Blackstar is a parting gift wrapped in mystery and cosmic noise, an album that stares straight into the void and grins. Bowie, always a step ahead, transforms death into a final art piece, playing with jazz, industrial textures, and narrative surrealism. The title track alone is a miniature universe, shifting form and tone with theatrical precision. There’s a profound stillness in the spaces between the notes, like Bowie is already halfway gone but still speaking in riddles from the other side. It's not just a final album, it’s a final statement.
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