David Bowie
lodger

The beginning of Lodger (third album with Eno) is quite unsuspecting: Fantastic Voyage, with romantic mandolins and a somewhat retro nursery rhyme vibe, seems like a subdued introduction and doesn't hint at anything of what is to transpire shortly.
But then African Night Flight immediately arrives to shuffle the deck; under the guise of a possessed tongue twister, the coordinates of a sound teetering between jungle-techno experiments and nervous Western rock are immediately laid out... Meanwhile, Byrne takes notes.
Move On appears almost acoustic with strange choruses and a deep baritone voice for a melody that rises in an emphatic and desperate crescendo in the best Bowie style and is enriched at the end with distortions and a heart-wrenching piano (speaking of experiments and various ambiguities, it seems that Move On was born from playing the tapes of All The Young Dudes backward).
The journey continues with a Yassassin that makes a stop in a parallel universe where reggae is played in Turkey, while in the interdimensional portal of Red Sails, an attempt is made to distill a new wave essence by crossing a lively somewhat Chinese melody with the motoristic rhythm of Neu!
Do you have a conflicted relationship with disco music? There’s nothing better than that indecipherable ambiguity that is D.J. Once the concoction enters your system, there's nothing left for you to do but follow like zombies the ambiguous and disturbed rhythm, Belew's impossible guitar, and Simon House's spoiled mellotron.
David (Jones), I'm only dancing!!!

"You Know Who I Am - he said!" We don't know if the one speaking was truly an angel or a devil or some other ghost, but we would love for this figure to visit Bowie again and inspire him today to write such absolutely memorable pieces like Look Back In Anger! Torrential percussion, perverse singing, and icy synth blasts for a breathless race from station to station in the company of Cristiane F. and her playmates.
To recover, it would take a nice cheeky and frivolous boogie like the ones they used to make. It would seem like dear old rock'n'roll that of Boys Keep Swinging, if it weren't for the slightly skewed cadence (the guitarist on drums and the drummer on bass, let's see what happens), and for the crosswise dissonances of Belew-House. Almost an acid sweet made with DNA from Heroes (the shoegazers of about fifteen years later thank them).
"An error repeated three times becomes an arrangement", if we then repeat it throughout an entire track, we have Repetition: a semi-apocryphal Devo in an unpublished circular and narcotic atmosphere punctuated by a rubbery hiccup and the off-key notes of the inevitable electric violin.
End of the project and return home: Red Money or returning to one's initial steps and those of someone else (Iggy thanks for Sister Midnight), in the face of those who say that rock is an eternal recycling.

After so much obliqueness, there is nothing left but to take a photo postcard as proof of one's disintegration and send it to oneself or what's left of oneself.
Before Terrifying Monsters come knocking at the door.