The First Shall Be Made Last: David Bowie’s Let’s Dance

By Christian Lipski

I have to begin with the obvious by marveling at how long it’s been since Let’s Dance was released, simply because twenty-five years? It’s insane. I was fifteen and didn’t know anything about anything. When I taped Let’s Dance from a record I checked out from the library, I didn’t even know much about David Bowie at the time. I had heard “Changes” on the radio before, and probably other songs, but always on the fringe of my attention. 1983 was Bowie’s year to shine. Let’s look at the album in order, and I’ll see what each track dredges up.

I think that this album was the first one where I really started to take notice of the drums. I had just gotten my first drumset and was looking for inspiration. I found it in Omar Hakim’s beat on “Modern Love.” That song introduced me to syncopation, and my parents to earaches, as I would play along with that song at top volume for hours. The video, from a live tour, cemented the pastel-garbed, tousled-blond Bowie look for me and many others. Even now, it’s hard to see that person as the same guy who was Ziggy Stardust or even the Pierrot from “Ashes To Ashes.”

Obviously, MTV was a major force in exposing the album to the world. Also exposed was Mr. Bowie’s bum in the uncensored “China Girl” video. As he made out with the titular actress in the surf, I pointed to the TV and indicated to my brother how that meant he wasn’t gay. Of course, later we saw the “DJ” video where he kisses a random man on the street, and all was up in the air again. The video is also a good example of the need for proper dental care, as both Bowie and Geeling Ng have rather disturbing choppers. Again, great drums from Hakim—straight ahead, but with some lively fills. Perfect for the young beginner.

When I hear the Beatlesque intro to “Let’s Dance,” I can still feel the cool air-conditioning of my house as I watched the video and wondered how Bowie could play guitar so well with gloves on. I would have known more about Stevie Ray Vaughn if he’d been in the videos from this album, but I suspect that he and Bowie had already fallen out about the tour, and Stevie was no longer invited to the party. I remember his guitar solos distinctly from that time, because they were so different from those of other pop songs.

In “Without You” we’re now out of the video realm and into the songs that I would listen to in my room alone. This was a bit of a change from the big bang of the first three, but it was a welcome cool breeze. For a long time after, I would use this song in mixes to represent pure love because it’s so vulnerable. And his voice when he drops the word “do” still gives chills.

(pause to flip LP)

I think “Ricochet” was my least favorite song at the time, because it was so strident and jarring. Now I almost like it the most. It’s the most experimental song on the album, with sound clips and time changes throughout. You can also hear the connection to “Tumble And Twirl” on the following album Tonight in the drums, saxes, and congas. In 1983, though, this was not a pleasing one.

“Put on your red shoes”

Stevie Ray gets to cut loose a little in “Criminal World,” starting with a funky intro. You can tell this is a cheeky number. The vocals are quiet and softened, so I never saw this as much more than a background song, almost instrumental. The guitar solos are the real selling point.

I wasn’t allowed to see Cat People in the theaters, so “Cat People (Putting Out Fire)” represented something adult and secretive to me. I think the drums on this one are by Tony Thompson—they’re looser than the rest of the album—and the music itself was written by Giorgio Moroder, so I suspect the backing track was recorded separately. Now that I revisit the song, it’s not as good as I remember. And it turns out that the movie is about people who turn into cats. Yeah, I know.

“Shake It” is the greatest song on the album. “I feel like a sailboat,” indeed. I loved this one back in the day, and I still do. The verses are bouncy and high, then they fall into a solid chorus, all backed by twirly keyboards and a fat drumbeat. I love hearing Bowie drop the solemnity from time to time.

Let’s Dance was the album that formally introduced me to David Bowie because of its popularity, but that same popularity helped make it the last one I actually bought. After listening for a while, I started collecting more of his albums, but the “popular = bad” equation in my mind had me putting off buying Let’s Dance until well into the ’90s. And I’d like to apologize to the album, because it didn’t deserve the snub.