If some desert island curse forced you to pick only one artist to listen to for the rest of eternity, you’d do well to choose David Bowie. His career-long sequence of left hand turns would keep you on your toes in the face of endless repetition. Think about all that glam rock. Remember all the crooning he did in the ’80s? Do you prefer the Thin White Duke or the Berlin era? How does “Modern Love” fit in after all this time? Wasn’t it amazing how good his drum ’n’ bass album was? And then, when he was 66 years old, he released his best record in 16—if not 36—years.

For casual fans, Nothing Has Changed: The Very Best of David Bowie (Columbia Records/Legacy Recordings) provides a lot worth learning to love in addition to plenty of hits. But first impressions are sure to leave Bowie-philes annoyed. There’s been an effort of sorts made to give equal weight to each of the many eras of Bowie’s recording career. No doubt, the artist and his audience will view this effort with drastically different eyes. Who would begrudge the man himself for wanting to give over a mere 18 tracks (all on the third disc) to his last 20 years of work? Yet, that means that albums like Outside and Hours get as much time as Ziggy Stardust and more minutes than Aladdin Sane. “Thursday’s Child” is a lovely song, but really, no “Suffragette City?” No “John, I’m Only Dancing?” Only one track each from Low and Heroes? Nothing from Tin Machine? Those are some heartbreaking cuts. (Well, maybe not Tin Machine, but still….)

On the other hand, the 59 tracks that did make the cut comprise a fantastic treasure chest. Nearly all of Bowie’s studio albums are represented (even Pin Ups.) Only his bizarre, 1967 Deram Records self-titled debut gets left out in the cold. (Though there’s also nothing from Labyrinth, which, I guess, shows the limits of Bowie’s sense of humor. Certainly “Magic Dance” is one of his biggest cross-generational success stories.) Notable surprises include mid-60s singles originally released by Davie Jones and the King Bees and David Bowie and the Lower Third. There are B-sides, soundtrack cuts, collaborations both renowned (Lennon, Jagger, and Queen) and less-heard (The Pat Methany Group, Pet Shop Boys), and a brand new track. About half of the listings feature one parenthetical or another, be it a remix, a single version, a radio edit, a remastering, or some special version. James Murphy’s remix of “Love Is Lost” (the “Hello Steve Reich Mix”) is the highlight of the third disc. Perhaps most incredible, though, is the inclusion of two tracks from Bowie’s abandoned 2001 album, Toy. Even the most devoted Bowie completist will find this a necessary purchase.

Even if you’re the kind of person who thinks Bowie hasn’t released anything worthwhile since “China Girl,” there’s no denying that this career-spanning survey covers an incredible amount of ground, displaying his insatiable artistic ambition and his endless parade of costume changes. Luckily, it really is something special. Listening from beginning to end is a 50-year journey through time, evolution in reverse. Listening backwards (forward in time, that is) is a powerful reminder of David Bowie’s continued relevance, inspiration, and daring. This is five decades of music, stretching from 1964’s “Liza Jane” to the 2014 release of another song named after another girl, “Sue (Or In a Season of Crime).” (Though, not even the massive three-disc set reviewed here includes the just-released “’Tis a Pity She Was a Whore.”) Bowie’s making it clear that not even a 50-year retrospective should be taken as an indication that he’s done.