The covers resonate nicely without a whiff of novelty or burnout (no Pin-Ups), especially the old Young rendered fresh and aching, but the highlights are Bowie's own. Opener "Sunday," with space-oddity effects layered over keyboard choirs, is haunted by an accidental specter: "Nothing remains," Bowie begins, before he's drowned out by the echoes of September 11 ("look for the cars or signs of life/where the heat goes... everything has changed"), though the song was recorded well before that day. It's more or less uphill from there, as Bowie (acting as both nostalgist and sage) plays with old puppets from a lost TV show, insists he "won't be afraid anymore," hopes we "don't stay in a bad place where they don't care how you are," and toward disc's end promises "A Better Future." Then it all comes crashing down, again, only this time as much in celebration as in mourning: "Steel on the skyline/Sky made of glass/Made for a real world/All things must pass." Just not Bowie, not yet.