Heathen

David Bowie’s willingness to chase his every wild hair, no matter how far up his own ass it took him, has yielded moments both brilliant and unbearable, but on Heathen he steadies his ship. The intergalactic ghost of Ziggy Stardust, his ’70s alter ego and creative high mark, playfully haunts this record, and the horns, piano, and guitar work feel like happy remnants of Bowie’s most soulful, rocked-out incarnations. Though he’s intermittently overproduced here, Bowie has quit being a slave to fashion and become something even greater: solid.