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I’ll Do Whatever I Damned Well Please

The Safety Dance by Men Without Hats from the album “Rhythm of Youth” First Week of March, 1983 As their name implies, I can’t imagine Men Without Hats ever really beating around the bush. Rather, I picture them leaning towards…

Unspoken Word Performance

by Doug Dean

A Love Letter

by Greg Ames

Polish Fact

A Polish Glimpse of Earth
Anglia -- England
Szkocja -- Scotland
Walia -- Wales
Irlandia -- Ireland
Wielka Brytania -- Great Britain
Zjednoczone Królestwo - United Kingdom
Niemcy -- Germany
Japonia -- Japan
Stany Zjednoczone Ameryki - The United States of America
Francja -- France
Hiszpania -- Spain
Wenezuela -- Venezuela

Learn a Foreign Tongue!

Learn Yiddish!
Der Tog nokh der Morgn.
The Day after Tomorrow.


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Literary Hullabaloo
Tuesday, April 25, 2006   |    Shreek of the Week of the Day

So? So, let’s dance!

by Wayne Gladstone

“If you say run …”

letsdancedangerfield.jpgFor many die hard Bowie fans, this album was the beginning of the end. Suddenly, daring, experimental, brilliant David Bowie was making pop music. Really poppy pop music. “Let’s Dance” had a good beat. It was produced by Disco Legend Nile Rodgers. Even the lyrics were about dancing. But perhaps most shocking was Bowie himself. He looked fit. He looked happy. He looked straight. Really straight. Homophobic, even. Of course, even at ten years old I knew better, having seen the back of my big brother’s Ziggy Stardust album only months earlier. Luckily, none of the other fourth graders knew about Bowie’s glam rock past, and they haphazardly lumped him in with Billy Idol. In 1983, loving Bowie’s infectious pop was very safe. Indeed, it would take seven more years before I would be called a fag for liking David Bowie music.

But what about the music? Unlike Bowie’s largely craptastic ‘85 and ‘87 pop albums, “Let’s Dance” holds up. At this point, he hadn’t yet become the full blown whore, dancing with Tina Turner in Pepsi commercials. He was a just a coffee achiever who loved pastel suits. “Let’s Dance” had a great mix of heavy bass, sax, and searing guitar. And 4 years before Midnight Oil, he had a video bringing attention to the plight of the Australian Aborigines. Who cared if it had nothing to do with the lyrics? The video also contains Bowie’s greatest sin: not only does he pretend to be playing Stevie Ray Vaughn’s guitar solo, he does so while wearing white gloves. White gloves? (Okay, maybe he didn’t look that straight.)

After this commercial success it would take twelve more years before Bowie would find his artistic bearings again, but even now, “Let’s Dance” is sensational shake your ass, ear candy.

Best part: “Tremble like a flower…”

Wayne Gladstone lives in Maine with his wife and children. Some of his work has been featured in McSweeney's and Opium. But all of it has not been featured in The New Yorker. If Wayne Gladstone were a restaurant, he would be a defunct roadside Roy Rogers sharing space with a wildly successful Bob's Big Boy. Visit Wayne at www.waynegladstone.blogspot.com