Let’s Dance (1983)

Let’s Dance was a turning point. Not in the usual sense that most Bowie albums up to this point had been (i.e., reinvention leading to new rewards): something fundamental had changed in the intervening three years since Scary Monsters closed out the experimental streak that started in Berlin. For one, this was the longest break between albums yet, though it wasn’t due to inactivity on his part. Taking time to star in a Broadway run of The Elephant Man, then a television adaptation of Brecht’s Baal (resulting in an EP’s worth of songs recorded for the production, David Bowie in Bertold Brecht’s BAAL), as well as recording the untouchable Queen collaboration “Under Pressure,” and a soundtrack contribution, “Cat People (Putting Out the Fire),” written with composer Giorgio Moroder (basically inventing the later Sisters of Mercy sound in the process). Dude kept busy. Scary Monsters made him a commercial force, and his side ventures kept his star burning bright — but it was Let’s Dance that would shatter the ceiling of worldwide fame and fortune. Attempting to do something different once again, this time marrying blues guitar to dance tracks (with the help of a young fire-breathing shredder named Stevie Ray Vaughan), he stumbled onto the formula for success. Chic guitarist Nile Rodgers took the production reins, delivering songs that were relentlessly clean and forceful, if relatively streamlined. In a certain sense, the record bears a surface resemblance to Young Americans. Unlike that record, all artistic pretensions were set aside: this was squarely pop. Unfortunately, it also comes off a bit lightweight. Naturally the masses ate it up — Let’s Dance is the best-selling Bowie record by a mile. It holds up well for what it is: “Modern Love,” “China Girl” (co-written with, and originally recorded by Iggy Pop), and the title track are classics, perfect singles on their own and a hell of a strong opening sequence to the album as a whole. But listening, you never lose the feeling that something important is gone: the sense of risk, the restless exploration, the inherent danger that makes a Bowie record tickle your guts. That Let’s Dance proved so successful meant bad, bad things for the records to come. Looking back years later, Bowie reflected, “It was great in its way, but it put me in a real corner in that it fucked with my integrity.”