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What artist would use as a cover for a new album a defaced version of his most iconic cover from the peak of his popularity? Why, only David Bowie of course. The cover of his 1977 “Heroes” release has an ugly white square covering his face, with the words The Next Day placed in the box. The word “Heroes” is crudely blocked out. What an attention-getter, much like a fly in your ice cream, much like the lyrics he wrote some thirty-five years ago: “Baby, I’ve been breaking glass in your room again. Listen. Don’t look at the carpet, I wrote something awful on it. See?”

Bowie has never been formulaic. He created the otherworldly shock of Ziggy Stardust and promptly killed him off, leaving glam rock to carry on with Roxy Music and The New York Dolls. Then emerged the Thin White Duke, whose excesses nearly consumed Bowie, leaving him to craft a tango with heroin in the stark and frightening beauty of “Heroes.” He toyed with disco beats before the Bee Gees ever met John Travolta, and showed the punks how to raise emotions with a 4/4 beat, three chords and no reverb while Johnny Rotten was still learning to ride a bike. Even now, ten years after the release of Reality, Bowie’s willing to set fire to his musical past to get our attention. Even after the heart attack that the world assumed ended his career. Apparently David Bowie has something to say again, and he really wants us to listen.

It’s as if Major Tom emerged from his space capsule after a decade in the void and saw with horror that sections of the globe are still trying to annihilate each other.  He’s clearly not happy, but the tone of Bowie’s message is not dejected, or angry. It’s earnest and pleading, with the benefit of sixty-six years of experience and wisdom. He’s not asking anyone to agree, but simply stating what he clearly needs to say. “I’d rather be high, I’d rather be flying, I’d rather be dead, or out of my head, than training these guns on those men in the sand.”

But, and this is so “Bowie,” there is no lecturing or sacrifice of music for the sake of the “message.” One could ignore the lyrics and never know that “The Next Day”  is anything but an amazingly fresh and hip set of butt-wigglers from the master of edgy pop. As usual, the big drum beat is forward in the mix, the guitars cut and soar, and Bowie’s voice still has the range and power of Rebel Rebel. We have become accustomed to our ’70’s icons issuing endless greatest hits packages and launching one more “final” tour, but would we ever expect David Bowie to present anything other than a template for the path of pop music for the next few years? The Next Day, indeed.