The word the press latched onto, to describe the ongoing jigsaw of Bowie’s career, was “chameleon.” It’s not a very good word: Chameleons change continually so they won’t be noticed, which was not an option David Bowie ever entertained. He regenerated periodically, trying on new faces, reacting against his former selves. If his work was any guide, success made him move harder and faster in new directions, jumping into “plastic soul” at the peak of his glam fame, rejecting art-pop godhood in the ’80s to turn suited and slick, and then jumping again into the cacophony of Tin Machine.