By UK-based guest blogger Eric Generic
“Bring me the Disco King” was a song on David Bowie‘s 2003 album Reality, but it could just as easily apply to the manifesto behind his decision to hook up with Nile Rodgers two decades previously.
Having laid Major Tom to rest with “Ashes To Ashes” and met with critical and commercial approval for its accompanying album Scary Monsters in 1980, Bowie then chose to indulge his theatrical side by playing the role of Joseph Merrick – the “Elephant Man” – on Broadway and then the title character from Bertolt Brecht’s Baal for BBC Television the following year. There was also a contribution to the film soundtrack of Paul Schroder’s Cat People remake in 1982,completing the trio of stage, small screen and cinema work.
Bowie’s UK discography in the time between “Scary Monsters” and “Let’s Dance” was a real oddity; a mish-mash of singles and EPs from the above projects, reissues of old material by RCA to promote a “ChangesTwoBowie” retrospective and a pair of collaborations (appropriately enough, one old and one new). “Under Pressure” with Queen went to #1 in the UK at the end of 1981, while “Peace On Earth/Little Drummer Boy” – a duet with Bing Crosby from his 1977 Christmas TV special – was resurrected and became an unlikely Top 3 yuletide smash five years later. Across the Atlantic, his profile was in danger of disappearing altogether, as far as the Billboard Hot 100 was concerned. Nothing since “Golden Years” in 1975 had troubled the upper reaches of the chart, and Under Pressure’s peak of #29 marked his only time in the Top 40 since then. The single from “Cat People” could only make #67.
Come 1983, it was time to ring the ch-ch-ch-changes; new label (a very lucrative deal with EMI America), new producer (Nile Rodgers) and striking new look (bleach-blond bouffant hair and sharp pastel-coloured suits). A more dramatic reboot was hard to imagine, and this from an artist known for his chameleon approach to image and sound. That new sound, unashamedly admitted by Bowie at the press conference to launch the EMI deal, was designed to have maximum commercial impact. He wanted to play the pop superstar game. Lots of hits, flashy videos, mega album sales. EMI America weren’t paying all that money for some more left-field, arthouse fare.
The hiring of Rodgers wasn’t a guarantee of success; the Chic man had masterminded Diana Ross‘ triumphant self-titled comeback album (home to “Upside Down”, “My Old Piano” and “I’m Coming Out”) but also been behind the controls of Debbie Harry’s Koo Koo. Not to mention Chic themselves had long gone off the boil as the “Disco Sucks” backlash took hold in the US and the Soup For One soundtrack proved another misfire (despite giving us the magnificent “Why” by Carly Simon).
Crucially, there is no attempt on “Let’s Dance” to make Bowie sound like Chic, or anything immediately recognizable as a Nile Rodgers production. If anything the stylistic influences and touchstones hark back further than disco and funk; the iconic title track takes its opening cue from the 1962 Chris Montez classic of the same name before settling into the sinuous, sleek funk over which Bowie croons and sighs with complete mastery of his craft. Neil Tennant once remarked that it was the line “if you should fall into my arms, and tremble like a… F L O W….ER!” which confirmed to him that Bowie’s vocals had developed and evolved to a new level. “Modern Love” draws inspiration from the call-and-response chorus lines of 50s songs you might have heard pastiched in Grease or used in American Graffiti.
“Let’s Dance” was the monster hit single (US and UK #1) which defined the entire album even though very little else sounds much like it, or achieves the same studied cool. Yet its legacy, and its motifs of red shoes and serious moonlights, helped to carry the whole era along with the second single, a sensuous reworking of Iggy Pop’s 1977 song “China Girl“. The superficial, contemporary sheen of the arrangement becomes something darker by the middle eight, with its “visions of swastikas in my head” and – in the naturally expensive-looking promotional video – one of the beautiful Asian models in the video is overlaid with barbed wire at the end. Whether by coincidence or design, the same year he received unusually rave reviews for his performance in the film “Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence”, set in the unsparingly ruthless Japanese POW camps of World War Two.
The accompanying world tour – dubbed Serious Moonlight, rather than anything to do with Dancing – proved extraordinarily popular, cementing this vision of a new, lean, blonde rock megastar in the public consciousness. In the year of Thriller, and the era of MTV breathing fresh life into the careers of 70s stars (Elton John, Billy Joel, Lionel Richie, Bruce Springsteen), Bowie’s timing could not have been better to move into the heart of the mainstream. He was still only in his early thirties, yet his recording career now stretched into its third decade; he wasn’t too old to be relevant to the pop fans of the Eighties video age, yet he had the accumulated experience and respect among his peers (and those who he had inspired, such as Spandau Ballet, Duran Duran, Culture Club and ABC, all stars of the exploding Second Wave of British pop) that kept him elevated from the majority of acts competing with him on the charts.
It’s perhaps a shame that “Let’s Dance” – as an album – isn’t stronger, and the second half in particular lacks truly memorable songs. It’s a very front-loaded record, with three (UK) Top 2 hits as its opening salvo but not a lot else afterwards. Rodgers’ immaculate production does it best to hold things together, but in the cold light of day some 40 years later, Let’s Dance does leave the nagging impression of being a victory for style over substance.
Those 7 glorious minutes of the title song, however, make it just about worthwhile.
NOTE: If you liked this article, please be sure to check out our guest blogger’s fantastic music blog “Amazingly Few Discotheques Provide Jukeboxes“.
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