Bowie's quicksilver ch-ch-ch-changes in the 1970s did not prepare me for this explosive, dark, seductive album.  He made me a deal, and I sure did pretend we were walking home.  Who else but Bowie would have woven together the apocalypse, 1984, messianism, and homo-eroticism?  Living in Gay Lib New York, much of "Candidate" sounded like a song about cruising and dish and drugs on or near Christopher Street leading down to the river where you could jump if you really thought "boys, boys, is a cheap thing."