David Bowie's Albums From Worst To Best

The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust (1972)

Too often people take Ziggy for granted. Existing in a state of perfection for so long, it’s as if the album has warped the minds of Bowie fans over the years, allowing lesser heights (sorry Low) to somehow displace their affection. Nonsense! As if being the most popular and famous album of an artist’s career is somehow a bad thing. Sure, the whole record is built off a lunatic conceit — a messianic tale of impending annihilation, aliens, sex, and death that’s been unpacked endlessly by countless fans and critics more thorough than me — let’s just say … upon close investigation it only makes so much sense. But that’s half the charm. Hunky Dory proved Bowie was capable of brilliance — Ziggy continued the evolution, folding in a newfound appreciation for soul that brought an immediacy Bowie had only flirted with before. It’s a grand collision of pop songwriting and untamed vision, a collection of songs that succeed on their own terms while furthering the unwieldy machinations of the greater whole. “Five Years” is the quintessential opener, a perfect soundtrack for the fictional end of the world: the music starts small and grows, cycling ever upward, spiraling out and into space. “Starman” came off like a spiritual successor to “Space Oddity”with a transcendent chorus to match, and like that song it was a substantial hit that propelled Bowie to much greater success. For my money, “Suffragette City” might be the best rock and roll song ever written, made better in the way it’s tossed off like a dirty joke: a pelvic thrust of a bass line hammers away on top of a Little Richard piano and Bowie raves about sex, or drugs, or none of the above. “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide” closes on the highest possible note, Bowie belting “You’re not alone!” with all the fire you’d expect from an actor playing his greatest part, while the band chimes in to chant “Wonderful!” underneath him. And is it ever wonderful. Ziggy might be dead by the end, but “after making love with his ego,” he’s seared into your skull, life imitating art all according to design. Sheer audacity made real with electric guitar and a snow-white tan.