David Bowie (1967)

You could argue Bowie’s eponymous debut was a case of hidden embryonic genius if you really felt the need, or you can write it off as a wonky false start by a capital-A Artist who had yet to find his footing. By 1967, David Bowie had already fronted a band, appeared in television commercials, and made the slightest semblance of a name for himself in underground circles as an up-and-coming something-or-other. His first record reflects the fractured nature of his career to date. Rock and roll barely appears, certainly not in any form like he’d pursue later. Instead Bowie comes off as a kind of all-purpose entertainer: a variety act of surprising imagination, rather than the provocateur he’d become in a few short years. So we get quaint little story-songs, the closest reference (at least for most of us) being the more eccentric music-hall moments of Ray Davies or Paul McCartney. Hints of Bowie’s later brilliance pop up around the edges, but the songs generally don’t stick. Still, it’s fun to hear Bowie operating entirely in the realm of the absurd. There may not be many tracks demanding repeat listens, but you’re immediately struck by the invention on display, the sense that ideas are being plucked wholesale from the mind of their weird young creator. “We Are Hungry Men” has a few choice lines about “mass abortion” and “infanticide” as solutions to over-population, also marking the first appearance of Bowie’s messianic obsession (see: “Saviour Machine,” all of Ziggy Stardust). Even at an early stage there was depth behind the slightest material.