Lou Reed's 1974 album Sally Can't Dance stands out in his discography with its blend of his traditional rock roots and experimental production choices that saw Reed, arguably, edging closer to mainstream success than at any other time in his career. Fuelled by Reed’s rock roots, an exceptional production, and his unique balance of thought-provoking gritty lyrics, Sally Can’t Dance is surprisingly accessible; especially to those who weren’t drawn to his earlier solo works or that of The Velvet Underground. That said, Sally Can’t Dance isn’t so far removed from his origins that it fundamentally would have alienated Reed’s fan base, yet some would vehemently disagree with that statement.

Hardened individuals aside, Sally Can’t Dance is broadly appealing because it not only has great songs, but the glam rock mixed with a touch of funk ensures that just about any music lover can get into this release. No, it’s no Transformer or Berlin, but it shouldn’t be compared to those classic releases. Instead, we should consider what an artist is and from my perspective, evolution and experimentation are just as important, if not more so, than giving the fans what they expect. Granted, the album’s high production values would likely be a turn-off for some, but Sally Can’t Dance is, without a doubt, one of Reed’s most underrated releases.

While Reed may have been less than enthusiastic regarding this release, I often appreciate the albums that artists may prefer to disown; think Alice Cooper’s DaDa. That is, thankfully, why music is so subjective and how one interprets the music will differ from person to person and even from the artist’s perspective. As such, if you’ve ignored this release for far too long, because that’s what the cool kids do, give it another chance, on its own, and I’ve no doubt you’ll look at it differently.

Speaking of looking at the album differently, the album artwork is amongst Reed’s greatest; only bested by Transformer. The boldness of the artwork and the use of white space is particularly appealing. Even if you’re a Lou Reed fan who isn’t enamoured with the music contained within, you’d still want a copy of Sally Can’t Dance on vinyl for the larger canvas would make for an exceptional piece of artwork amongst your record collection.

While I’m yet to pick up a physical release of this classic album, I will say that I’m thoroughly pleased with the Hi-Res Lossless Apple Music stream for this is another Apple Digital Master that simply sounds right with an immersive stereo presentation, one that ensures every musical element has room to breathe. Of course, it helps that the album was recorded and mixed with kid gloves. Naturally, without another edition to compare it to, I can’t declare the streamed edition as being the very best this album has ever sounded, but aside from the analogue sound signature of vinyl, that is different (rather than being better), I don’t feel the need to pick up a physical release for the stream fulfils all my musical requirements for this record.

Ride Sally Ride opens the album beautifully with a level of musicality that is poetic, well before Reed’s smooth, yet gritty vocal, enters the mix. Yes, it is different from much of Reed’s broader catalogue of music, but its somewhat laid-back feel is thoroughly enjoyable and sets the tone for the entire album. Ride Sally Ride is also one of my all-time favourite Lou Reed songs for his chosen vocal delivery style works incredibly well.

Animal Language picks up the tempo with a lively, almost vaudevillian, melody, but it's the included animal language that truly sets this tune apart and reminds me fondly of Bob Dylan’s Man Gave Names To All The Animals from Slow Train Coming; another album by a legendary artist that divided the fans. Ultimately, Animal Language is a fun, quirky, tune that is perfectly suited to the album.

Baby Face is a slower, more contemplative, track with a subtle yet lush instrumental bed. The mix is utterly perfect as every element, including Reed’s exceptional vocal, is given room to breathe while never overshadowing any other aspect of the recording.

N.Y. Stars, with its upbeat chugging rhythm and grating guitar riffs, is one of the songs, from the album, that harks back to Reed’s more traditional styles for the musical bed is intertwined, yet slightly off, with Reed’s poetic delivery. It’s a solid tune but is arguably not well-suited for this album.

Kill Your Sons has a sombre, darkly reflective, tone that is ideally suited to Reed. It is one song, however, that makes me glad that I appreciate the human vocal as another instrument in the mix, rather than a storytelling device, for this is one depressing tune; regardless of its context.

Ennui presents a slower tempo and somewhat muted instrumentation that matches the song’s title, creating a feeling of emotional exhaustion and disinterest. Add to that Reed’s weary vocal performance and you’ve got an appealing, yet melancholic, tune. It’s not, however, as depressive as Kill Your Sons is.

Sally Can't Dance is a killer title track set to a funky and danceable rhythm. However, the stark contrast here is that despite the upbeat groove, with its bass-heavy rhythm and infectious hook, the song has a grim narrative. Of course, that was always a core talent for Reed; combining dark humour with catchy songwriting.

Billy closes the album with a slower, more reflective, track full of nostalgic undertones that explores a sense of lost youth, friendships, and missed opportunities with an interesting twist. Yes, I don’t often listen to lyrics for their literal interpretation, but some artists, such as Reed, occasionally demand one’s attention.   

Overall, Sally Can't Dance captures Lou Reed at an intriguing point in his career, straddling mainstream appeal while holding on to the experimental, gritty edge he was known for. Each song on the album reflects Reed’s ability to deliver razor-sharp social commentary, but most importantly Sally Can’t Dance is a remarkable achievement and a standout within Reed’s diverse discography.