In 1982 my sister, not a big David Bowie fan, was listening to the (then) new ChangesTwoBowie album a friend had just given her for her 16th birthday. I (seven years old at the time) wandered into her room while "Ashes to Ashes" was playing, and never had anything stopped me so abruptly. "I love this," I said aloud. "I love this!" I asked my mom to please buy me some other David Bowie albums as soon as possible, which she did, and I discovered he really was that good.

17 years later, the only thing that's changed is that there's more Bowie music for me to love, and I understand more why that first listen struck me so. Then, it was just a feeling, a pure emotional reaction to something that touched me in an inexplicable way. I still have that passion, but now it's compounded with a conscious, informed appreciation for a singer-songwriter-musician-actor-artist-genius who is just really, really good at what he does.

Though he's critically acclaimed, revered by his colleagues, and a true international legend, David Bowie is often under-appreciated. Though virtually everyone has heard a David Bowie song or two, the ones they hear are classic-radio fare like "Let's Dance," "China Girl," "Ziggy Stardust" and "Space Oddity." These are the songs on the ubiquitous ChangesBowie greatest hits album, and while there's nothing wrong with any of those songs, the tragedy of potential David Bowie fans hearing only the greatest hits is immeasurable. Much of Bowie's best work and most outstanding accomplishments are the deep cuts overshadowed by the singles on the well-known albums, or in many cases entire albums that just didn't get much play.

Take Hunky Dory, for example. Though nearly everyone can chant "Ch-ch-ch-ch changes" during radio sing-alongs, fewer are familiar with that album's last track, "The Bewlay Brothers," Bowie's extremely poignant, so-deeply-personal - he-won't-play-it-in-concert tribute to his (now dead) schizophrenic older brother. Yes, he made "Space Oddity" and "The Man Who Sold the World," but he also made "Cygnet Committee," "Memory of a Free Festival," "Width of a Circle," "Savior Machine" and dozens of other vastly superior pieces. And that was just pre-Ziggy.

Bowie created a new era with The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, sprouting Bowie's career as a breaker of walls, a master of experimentation, and a true ground-breaking iconoclast. Bowie's foray into androgyny and glamour inspired an entire scene that would become legendary. But Ziggy and the two albums that followed it, Aladdin Sane and Diamond Dogs, didn't just feature pictures of Bowie in various stages of makeup and tights, they featured songs like "Sweet Thing," "Time," "Moonage Daydream," "Lady Grinning Soul" and many others that you won't hear unless you look for them. By 1975, Bowie had released seven brilliant albums, and he hadn't even hit his peak yet.

I've yet to hear music that can come close to matching that of the four albums released between 1975 and 1980. Station to Station has only six songs on it, and they're long, complex, and unbelievably moving. His cover of "Wild is the Wind," the final song on the album, remains one of the most haunting songs I have ever heard. Low, "Heroes" and Lodger, the three albums he recorded with Brian Eno while in hiding in Berlin, are extraordinary. It's rare that a rock star can record an album of mostly instrumentals and have it be as powerful as Low is, and I won't believe it can be done by anyone else until I hear it. These albums also provide a glimpse of his talent as a musician, which his status as a singer often overshadowed. Given what he has accomplished as primarily a vocalist, it's easy to forget that Bowie is an accomplished saxophonist and pianist, and capable in many other instruments as well.

Also extraordinary is the fact that Bowie, through many phases of differing quality and lots of ups and downs, never lost his stardom. The '80s in particular saw a decline in Bowie's cutting-edge music; Let's Dance was the only album that sold well, and it lacks the edge that made his earlier music extraordinary. Nevertheless, he retained his image by putting on grandiose tours and gimmicks, declaring that he was going to quit playing his old music forever, yet dragging out dusty deep cuts for certain shows. He released an extraordinary soundtrack to a BBC miniseries called The Buddha of Suburbia in 1993 which, though not very well known, was a return to Bowie's earlier level of creativity. His efforts were rewarded again in 1995 when he teamed up with Eno for the strange and interesting concept album Outside. Earthling followed two years later, and Bowie made it abundantly clear at that time that he was not content to become one of those old dinosaur rockers who lives off nostalgia - he was going to grasp what was new and run with it. That included experimenting with techno, industrial, and the Internet.

No matter what he's done, though, no matter how many phases he's gone through, it cannot be ignored that he's good, very, very good. He has nearly 20 albums on which he wrote nearly every single word. That's not even considering what he did for others. Collaborations with Iggy Pop, Lou Reed, Trent Reznor, Brian Eno - an entire essay could be written about his work with others. There is no way to consisely sum up what an important, influential, and brilliant career this man has had. He has more than proven that no matter how old he is, no matter how much he's done, he can always hang with the best, because he is one of them.

Check out our David Bowie Mothership

Read these David Bowie reviews: The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars, Hunky Dory, Low, "Heroes," hours...

Check out these other "Why We Love..." articles:
Elvis Costello, Beastie Boys, Beth Orton, Radiohead, Bristol, Sonic Youth, Björk, Liz Phair, G. Love