"Suffragette City" (David Bowie)

So David Bowie got his big break in 1972 with the album that launched glam rock: The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.  It's a concept album about an androgynous/pan-sexual alien who comes to earth to bring one last message of hope as the planet is dying.  This story, which is set in the not-too-distant dystopian future, basically gave Bowie a motive to dye his hair bright red, splash on some makeup, and rock out with hedonistic abandon at live shows that had Britain's parents (and to some extent America's parents) quaking in their square-toed shoes.
As Bowie notes in a Blank on Blank interview (which is a great podcast series from PBS Digital Studios that combines archival interviews with animation), he basically crafted the Ziggy Stardust character because he had difficulty writing music for himself as David Bowie; however, the moment he started writing for a fictitious character with its own outlandish backstory, it opened up new possibilities and creative avenues.
The song "Suffragette City," the next-to-last track on the album, is a crass little rocker that sort of does/doesn't fit in the whole narrative of the album.  By that, I mean pretty much every other song specifically mentions Ziggy or his band, The Spiders from Mars, by name, whereas "Suffragette City" just paints a scene of teenage carnality on the edge of apocalypse.  (In the song, its protagonist is kicking a friend—or, more likely, a friend with benefits—out of his house because he's decided to shack up with a girl who is liberated.  Sexually.)
Makes sense that it's the odd piece in the jigsaw puzzle, considering Bowie originally wrote the song as a vehicle for the band Mott the Hoople, who rejected it.  (The band ultimately went on to record and make a hit out of Bowie's song "All the Young Dudes," which actually was written for the Ziggy character but not used on the album.)
But just like the other tracks on the album, the song is a platform for underrated guitarist Mick Ronson to rip his way through some chunky power chords, seasoned with buzzing, swooping synthesizers.
And I'd be lying if I didn't admit that my favorite part of the song is the false ending, where Bowie & Co. suddenly erupt with this old chestnut: Awww—wham, bam, thank you, ma'am!
I'm sure it was all very shocking in '72.