David Bowie Lazarus: The Second Coming of David Bowie

“A superb biography” William Boyd

A major new biography of David Bowie on the 10th anniversary of his death, exploring the second half of his career from commercial failures to critical rebirth in the 21st century.

Few artists spark as much debate as David Bowie. Ask fans to name his greatest album and you’ll likely start an argument that never really ends. With a catalogue as diverse and consistently inventive as his, it’s no surprise—records like The Rise and Fall of Ziggy–Stardust and the Spiders from Mars and Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) are almost impossible to compare.

Still, many would agree that Bowie’s most celebrated work largely belongs to his earlier decades. Later releases often received a more mixed reception—though there is one undeniable exception: Blackstar, his final and most daring statement, which also became his only album to top the U.S. charts.

In Lazarus: The Second Coming of David Bowie, Alexander Larman builds his central argument around this contrast. He suggests that Bowie’s creative peak had effectively faded by the time he launched Tin Machine in 1988, only to experience a powerful artistic rebirth with Blackstar shortly before his death. It’s a bold—and at times debatable—interpretation, but one that gives the book its narrative drive.

Even if that “death and resurrection” idea feels a bit overstated, it opens the door to a fascinating exploration of Bowie’s later career. For readers who didn’t experience those years firsthand, the book offers valuable insight into a period that is often overlooked. Longtime fans may already know the milestones, but Larman’s interviews with musicians and collaborators add fresh, more personal perspectives.

Rather than focusing heavily on technical studio details, the book leans into atmosphere and personality. Through these accounts, Bowie emerges as a visionary who approached recording with both precision and playfulness. As longtime bassist Gail Ann Dorsey recalls, Bowie typically knew exactly what he wanted—but still treated the studio as a space for experimentation, encouraging those around him to push boundaries.

That creative freedom, however, could also lead to tension. Collaborations weren’t always smooth, and disagreements sometimes escalated. One notable clash with guitarist Reeves Gabrels during a recording session eventually contributed to the end of their working relationship. As Larman points out, Bowie had a tendency to draw firm lines once partnerships broke down—something that later carried emotional weight for those involved.

Where the book becomes more controversial is in its central claim that Bowie’s artistic relevance lay dormant for decades. In reality, his later career was far more uneven than absent. Albums rose and fell in both critical and commercial success, creating a trajectory that was anything but straightforward. Even Larman seems to acknowledge this at times, noting moments where Bowie regained both confidence and critical respect well before Blackstar.

Importantly, those later experiments—whether fully successful or not—played a crucial role in shaping Bowie’s final work. The sounds and ideas explored on albums like Outside and Earthling can clearly be traced forward into Blackstar. What might once have seemed like detours now feel like essential steps in a much larger creative evolution.

Beyond music, Bowie remained active in other ways. After his health scare in 2004, which forced him off the stage, he largely withdrew from touring but continued to make carefully chosen appearances. He took on a memorable role as Nikola Tesla in The Prestige, and quietly returned to music with The Next Day in 2013—an album recorded in secrecy that became one of his strongest late-career successes.

The final chapters of Lazarus are where the book truly resonates. Larman paints an intimate and emotional portrait of Bowie’s last years, particularly as he faced serious illness while continuing to work. His determination to complete Blackstar under those circumstances adds a deeply human dimension to the story.

When Bowie passed away on January 10, 2016—just days after releasing Blackstar—the album’s themes of mortality suddenly took on a far greater significance. What initially seemed like artistic reflection revealed itself as something much more personal and deliberate.

In the end, while fans may continue to debate the merits of albums like Station to Station or Let’s Dance, Blackstar stands apart. It is not just another entry in his catalogue, but a carefully crafted farewell that redefined how his later years are viewed.

Despite some overreaching conclusions, Lazarus succeeds in capturing the complexity of Bowie’s final decades—an era of risk, reinvention, and ultimately, a remarkable artistic closing chapter.