How ironic: the man who made his name as pop's greatest trendsetter returns with an album that breaks no new ground whatsoever - and it's probably his best for a good 20 years. Much of the credit must go to Bowie's old producer Tony Visconti, who's helped the veteran chameleon to recapture some of the icy decadence he patented on the Berlin trilogy back in the 70s. In fact Heathen is reminiscent of nothing so much as Scott Walker's solo albums from that era, a bleak collection of slow, gloomy rock songs which come complete with oblique lyrics and unsettling breathing effects. Impressively arranged and brilliantly sung, they represent some of Bowie's most powerful work ever - although the inclusion of a couple of covers of songs by Neil Young and the Pixies, fine in themselves, can't help but give the album a slight lack of direction. Even so, the final verdict on Heathen must be that it's not far short of being another Bowie masterpiece. If his fellow 50-somethings (Ferry, McCartney, Jagger etc.) aren't jealous, then they certainly should be.
