David Bowie [aka Man of Words/Man of Music; later reissued as Space Oddity] (1969)

The song “Space Oddity” got Bowie up on the radar, and at this point, 44 years later, it’s a classic. The melody is so familiar it practically exists outside of time — it simply is. To listen closely, critically, after not paying close attention for years, I’m struck by the weirdness that permeates the whole thing. Distant drums clatter from around a corner, there’s a strumming acoustic and a droning stylophone, while random instruments slide in and out for a few seconds at a time. Bowie’s voice comes in doubled, each half of the chorus harmony hard-panned left and right. Through headphones it’s disorienting, perfectly psychedelic. Rushed for release in time for the Apollo 11 moon landing, “Space Oddity” became his first UK hit upon its initial release. A few years later it would help him conquer the States. At this point, “Space Oddity” has come to define Bowie’s second album to such a degree that hardly anyone still refers to the album by its proper title, which is the second self-titled David Bowie record (the 1973 reissue went and made the name change official). Listening through, it’s obvious why. Where “Space Oddity” hits hard with a sticky melody and an inventive if gimmicky arrangement, the rest of the album mixes meandering folk and messy rock and roll. While still a massive leap forward over the first album’s goofiness, “Space Oddity” eclipses everything else here by a long shot. That said: true to the title, oddities abound. The elaborate “Cygnet Committee” is weird enough to entertain, and “Memory of a Free Festival” is even more curious: a bright-eyed hippie-dream plays out over an organ until the song falls apart, and Bowie builds a massive chorus out of the repeated refrain: “The sun machine is coming down / And we’re gonna have a party.” Whether he meant it or not — with Bowie you can’t always tell — it sure feels like a farewell to the flower-power movement, and an open-armed embrace of a darker world to come.