This was an interesting trek. Where Ziggy was a more compact experience, Aladdin Sane is very experimental. You can see Bowie evolve album-to-album up to this point, but this is the first single album where you can see him evolve track-to-track. This isn't apparent at first- Watch That Man is fun, but it's right on the heels of Ziggy Stardust. There's a pinch of soul in the back-up vocals, but otherwise it's the same guitar-bass-piano combo that carried me through the last couple of albums. It's an aggressive piece ala Moonage Daydream, Star, and Hang on to Yourself- we're told that we'll be "eaten with a fork and a spoon" if we don't tread carefully. I hear it again in Cracked Actor and Let's Spend the Night Together. They are sexually-charged, voracious melodies with lyrics to boot. It's become a familiar tune over the whole discography- one of the few recurring themes to make consistent appearances even as the music itself evolves rapidly.

In the titular track, Bowie once again throws a wrench into my musical expectations. Aladdin Sane is so complex that I'm hesitant to read into it. The standout portion of the track has no lyrics- it's the intentionally messy piano interlude that dominates the latter portions of the song. It almost sounds improvised, though maybe the broken pieces are too carefully arranged for improvisation. In any case, I find myself digging for answers when, in all likelihood, there aren't any. The lyrics are a puzzle too. The central question ("Who will love Aladdin Sane?") might be a bit "meta." Maybe he's laying out this intentionally dense piece of music knowing that people will search for answers and invent patterns simply because they have expectations. Maybe it's a clever trap for confirmation bias. Then again, maybe I'm falling into the same trap by coming to that conclusion.

The experiment is coming to fruition here (musically, at least). The soulful back-up vocals from Watch That Man are put to a different use, giving the track a 50s doo-wop vibe that clashes with the saxophone and lead guitar. The lyrics are clearer in the first verse and chorus before things become much harder to read in subsequent verses. That might be just enough time to take something definitive away. If the music is at least partially a throwback to a bygone era, the lyrics tell the story of two people trying to go back in time romantically. They only have a set of films and music for reference, and they seem convinced that the romanticized version of that era is head and shoulders above what's in front of them.

It says something about how we often romanticize the past (especially the 50s, at least here in the states). There's not necessarily anything wrong with that, until we start looking down on what we have now, forgetting that anything looks better when its romanticized in film or music. Hence, the track becomes bittersweet as the saxophone grows more prominent with each verse. It's fun to get nostalgic about romantic visions of times we'll never experience, but nostalgia is bittersweet by definition. This message shows up again in The Prettiest Star- when you're living in the past, "one day" might as well be "someday." Walk too far down that rabbit hole and you risk losing sight of your real and present gifts.

Panic in Detroit is tough to place. The drums spell out the "panic" for us musically, and the back-up vocals are a bit more menacing this time around. Behind that, there's a frantic lead guitar with a chaotic solo that dominates the outro. The lyrics tell a pretty clear story- there's a prominent communist on the run, hiding out in a Detroit apartment. The apartment's owner is enamored with him, watching as the police turn the city on its head searching for him. In each chorus, he begs for an autograph. In the final verse, he wins a lump of cash from a slot machine and returns home intending to give it all to the man on the run, only to discover that the man has vanished and left an autograph in his stead. I look at this track like a great short story told by a renowned novelist. It doesn't really connect to the rest of the album, but it's a phenomenal piece on its own.

Time takes the avant garde clippings from Aladdin Sane and sends a very complex message about how we all struggle against the passing days. There is an ongoing sense that the narrator feels guilty about his own choices and, specifically, his indulgences. Each verse begins with a lone piano as the narrator paints a resentful picture of his own past. Each time, like clockwork, that collapses into a strange sort of acceptance. The idea is that, should those choices have any sort of karmic consequences, they should have caught up to him by now. Time heals all wounds, and yet we're constantly victims of time's passage. None of us can grasp how or why. Bowie has never shied away from existentialism, and this is one of his less subtle reflections. In any case, I enjoyed it- like the titular track, Time begs questions that swiftly deny anyone looking for definitive answers.

The closing track is Bowie's take on the femme fatale. It could very easily be the title song for a Bond film. In fact, I broke one of my rules and tried to research whether it might have originally been produced for a Bond film before landing on this album. I didn't find any evidence to support my conspiracy theory, but like any good conspiracy theorist, I won't let it die. Lady Grinning Soul has all the ingredients of a Bond song- dangerous women, strings, horns, and minor chords. I'll move on for now, but I'm always going to suspect this was the first choice for Live and Let Die before some creative or financial disagreement forced the studio to dig up Wings.

Standout Track: The Jean Genie

Ziggy was a story full of angst and the perils of fast fame. We are constantly pulled in two directions. Fame is fun. It's rock and roll. It feels good in the moment, and what's so bad about that? On the other hand, you might lose yourself. Time might catch up to you sooner than you'd imagine. We never get an answer, and I don't really care for one. The Jean Genie reminds me why I don't care. There's a simple riff, a huge bass line, and that's about it. It's a minimalist version of the fast, fluid, raw vision of rock and roll stardom that Ziggy chronicled in greater detail.

We've seen the Jean Genie as a recurring character. It's Ziggy Stardust, of course, but it's also the leather-clad man from the last verse of The Width of a Circle. It's the ephemeral, unkempt hallucinogen connoisseur from Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed. It's the person we're supposed to keep our eye on, lest we find ourselves quickly and completely wrapped up in them. It's the epitome of "fast times." There might be a hangover on its way, but you might not care in the long run. Or, maybe you will, but what's life without risk?

Epilogue

There was a pretty noticeable gap between Part 2 and this post. I hope to have these finished more often, but I won't guarantee anything. What's important to me is that I don't rush the experience, and sometimes that means waiting days or weeks until I've had enough time to listen, absorb each track and each album, and write something I'm satisfied with. Also, for context, I'm writing this series alongside several other writing projects and a full-time job as a software engineer. Having said all of that, I won't stop until the whole discography is finished, and I won't publish something here until I feel like it's really done.

Thank you so much to all the folks who read and sound off, here and on Reddit. I'm not saying I'd stop if no one was reading, but it is really encouraging to hear from veteran fans and fellow newcomers alike. The feedback is incredibly helpful, and I've learned more from your stories and comments than I could ever find out on my own.

I'll catch you later for part 4.