Space Oddity (1969)
In his excellent book The Complete David Bowie, Nicholas Pegg notes that the episodic Space Oddity sounds like something the 60s Bee Gees might have written at their weirdest. He’s absolutely right, although where the Bee Gees would have played up the melodrama, Bowie perfectly inhabits its mood of blank-eyed, space-age alienation.
Sound and Vision (1977)
Sound and Vision is both a fantastic pop song and an act of artistic daring. A three-minute hit single that doesn’t even feature a lead vocal until halfway through, it twists a despondent lyric into something uplifting and, musically, transcends time. Completely original, nothing about its sound tethers it to the mid-70s. Its magic seems to sum Bowie up.
Ashes to Ashes (1980)
Ashes to Ashes is one of those moments in Bowie’s catalogue where the correct response is to stand back and boggle in awe. Presumably a depiction of its author in his drugged-out mid-70s nadir, everything about it – lingering oddness of its sound, its constantly shifting melody and emotional tenor, its alternately self-mythologising and self-doubting lyrics – is perfect.
Station to Station (1976)
By his own account so out of control he couldn’t even remember recording it, Bowie somehow contrived to make Station to Station a work of awesome power and focus, as evidenced by the lengthy title track. The shift into its second section – “Once there were mountains and mountains” – is possibly the single most thrilling moment in his entire catalogue.
“Heroes” (1977)
Its posthumous uplifting-sporting-montage-soundtrack ubiquity means it’s easy to forget what a weird, ambiguous song Heroes is – it has, metaphorically, lost the quotation marks around its title. But perhaps that is tribute to Bowie’s brand of alchemy: only he could turn six minutes of pulsing electronic noise, howling guitars and screamed vocals into an all-purpose air-punching anthem.
Young Americans (1975)
Young Americans represents the point in Bowie’s career where it became apparent he could take virtually any musical genre and bend it to his will. A white British rock star adopting the breezy, sumptuous sound of Philly soul shouldn’t have worked at all, but it did, to life-affirming effect.
Starman (1972)
More a cultural moment than a song. Starman’s epochal Top of the Pops performance is probably the most celebrated piece of music television in British history. It’s a series of compelling musical steals – equal parts T Rex, Somewhere Over the Rainbow and Blue Mink’s recent hit Melting Pot (the morse code guitar) – and a brash announcement of Bowie’s commercial rebirth.
Changes (1971)
A perfectly written, irresistible mission statement that few heeded at the time, Changes has ended up one of Bowie’s most beloved songs. “It’s saying: ‘Look, I’m going to be so fast, you’re not going to keep up with me,’” he explained. It would count as youthful arrogance were it not for the fact that his subsequent career bore the boast out.
The Man Who Sold the World (1970)
It’s a song that was subsequently rendered as everything from pop-soul (by Lulu) to despairing acoustic commentary on global success and punk rock ethics (Nirvana), but Bowie’s original version has never been bettered. The title track of his eeriest album remains mysterious, creepy and haunting 50 years on.