In this case, the word to echo with surgical precision is: Resentment.
This is an album that speaks of a melodramatic and seductive turning point; the turn of the white duke who becomes electro-demonic, along with the faithful producer Brian Eno, who now drinks cheerfully in the valleys near Asti.
Bowie transmutes all his knowledge of song form and, as through a musical metempsychosis, resurrects it, making it an electric and thinking soul. But who then expected such a great revenge against the Show-Business? The king of glam rockers who becomes a shadow of himself and, as already destroyed by the voracity of drugs, refills the measure of his own petty and satisfied mannequin.
This is the album of great tracks, of course "Heroes" is present here, but we are interested in the divine (manifest)ation of the white duke who transcends the valleys and the sound villages so as not to leave emptiness under him but only periodic sequoias broken by the squeal of a drum machine, or some barren beat.
Here, David Bowie has not been stunned by such a capacity to Amaze (!). But he becomes synonymous with himself. How many times have you found yourself being called to order with a "But don't be David Bowie"?
To (trans)gress, here is the passphrase of the duke; here is the mad vehicle we will have to get used to from here to eternity.
It breaks the heart to see him today aged and fortuitous, when before, as a new bard, he shone on stages worldwide without fear and without reproach.
Perhaps words cannot describe such wonder.
An absolute masterpiece by Bowie who, thanks also to the talent of non-musician Brian Eno and the truly unique city where the project was born, reaches great heights between inspiration and experimentalism.
One cannot rationally express a journey into the inner terror of a man with a lacerated existence, a subway journey through a new wave of European decay.
In 'Low,' punk attitudes clash with oblique methodologies brought by Brian Eno's mind, creating dashed sound fragments and introspective instrumental suites.
When the alien David Bowie, restless astronaut of the deepest spaces of the human soul, encounters the musical architect of perfect cosmic spaces Brian Eno, an extraordinary album emerges.
Subterraneans is a mysterious and dark sound world that captures and attracts you to itself, ending with a non-language language, as if it were the voice of the Übermensch.
Where David used to wear more makeup than Amanda Lear, here there is no trace of mystifying pigments.
You find yourself in that suspension and naturally, you feel at home, you feel good.