Of all the crossdressing British bisexuals who have come and gone through the years, I'd been waiting for David Bowie to die of an anal rupture more than Gavin Rossdale. Not anymore. After a string of really fucking bad albums, David proves that life doesn't really begin at fifty but it's a good time to make it real again.

No, this isn't a jungle techno album. It had some dabblings here and there, but otherwise this is classic Bowie. Nasal, uppercrust vocals during the verses break out into soaring spears from the heart on choruses. And it doesn't suck. God save the Queen, indeed. (And don't spare Gavin!)

-Jason Josephes