David Bowie opened his first album of the century, 2002’s “Heathen,” with a low croon of, “It’s the beginning of an end/And nothing has changed/Everything has changed.”

Over glitchy computer beats and a light wash of synths, Bowie outlined his late-period artistic thesis. What would change: From the beginning of his end to his final album, Bowie would abandon his chase of the modern, his effort to incorporate emerging sonic trends. What wouldn’t: His devotion to craft.

On Bowie’s final vinyl box set — the 18-LP “I Can’t Give Everything Away (2002-2016)” — the chameleon, generally, gives up fashion in favor of hooky, honest, intense songs focused on aging. (The word “generally” carries a good amount of weight here considering a less adventurous Bowie is still more adventurous than 99% of pop acts.)

The sixth installment in a series of Bowie boxes that encapsulate eras, “I Can’t Give Everything Away” is loaded with exclusives including the four-LP “Montreux Jazz Festival” 2002 live set. And the exclusives and non-album stuff is great: The “A Reality Tour” live album is Bowie at his most energetic and charismatic; b-side “God Bless the Girl” wonderfully winks back at his “Young Americans” r&b phase.

But the quartet of studio albums — “Heathen,” 2003’s “Reality,” 2013’s “The Next Day,” 2016’s “Blackstar” — define Bowie’s elder statesman introspection.

Bowie’s reflections on family, friendship, fame, and bereavement dominate “Heathen.” Ballads, midtempo drones, and slowly unfurling crescendos frame lyrics that nod to his past (“Some of us will always stay behind/Down in space it’s always 1982”) and present (the resigned goodbye of “Everyone Says ‘Hi’ ”).

“Reality” takes on even bigger stuff like, well, reality. To match the reach, the highs are higher. “Never Get Old” mixes old-school space rock with big guitars and a huge vocal howling, with some cheek, “And there’s never gonna be enough money/And there’s never gonna be enough drugs/And I’m never ever gonna get old.” But he manages plenty of intimacy. In a flat voice, barely climbing above the flat melody, he repeats “All the days of my life/All the days I owe you” over and over again on “Days.”

Many thought “Reality” would be Bowie’s last record so when “The Next Day” arrived a decade later it was a revelation. The late-career gem paired energy and creativity in a way not seen since his ’70s dominance. He filled the LP with aggressive rants, ugly guitar and the shriek on the title track of, “Here I am, not quite dying/My body left to rot in a hollow tree.” He also made room for tight hooks — “The Stars (Are Out Tonight)” would have been a smash if he’d released it four decades earlier. And the artistic burst came with nostalgia crowded with melancholy (“Where Are We Now?”) and messages of how modern isolation leads to tragedy (“Valentine’s Day”).

Bowie released “Blackstar” on his 69th birthday and two days before he died on Jan. 10, 2016. His last 15 years seemed to lead right to the anti-pop and honesty of “Blackstar.” Equal parts art rock and experimental jazz, the record abandoned the mainstream. The title track opens the affair by lurching and creeping forward for ten minutes with odd, off-putting lyrics. Other cuts start as pop songs before crashing into atonal messes and freak rock chaos. It’s amazing, and an amazing sonic backdrop for songs about alienation, broken relationships, and death.

Suffering from cancer, Bowie must have known this was the end of the end. Maybe it made him want to put an exclamation point on his body of work. Probably it spurred him to record what sounds like a self-penned obituary, “Lazarus,” with its lonely saxophone line tugging the melody through a dreamy space and Bowie singing, “Look up here, I’m in heaven/I’ve got scars that can’t be seen/I’ve got drama, can’t be stolen/Everybody knows me now.”

David Bowie’s “I Can’t Give Everything Away” boxed vinyl set. (Photo courtesy Rhino/Parlophone)