After the sinister sci-fi stylings of 1995's Outside and the dense adrenaline electronic stylings of 1997's Earthling, shapeshifting rock legend David Bowie is taking a break, in the form of this little nap and yawn.

...hours brings the futuristic pulse of his last few albums to a screeching halt, pushing back with retro riffs and a painful amount of awkward nostalgia. The continued use of synthesizers in such a mix seems like contrived "coolness." The lack of interest or elegance apparent in song after song of faded love and introspection reduces Bowie's renowned musical and lyrical ferocity to tired (and tiresome) whining. Every track has its moments, but such nuances in a banal batch of tunes only remind the listener of better Bowie. "If I'm Dreaming My Life" and "The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell" are engaging, but it's doubtful they'll be remembered as Bowie classics. Like its slick packaging, even the best of the album is still just surface. Nevertheless, listen to ...hours for the prescribed amount of time, and even the sappiest of songs begin to stick. The album's simplicity and repetitiveness will give you Bowie-brain for days, but unless you're a true Bowie-head, don't give ...hours the time. B-