the IRS says I don't qualify for some deduction or other due to having claimed it the preceding year and not being allowed to claim it two years in a row, anyway they want extra money beyond the considerable amount I'd already previously sent them . . . blah . . . also my car insurance comapny wants more money . . . more blah . . .). Since it would be sacrilege to mar my very first experience of a brand new David Bowie album by writing out unpleasant checks during it, I put the album aside and devoted my first hour ofbeing home to reading through all the fine print on the unexpected unpleasantnesses and resigning myself to having to pay the people. After the unpleasantness was safely taken care of and deposited in the mailbox outside, I finally turned my attention to Heathen.
I miss the days when he could hit higher notes. Half the sex appeal of any male singer is based on how high a note he can hit. Aside from that, though, it's an excellent album, full of the unexpected, just as you would, well, expect.
About halfway through my first listen, I had to stop typing and stare hypnotized at my speakers when the song "I Would Be Your Slave" started playing. That's the song I put on one-track repeat for most of the rest of the evening. I am obsessively in love with it. Perhaps it's just the notion of David Bowie being my slave? He sounds so sincere about it, too.
Do you sleep in quietude? Do you walk in peace? Do you laugh out loud at me? No one else is free. Open up your heart to me, Show me all you are, And I would be your slave.
It's a terribly, terribly, terribly lonely song. But peaceful, and optimistic. And I can't get enough of it.