TOP   APC   PEAK   title   YEAR  
  1   313   51   SPACE ODDITY   1969  
  2   322   60   HEROES   1977  
  3   683   195   UNDER PRESSURE   1981  
  4   906   176   LET'S DANCE   1983  
  5   1079   350   TONIGHT   1988  
  6   1287   452   CHINA GIRL   1983  
  7   1382   326   DANCING IN THE STREET   1985  
  8   1743   386   SOUND AND VISION   1977  
  9   1759   704   ASHES TO ASHES   1980  
  10   2050   486   THIS IS NOT AMERICA   1985  
  11   2100   745   GOLDEN YEARS   1975  
  12   2150   864   ABSOLUTE BEGINNERS   1986  
  13   2702   1182   ZIGGY STARDUST   1972  
  14   2829   1175   THE JEAN GENIE   1973  
  15   2968   1102   FAME   1975  
  16   3866   1590   REBEL REBEL   1974  
  17   7868   5047   LIFE ON MARS   1973  
  18   8205   2658   BLUE JEAN   1984  
  19   8772   2254   UNDERGROUND   1986  
  20   9260   7407   LAZARUS   2015  
  21   9872   2786   DAY IN, DAY OUT   1987  
  22   10496   3723   MODERN LOVE   1983  
  23   11395   4672   THE MAN WHO SOLD THE WORLD   1974  
  24   12945   9838   THE STARS (ARE OUT TONIGHT)   2013  
  25   13726   3814   BOYS KEEP SWINGING   1979  
  26   13798   10517   WHERE ARE WE NOW?   2013  
  27   15835   9125   STARMAN   1972  
  28   15815   5468   JUMP THEY SAY   1993  
  29   17851   5490   FASHION   1980  
  30   18319   9012   WILD IS THE WIND   1981  
  31   18325   4959   LET'S SPEND THE NIGHT TOGETHER   1973  
  32   18416   4974   REAL COOL WORLD   1992  
  33   19664   5120   LOVING THE ALIEN   1985  
  34       9702   YOUNG AMERICANS   1975  
  35       6705   SORROW   1973  
  36       8489   THE LAUGHING GNOME   1967  
  37       18924   BLACKSTAR   2015  
  38       11583   CAT PEOPLE (PUTTING OUT THE FIRE)   1982  
  39       8953  
HELLO SPACE BOY
  1996  
  40       9647   JOHN, I'M ONLY DANCING   1972  
                     
                     
  David Bowie was born David Robert Jones on January 8, 1947, in Brixton, South London. From an early age, he was fascinated by music, art, and performance. His youth was shaped by a mix of classic rock ’n’ roll and jazz, and he quickly learned to play the saxophone. In his teenage years, he began experimenting with different musical styles and personas—something that would later become his trademark. Since there was already a well-known Davy Jones from The Monkees, he adopted the stage name Bowie, inspired by the American knife—a symbol of sharpness and rebellion.

His first albums in the 1960s gained little traction, but in 1969 he broke through with the song “Space Oddity,” a melancholic and futuristic track about the fictional astronaut Major Tom. The song became a hit, thanks in part to its timing: it was released around the time of the first moon landing. Still, the success initially remained limited to that one single. Bowie continued searching for his voice, his style, his persona. He was a chameleon in the making.

Everything changed in 1972. He introduced his alter ego Ziggy Stardust, an alien rock star with a message of hope and doom. The album The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars became a cultural phenomenon. With songs like “Starman,” “Moonage Daydream,” and “Rock ’n’ Roll Suicide,” he delivered a mix of glam rock, science fiction, and theatrical performance that was far ahead of its time. Bowie became an icon—not just for his music, but also for his androgynous appearance, his openness about sexuality, and his ability to reshape identity as an art form.

After retiring Ziggy in 1973, Bowie continued to reinvent himself. He dove into soul and funk with the album Young Americans, featuring the track “Fame”—co-written with John Lennon—which became his first number-one hit in the U.S. His appearance evolved too: from the flamboyant Ziggy to the sleek, soulful Thin White Duke. But behind the scenes, he struggled with a growing cocaine addiction and psychological turmoil. His years in Los Angeles were creatively fertile but personally destructive.

To escape his addiction, Bowie moved to Berlin in the mid-1970s. There, he entered one of the most experimental phases of his career. Together with Brian Eno, he created the so-called Berlin Trilogy: Low, “Heroes”, and Lodger. These albums marked a radical departure from his earlier work, filled with electronic sounds, ambient influences, and introspective lyrics. The song “Heroes” became one of his most beloved tracks—a tribute to love and hope in a divided city. Bowie lived in a modest apartment, cycled through the city, and quietly worked on his art. It was a time of recovery, renewal, and depth.

In the 1980s, he returned to the mainstream with the album Let’s Dance, produced by Nile Rodgers. The title track, along with “China Girl” and “Modern Love,” turned Bowie into a global superstar. His style became sleeker, more commercial—but always with a quirky twist. He acted in films such as The Man Who Fell to Earth and Labyrinth, and remained a cultural phenomenon. Yet he increasingly felt uncomfortable in his role as a pop star. The creative freedom of the 1970s seemed far away.

Toward the end of the decade, he began experimenting again—this time with the band Tin Machine. Although this period received mixed reactions, for Bowie it was a way to break free from the weight of his own legend. He didn’t want to be a jukebox of old hits, but a living, searching artist. In the 1990s and early 2000s, he continued releasing albums that sometimes flew under the radar but always reflected his curiosity and craftsmanship. Outside, Earthling, and Heathen revealed an artist unafraid of technology, new sounds, and dark themes.

After suffering a heart attack in 2004, Bowie largely withdrew from the public eye. Many assumed he had retired. But in 2013, he surprised everyone with the album The Next Day—a powerful and reflective work that embraced his past without being trapped by it. He was older, wiser—but still elusive.

And then, in 2016, came Blackstar. Released just two days before his death, it was a farewell in the form of art. The album is steeped in symbolism, mystery, and emotional power. The song “Lazarus” opens with the words “Look up here, I’m in heaven”, which took on an almost prophetic meaning after his passing. Bowie died of liver cancer on January 10, 2016, at just 69 years old. He had kept his illness a secret—even from many close to him. His death came as a shock, but also as a final masterstroke: even his farewell was a performance.

After his death, it became clear just how deeply David Bowie was woven into the cultural fabric of the world. His passing triggered a global wave of mourning—but also of admiration. Fans gathered at his birthplace in Brixton, at his apartment in New York, and at the Berlin building where he had recorded “Heroes”. Flowers, candles, and graffiti appeared everywhere, with messages like “We can be heroes, just for one day.” It felt as though the world was saying goodbye to an era—to an artist who was always ahead of his time.

What made Bowie truly unique was his ability to constantly reinvent himself without ever losing his essence. He was a master of transformation, but never superficial. Each new persona—from Ziggy Stardust to the Thin White Duke, from Halloween Jack to the mysterious figure in Blackstar—was an expression of an inner journey. He used his appearance, his voice, and his music as tools to ask questions about identity, alienation, love, death, and the unknown. He was never afraid to be ugly, strange, or incomprehensible. That was precisely where his power lay.

His influence is almost impossible to overstate. In the music world, he inspired generations of artists—from punk bands to electronic pioneers, from pop icons to alternative singer-songwriters. Artists like Madonna, Lady Gaga, Trent Reznor, Arcade Fire, and even Kanye West have openly acknowledged how important Bowie was to them. He showed that an artist doesn’t have to fit into a box—that you can create work that is both intellectual and emotional, both experimental and accessible.

But his impact went far beyond music. In the fashion world, he was a revolutionary. His androgynous style, his use of makeup, his flamboyant costumes—they challenged conventions and gave people the freedom to be themselves. For many in the LGBTQ+ community, Bowie was a beacon of hope and recognition. He spoke openly about his sexuality at a time when it was still taboo, and his fluid approach to gender and identity was decades ahead of the cultural conversation.

He also left his mark on film and theater. His role in The Man Who Fell to Earth showed his ability to embody alienation and vulnerability. In Labyrinth, he became a cult figure for an entire generation of children. He performed on Broadway in The Elephant Man and worked on the stage production Lazarus, which premiered shortly before his death. Even in his final months, he continued to create, to experiment, to challenge.

Perhaps what made Bowie most remarkable was his relationship with time. He was always focused on the future—on what didn’t yet exist. But he also looked back, reinterpreted his own work, and played with memory and nostalgia. In Ashes to Ashes, he returned to Major Tom, now a fallen hero. In Where Are We Now?, he reflected on his Berlin years with a mix of melancholy and wonder. And in Blackstar, he said goodbye with a mysterious, jazzy, almost otherworldly sound that still raises questions.

His death was not an ending, but a transformation. Museums dedicated exhibitions to his life and work, such as the acclaimed David Bowie Is, which toured the world. His music lived on, rediscovered by younger generations and infused with new meaning. In an age of fleeting fame and fast trends, Bowie remains a beacon of authenticity and artistic courage.

Perhaps that is his greatest legacy: he gave people the courage to be themselves, to change, to dream. He showed that art knows no boundaries, that identity is fluid, that beauty can be found in the strange and the unknowable. He was a star—but also a mirror. An alien, but also a man. A Rebel Rebel, a Modern Love singer, a Man Who Sold the World.

And though he is no longer physically here, his spirit lingers—in music, in fashion, in art, and in the hearts of millions. As he sang in Rock ’n’ Roll Suicide: “You’re not alone.” And perhaps that is the most comforting message he left us.