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His music could certainly move you, but the main emotion it instilled was a kind of boggling awe, not least 1976’s Station To Station, made at the height of the wee-in-the-fridge era and yet - incredibly given that Bowie claimed to not actually remember making it - arguably his best album. You listen to it, or Low, or Diamond Dogs in the absolute certainty that the person who made it was not like you or anyone else, no matter how much anyone else claimed to identify with him: not the gay kids who sat thunderstruck in front of Top Of The Pops as he casually slipped his arm around his hapless guitarist Mick Ronson, not the fanatics who dressed up like him, not the legions of other artists who tried to imitate him and always fell short.
