It's Chandler in monochrome, Miles in sodium suffusion. Bleak and grabbing, fuse wired and fuzzy. The horns give it cohesive power, Bowie's voice ranges across the flat platform like a train between stations. There are melody and impetus. A coin catches the moonlight stare. Somewhere in the offshore, a band is playing, their bass notes rise and plump the singular vein like Burroughs in a Junky fixation. From the rim shot snap drive of the snare and high hat, as the smoke clinging sax weaves and bustles in and out of the rhythm with Bowie's voice soars through and above the driven pulse.
If the release of album 'Next Day,' nearly two years ago now, or fast approaching, wasn't enough to satisfy souls like me who yearn for the impulsive throw net of the experimentally made pop, if 'Next Day' was good, songwriting up to scratch, quality assured, then this single with Maria Schneider’s big band honking a bitch, is the thang we were seeking. The white knife slashing the past's fabric, playing cut up no more, chase me Charley and here's the rub - it's good.
I only wish that this single, like its long lost cousin, still standing on the way back sand of 'Reality,' 'Bring Me the Disco King,' both jazz infused, could have formed a new wave for Bowie to surf on. If only..
. . Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.