Rarely do the modern works of venerated rock statesmen come out as intriguing and as interesting as David Bowie’s Reality. Often times when artists go back to retread their past works, the energy and passion that existed falls through the cracks of wealth and middle age.

Bowie avoided this when he went back to the stylings of his glam era in 2002’s Heathen, an album that marked Bowie’s first return to recording after several years. The experimentation was gone, as half of the album was dedicated to covers, including some from groups such as The Pixies and Neil Young. Even the songs he wrote himself sounded as though Bowie was covering, well, himself, and were as detached and stylish as ever.

Bowie takes it a step further on Reality, examining his works post-glam. Many of the songs sound as though they may have been left off of, say, Heroes or Lodger, with Bowie modernizing the sound a shade, while again taking out the experimentations that made the original works interesting, but at times unapproachable.

Reality is propulsive, as the rhythms, guitars and shimmering keyboards bounce along with Bowie’s lyrics through inspired production. Bowie teamed up with Tony Visconti, the same producer used on Heathen as well as Bowie’s seminal albums from the 1970s, and the results are more than evident.

The lead track “New Killer Star” is a guitar-driven rocker with trademark Bowie chorus that strums into the present with the same rebelliousness that Bowie ran with in his heyday. Now 56, however, there is a sense of adultness and maturity in his work, as the despair and paranoia that dominated the lyrics of his earlier work are replaced with these new sensibilities.

“Pablo Picasso” and “Never Get Old” follow with the same tempo, but one can’t help but feel as though Bowie is treading in water he walked upon in the past. When “Ziggy” was younger, the listener believed the statements and manifestos. Now Bowie can’t make the claims he could as a youth. He’s an adult and just seems to be thrilled to be making records.

“The Loneliest Guy” finally slows the show down a bit, and while the music is on point, the feeling and spark from Bowie’s voice isn’t as powerful as one would hope. Maybe Bowie is commenting on his lonely status as rock royalty, but it’s not as striking as the joy the listener gets from the album’s openers and as moving as his cover of George Harrison’s “Try Some, Buy Some,” a beautiful tribute to one of Bowie’s fellow spiritualists.

The album closes with the eight-minute ballad “Bring Me the Disco King.” Bowie pays direct reference to his ’70s reincarnation, the “stiff and bad clubs” where he spent much of his time. And instead of calling for a return, Bowie doesn’t speak so warmly of his heyday. The nostalgia isn’t so sweet and the present is too indefinite to be concerned with the past.

A special edition comes with a three-song bonus disc, highlighted by a reworking of “Rebel Rebel.” His reinvention starts at a slow hum before catapulting into the familiar riff and chorus, and Bowie’s voice touches on the same level as the original. When you’ve reinvented yourself as many times as Bowie, you can’t fault the man for reinventing his reinventions, especially when they come out as fresh as Reality.