David Bowie – ‘Let’s Dance’
It was time for David Bowie to make his most radical transformation yet. The art-rock god had already been Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, The Thin White Duke, and Major Tom throughout his first decade of work, but as the 1980s approached, it was high tide for something different… again. After one last goodbye with Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps), Bowie was ready to embrace a genre that he had only flirted with in the past.
Let’s Dance is what happens when one of the most creative musicians of all time decides that he wants to be a gigantic pop star. It really was that easy: Bowie simply conjured up a few songs (or borrowed them from within his universe), gave them a modern shine, and elevated himself into the elite realms of pop culture. With help from some of his friends, most notably Chic mastermind Nile Rodgers and upstart Texas blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughan, Bowie became a global superstar.
It wasn’t like the world didn’t know who David Bowie was. He already had three number one singles, two in the UK and one in the US, and was a global concert draw. But nobody really knew David Bowie as anything more than a character. For his latest guise, Bowie wasn’t donning makeup or an alter ego: on the surface, it appeared as though he was just being himself. As it would become obvious later on, the “pop superstar” version of David Bowie was just as much a persona as any of his previous characters.
Bowie comes ready to play from the very first notes. ‘Modern Love’ is complete with shimmering piano lines, catchy call-and-response vocals, and one of Bowie’s most memorable choruses. It might not be as artistically complex as his Low-era material, for example, but Bowie knows exactly what he’s doing on ‘Modern Love’. The honking saxophone solo is just the icing on top of the cake. This has all the seamless swagger of a ready-made hit yet all the added pomp of hidden intent in the undercurrent.
Bowie follows this up with ‘China Girl’. Having previously produced the song for Iggy Pop’s debut The Idiot, he now claims it as his own and applies lip-gloss to the punky elements. Since Bowie helped write the song, he must have felt he had at least a bit of ownership over it. With a baritone drawl backing him up, Bowie polished up the song with synthesisers, funk bass, and gated drums. ‘China Girl’ proved that Bowie’s preoccupation with new wave was more than just a passing fascination.
Just to keep his foot on the gas, Bowie sequences ‘Let’s Dance’ next. It’s here that the two guitarists Bowie hired begin to come through loud and clear: Rodgers’ jazzy chords create the dancefloor-ready funk, while Vaughan’s stinging lead lines cut through the arrangement to add some edge to the song. ‘Let’s Dance’ is the most irresistible track on an album full of hits, assuring stardom for its creator on the strength of three of the catchiest songs to ever enter his repertoire.
Frontloading Let’s Dance with its three poppiest songs presents an interesting challenge for the last half of the album. The ability for Let’s Dance to work as a cohesive LP is dependent on the final five songs. With Bowie’s eye on the pop-star prize, Bowie brings a remarkable slickness and sophistication to the album tracks. That makes them fit the rest of the album’s sound, but it doesn’t exactly elevate them into the realm of Bowie’s best work.
With one notable exception: ‘Cat People (Putting Out Fire)’ remains an audacious and wonderfully ’80s example of Bowie’s desire to keep pushing the envelope. With the backing track overflowing with instruments ringing out just two chords, ‘Cat People’ is somehow minimalist and maximalist at the same time. Disco king Giorgio Moroder is responsible for the backing track, and Vaughan’s gleeful shredding during the solo represents one of the strangest and most wonderful collaborations of the entire decade. At the centre of it all is Bowie, all horned up and only able to communicate through violent metaphors.
Comparatively, the rest of the material on Let’s Dance is… just fine. ‘Without You’ is a passable stab at new wave mixed with classic love song sensiblities, while tracks like ‘Ricochet’ and ‘Shake It’ are quality, if not incredibly memorable, additions to Bowie’s superstar image. The rendition of Metro’s ‘Criminal World’ drips with nebulous sexuality and explodes with another fantastic guitar solo from Vaughan, but the end result still fails to rise to Bowie’s massive standards.
Even when the songs on Let’s Dance stay relatively static, Bowie’s mix of croons, shouts, squeals, and suave declarations help keep the album afloat. Carmine Rojas’ bass never falters, nor do the drums pounded out by Omar Hakim and Rodgers’ fellow Chic member Tony Thompson keep the grooves solid. Everything about Let’s Dance lives and dies by its sleek production, and to his credit, Rodgers never lets anything sound flat.
Once you get through the three monster singles that lead off Let’s Dance, there’s not really much reason to listen to the rest of the album. If you’re looking for some great deep cuts, ‘Criminal World’ and ‘Cat People’ are there just ready to be discovered. If you just want to get lost in the dancefloor-ready rhythms and undeniably exciting synths, then that’s perfectly fine too. Let’s Dance certainly provides a pick-a-mix of sugary delights, but unlike most of Bowie’s work, you won’t be rewarded for diving deeper into the material.
Like a lot of artists navigating the strange new world of the 1980s, David Bowie made bold choices in his stylistic shifts. He was rewarded with the biggest commercial smash of his entire career. The rest of the decade would see Bowie attempt to replicate its sound and success without much success. Compared to those albums, Let’s Dance looks like a masterpiece. But compared to Bowie’s entire discography, Let’s Dance lacks the timelessness and intrigue of his best work. Let’s Dance is just dumb fun, and sometimes, that’s all you could ever want.
