When Bryan Ferry lamented, in 1973’s “Mom of Pearl,” “When you’re searching for love in a wanting glass world/It’s fairly onerous to search out,” he had not reckoned with how simple the wanting would grow to be. Twenty years later, on the cusp of his fifties, the previous Roxy Music singer-songwriter launched essentially the most insular solo album of his profession. He had already exhausted the persistence of some reviewers. “Ferry appears more and more like Narcissus, enraptured by his personal reflection within the pond—and the bottomless depth under,” Rolling Stone’s Anthony DeCurtis hissed about 1987’s Bête Noire.

But to gaze so intently at oneself bespeaks not simply narcissism but additionally confidence. Ferry had spectacular hair and he knew it. Teased and moistened by professional palms, Mamouna is the album equal of Ferry’s bangs: singular, an event for envy and amusement, a vital part of his mythos—and infrequently genuinely lovely. This three-disc set contains that 1994 album; beforehand unreleased tracks Ferry had recorded for a challenge referred to as Horoscope; and demos, a few of which date again to 1989. “The demos I do are likely to grow to be the masters,” he defined to Creem in 1993. “They’re on the identical tape, and extra foliage simply grows round them.” Of course the bundle is extreme—do Ferry followers count on minimalism? He’s a foliage man.

Horoscope was meant to be Ferry’s new album. He fucked up: He ought to’ve identified to not launch the title earlier than the product. That previous satan, author’s block, paralyzed him; the lyrics, which he’d spent years paring right down to pointillist suggestion, had been an issue. He had no supervisor and no producer. For a hoarder confronted by the chances of 56-track recording, it should’ve been like Narcissus strolling right into a funhouse. Flailing, he resorted to a examined technique: He and new producer Robin Trower, of Procol Harum, knocked out a covers album referred to as Taxi, notable for a shivery important model of “Will You Love Me Tomorrow?” and an “All Tomorrow’s Events” whose lounge-pop vibes would possibly’ve birthed Air. Rejuvenated, he returned to his unique materials, now referred to as Mamouna, Arabic for good luck, of which he’d been in brief provide.