July 19, 2025 • 20 mins
Paula Abdul choreographed for Janet Jackson, redefined the Laker Girls, sold over 60 million records, and paid tribute to Gene Kelly with a Grammy-winning video that made animation dance.
But behind all the fame was something deeper:
She was born three months premature with hip dysplasia and a crushed windpipe — dance seemed out of the question.
Instead, she cleaned studio floors for lessons. Studied MGM musicals like scripture. And before she ever picked up a mic, she had already reshaped pop culture.
In this episode, discover the full-circle moments — dancing in Gene Kelly’s living room, transforming Janet’s “Control” era, and creating a movement language that fused club, stage, and screen.
Check out my Return to Dance docuseries!
Support my Instagram — where I post daily dance inspo, insights and fun! @backtogreat
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
She combined the musicality and storytelling of MGM musicals and the rawness of the
(00:07):
clubs to build a new language for dance in modern pop culture.
Hey dance fan, welcome to my weekly series The Rest of the Story on my podcast Hey Dance
Sir.
If you're obsessed with the legends who made and continue to make dance iconic, make
sure you're subscribed or following wherever you're watching or listening.
(00:28):
And if you take a moment to like, share and or comment, that would mean a lot to me.
Let's get these inspiring dance stories on everyone's feed.
Now today's episode is about someone whose name you've probably heard a million times.
And yeah, dance is usually part of the conversation, but today it gets the spotlight it's always
(00:51):
deserved.
Okay, let's get into it.
She was born in June 1962, three months premature, barely 2.8 pounds, with a broken windpipe
and hip display that twisted her legs inward.
She wore leg braces as a toddler, fainted often.
Dance wasn't just unlikely, it seemed nearly impossible, but then came the moment.
(01:15):
She was four years old, singing in the rain was playing on the TV.
And in her pebbles, flinstones, pajamas, she was immediately taken.
She walked up to the TV, slowly, mesmerized.
She then pointed at Jean Kelly and said, "That's my daddy."
Now her real father smiled and corrected her, "I'm your dad," he said, "but he can be
(01:40):
your TV dad."
From that moment on, Jean Kelly wasn't just her favorite, he was the blueprint.
She didn't play with Barbie dolls or stuffed animals like the other girls.
While her friends were hanging out and playing games on the weekends, she was glued to the
television, studying musicals.
MGM was her film school, Jean, Fred Astaire, Bob Fossy, Shirley McLean, Judy Garland.
(02:05):
Those were her idols.
And she wasn't just watching them, she was learning, breaking down steps, absorbing rhythm,
dreaming of doing it herself.
Not just being famous, being on stage, dancing, singing, performing, an entertainer like them.
Her mother was a recognized concert pianist in Canada, who later worked in Hollywood as
(02:27):
Billy Wilder's assistant.
Warned her constantly, showbiz was unstable.
Entertainers are a dime a dozen, but this little girl didn't care.
In her heart, body and soul, she was already committed.
They lived in the middle unit of a modest three-unit condo building in North Hollywood, California.
Just her, her parents and her older sister Wendy.
(02:50):
Her background was a rich blend.
Jewish on both sides with Russian and French roots from her Canadian-born mother, and Syrian
and Brazilian ancestry from her father, who happened to be a cattleman who worked for area
feed lots.
And though she never quite looked like anyone else, that would later become part of her magic.
(03:11):
By seven, her parents divorced head shaken her world.
She craved something steady, something to channel the chaos.
While her friends took ballet classes, she sat on the sidelines, watching, absorbing, aching
to join.
At home, she gripped the kitchen sink like a ballet bar, practicing what she'd seen.
(03:31):
One day, at the studio, a teacher noticed her feet moving in rhythm and asked why she
wasn't in class.
The young girl didn't hesitate.
She didn't complain.
She made an offer.
What if I clean the mirrors, the floors, the bathrooms?
Could I earn my lessons?
The teacher said yes.
And within months, her natural ability and work ethic pushed her into the advanced class,
(03:55):
but it came with a sting.
One teacher called her short and squatty.
She ran to the bathroom in tears, but something clicked.
She wasn't going to let her body or anyone's opinion of it define her limits.
From that moment on, she decided nothing would stop her from doing what she loved.
Later, by the way, she found out the teacher actually hadn't finished the sentence.
(04:20):
If she'd stayed in the room, she would have heard the sort of backhanded compliment.
She has short, squatty legs and arms, but she executes better than all of you with your
long, graceful arms and legs.
Around that same time, she began training with Dean Barlow, a tap master and early father
(04:40):
figure.
He didn't just teach her rhythm.
He taught her work ethic, musicality, respect for the art form.
They drilled technique until it was muscle memory.
And years later, when she had the platform to pay it forward, she would.
By middle school, she earned a scholarship to the idle wild school of music and the arts.
(05:01):
A prestigious summer program near Palm Springs, California.
Mornings were ballet.
Afternoons brought jazz, and in master classes with Bella Lewitsky, a visionary choreographer
known for fusing technical rigor with radical expression, this girl learned how to push past
steps and into storytelling.
She was intense, immersive and serious.
(05:24):
She loved every minute.
Around this time, she began training at Joe Tremaine's Los Angeles Studio, where she earned
a scholarship spot by working behind the scenes.
His style was fast, sharp and performance first.
He helped shape her into a dancer who didn't just hit counts, but hit with presence.
(05:44):
Mr. Tremaine became like a big brother to her.
And by 14, she was already performing.
She landed a lead in junior high school, a musical short film where she danced and sang her
way through lockers, hallways and teen drama.
It wasn't just another gig, it was proof.
She wasn't just dreaming, she was doing.
(06:06):
Van Ayes High School was a whirlwind, class president, head cheerleader, first chair flutist,
even with fainting spells from a weakened windpipe.
On paper, she was thriving, but under the surface, she was pushing through limits.
Physical, emotional and otherwise, with the only strategy she knew, work harder than anyone
(06:26):
else.
By 17, she was in her first year at Cal State Northridge, studying broadcasting and dance,
and working as an instructor at a cheerleading camp.
It was there that a few fellow instructors told her they were heading to audition for the
Laker Girls.
She laughed it off, no way she'd fit in.
(06:47):
Two short, two dark, two different from the tall, blonde ideal, but they kept pushing and
finally, she gave in.
She showed up at the forum in Englewood for the Open Call, number 742, with a bag full of
costume changes.
Although she noticed no one else had a bag, she didn't come to play.
(07:08):
First try?
Cut before she even danced, so she ran to the bathroom and got ready for her second try.
She tied her hair back, changed outfits and re-entered under a new name.
This time, she danced, but still got cut.
Her friends were out too.
They told her they were heading home.
She asked them to wait for her.
(07:29):
She still had one more change of clothes.
They took off and left her behind.
So she ducked into the bathroom one last time, slipped into a red and white chevron striped
Jane fondle guitar, blue leg warmers, hair half up.
A new look?
A new name.
And this time, everything clicked.
She danced, she hit hard, she turned heads.
(07:51):
Out of thousands of women, only 12 were chosen.
She was one of them.
Within four months, the team's head choreographer left and she was promoted.
Barely 18 and she's the one in charge.
And she didn't just coach a few sidelines.
She changed the entire look of the Laker Girls.
(08:12):
Gone were the pom-pom heavy, high kick routines.
In came, layered formations, intricate footwork, syncopated hits, storytelling attitude, a blend
of jazz technique, club energy and musicality ripped straight from the golden age of movie
musicals, but made for a sports arena.
She raised the bar and the industry noticed.
(08:35):
Then came her first film break, private school.
She choreographed the aerobic scene and appeared uncredited as a cheerleader.
For someone barely 20, landing a choreography credit on a Hollywood film was no small feat,
clear proof that her drive, discipline and instinct for movement were already years
(08:56):
ahead of their time.
Then she got the call.
The Jackson's had seen her choreography at a Laker's game and wanted to know who was behind
it.
While they were asking her to choreograph their newest music video, she was stunned to say
the least.
The song was torture off their victory album.
(09:16):
She had no agent, no resume really, just raw instinct and a movement style that turned
heads.
She said yes, packed her bags and flew to New York.
The shoot was a circus, special effects, wax dummies, Michael Jackson not even on set,
but her choreography stood out.
Her music style, she made the dancers look good.
(09:40):
She knew how to work fast, saw problems and deliver and that one job changed everything.
Because of torture, she landed a second call.
This time, the victory tour.
She was no longer just choreographing on instinct.
She was choreographing for the biggest pop family in the world.
Then the snowball rolled.
(10:01):
A&M records came calling.
They wanted her to shape the look and feel of someone they thought had promised.
Janet Jackson.
And not just another album, but the control era.
Control wasn't just Janet's third album, it was her breakthrough.
Until then, she'd had chart appearances, but no major hits and no real identity as a solo
(10:24):
artist.
Our girl didn't just land the job, she helped sculpt Janet's entire public persona.
She worked with Janet to develop movement that personified the album's message, independence,
fierceness, unapologetic self-expression.
In a little old apartment she was sharing with some Laker girls, she choreographed Nasty
(10:46):
in about 30 minutes.
With no floor length mirror, she choreographed it in the bathroom and relied entirely on
musical instinct to shape Janet's signature swagger.
Then came the iconic "When I Think of You" video.
It was a technical marvel, nearly shot in one continuous take with dozens of dancers,
(11:08):
moving set pieces and seamless transitions.
She co-choreographed it with MGM legend Michael Kid, one of her childhood idols.
She later called it an honor to work with someone who "understood" what we were trying
to do."
Together, they fused old Hollywood craft with a new pop language.
(11:28):
The impact was immediate.
MTV spotlighted Janet's choreography.
Nasty won the 1987 Video Music Award for Best Choreography and she was sure to mention
all the dancers names in her acceptance speech.
She had the foresight to bring club moves like the East Coast snake into the world of music
(11:49):
videos, but she didn't stop there.
She layered those street elements with precision, storytelling and musicality, and suddenly
fans weren't just watching, they were learning.
These routines hit clubs, classrooms, living rooms.
They became cultural shorthand, but it wasn't just about steps.
This was narrative dance.
(12:11):
She gave Janet power in motion, turning her into more than the Jackson's youngest.
She turned her into a role model, a queen, a voice, a movement artist whose routines propelled
her into mainstream stardom, and after control, this choreographer's phone did not stop ringing.
She was being interviewed on television shows solely due to her work as Janet's choreographer.
(12:35):
This sort of recognition for a choreographer is simply unheard of and just illustrates the
cultural impact her work was having.
She was suddenly the name behind the most exciting movement in music videos, and artists across
genres wanted a piece of that magic.
She choreographed for ZZ-Top, Durand Durand, Inaccess, Aretha Franklin, The Pointer Sisters
(13:00):
and Luther Vandros.
George Michael brought her on to choreograph his Faith World Tour, a massive 100 plus date
production that spanned continents, artists like George Michael loved her because she understood
how to craft steps around what they could do naturally and then build off of that.
She was still in her early 20s, but she moved like someone with decades under her belt.
(13:26):
Directors called Label's Listened and She Delivered on tight schedules on first drafts on instinct.
In film, she started racking up credits.
She choreographed the cheerleader sequence in Can't Buy Me Love that quirky offbeat party
routine everyone tried to imitate at school dances then came coming to America.
(13:47):
She was hired to choreograph the film's opening wedding procession, a scene that set the
tone for the entire movie.
The ask?
Create something that felt African inspired but still cinematic, stylized and syncopated.
This was pre-youtube, pre-internet altogether so she hit the libraries, pulled reference
(14:09):
materials and sketched motifs by hand.
Director John Landis was skeptical at first until he saw the final result.
What she delivered was bold, rhythmic and layered.
Hardcore, she later called it "intensive rehearsals non-stop movement" but the payoff was unforgettable.
(14:29):
And to this day it's one of the pieces she's most proud of.
She worked on the Tracy Olman show, a critically acclaimed sketch comedy series that helped launch
The Simpsons and defined late 80s TV comedy.
Her job, choreographed fast paced character-driven numbers with pinpoint comedic timing.
It wasn't just dance, it was storytelling through movement and it earned her an Emmy.
(14:53):
She was already one of the most in-demand choreographers in the business but then came the
pivot no one saw coming.
She didn't just choreograph stars, she became one and she brought dance with her.
Her debut album, Forever Your Girl, dropped in 1988 and made history.
(15:13):
For number one singles, again from a debut album, no woman had ever done that.
But what also made it revolutionary, she built a pop career around choreography.
Her videos weren't accessories, they were the main event.
In straight up, she flashed her tap roots, opening with an acapella rhythm sequence that
(15:35):
showed off her timing and athleticism.
(15:56):
Not in black and white, a visual concept she came up with herself, it set a bold new tone.
Suddenly dance wasn't just a backdrop, it was the hook.
Then came Cold-hearted, a darker stage, a tighter lens, her fussy homage, gritty sensual
all angles and intention.
Inspired by, take off with us, from all that jazz, but not a replica, she pulled from it
(16:21):
yes, but she also pushed, made it sharper, pop forward, entirely her own.
It was a statement, she wasn't borrowing from the greats, she was in conversation with
them.
And in opposite attract, she made that conversation literal.
She danced with MC SCATCAT, an animated sidekick inspired by Jean Kelly's groundbreaking
(16:42):
duet with Jerry The Mouse in Anchor's Away.
It looked playful, but behind it, serious reverence.
She sent the video to Kelly.
Three days later, he called, invited her over for tea, they talked choreography, craft, storytelling
through movement.
Soon after, Diet Coke came calling, with a concept even more surreal, digitally pairing
(17:07):
her with Jean Kelly in a recreated version of Anchor's Away.
They took the original scene where Kelly danced with Frank Sinatra and replaced Sinatra
with her.
She wasn't just referencing history this time, she was stepping into it.
Kelly gave her his blessing, and more than that, he gave direction.
(17:28):
She rehearsed in his living room, with Jean Kelly personally shaping her steps.
They stayed close.
In the last years of his life, they met weekly, mentor and mentee, full circle.
Opposence in Tract wasn't just a clever gimmick, it won a Grammy for best music video, beating
out icons like Madonna and Phil Collins, and it reminded the world.
(17:52):
She didn't just dance alongside legends, she earned her place among them, selling over
60 million records on that debut album.
And even after she became a pop icon, she kept choreographing.
Her work helped shape crucial moments in some of the most critically acclaimed movies of all
time.
(18:12):
She was a real slow-motion cheer in American beauty, a visual metaphor for obsession, and
that iconic end-zone celebration in Jerry McGuire, giving Cuba-gooding juniors big moment
it swagger.
She won an Emmy for her American Music Awards opener, seven minutes of nonstop choreography
on a moving platform still hailed as one of the greatest dance intros ever staged.
(18:37):
She shared that win with her longtime mentor, Dean Barlow.
The tap teacher who trained her as a child, she brought him in on the job, a full circle
moment decades in the making.
In the dance world, her name was never just a credit.
It was a badge, a signal you've worked and trained with the best.
(18:57):
She never stopped, that teenager hustling for gigs never left.
She became a pop star, yes, but also one of the original judges on American Idol and
later appeared on So You Think You Can Dance, mentoring dancers with the same fire she once
had.
She still touring into her 60s, still hitting the stage, still pushing.
(19:18):
The industry dance awards recently announced an award named after her, given to women reshaping
the field just like she did.
She might be most famous for the chart-topping hits, the reality show judging, the animated
cat, the Grammy, but the real legacy, it's in the movement.
But in the quarry, copied in clubs on playgrounds in bedrooms by pop stars and students around
(19:44):
the world, moves that didn't just follow the trends, they set them.
And still do.
Her name, Paula Abdul.
And now you know the rest of the story.
(upbeat music)
(upbeat music)
(upbeat music)
(20:06):
(upbeat music)
[music fades out]
She combined the musicality and storytelling of MGM musicals and the rawness of the
(00:07):
clubs to build a new language for dance in modern pop culture.
Hey dance fan, welcome to my weekly series The Rest of the Story on my podcast Hey Dance
Sir.
If you're obsessed with the legends who made and continue to make dance iconic, make
sure you're subscribed or following wherever you're watching or listening.
(00:28):
And if you take a moment to like, share and or comment, that would mean a lot to me.
Let's get these inspiring dance stories on everyone's feed.
Now today's episode is about someone whose name you've probably heard a million times.
And yeah, dance is usually part of the conversation, but today it gets the spotlight it's always
(00:51):
deserved.
Okay, let's get into it.
She was born in June 1962, three months premature, barely 2.8 pounds, with a broken windpipe
and hip display that twisted her legs inward.
She wore leg braces as a toddler, fainted often.
Dance wasn't just unlikely, it seemed nearly impossible, but then came the moment.
(01:15):
She was four years old, singing in the rain was playing on the TV.
And in her pebbles, flinstones, pajamas, she was immediately taken.
She walked up to the TV, slowly, mesmerized.
She then pointed at Jean Kelly and said, "That's my daddy."
Now her real father smiled and corrected her, "I'm your dad," he said, "but he can be
(01:40):
your TV dad."
From that moment on, Jean Kelly wasn't just her favorite, he was the blueprint.
She didn't play with Barbie dolls or stuffed animals like the other girls.
While her friends were hanging out and playing games on the weekends, she was glued to the
television, studying musicals.
MGM was her film school, Jean, Fred Astaire, Bob Fossy, Shirley McLean, Judy Garland.
(02:05):
Those were her idols.
And she wasn't just watching them, she was learning, breaking down steps, absorbing rhythm,
dreaming of doing it herself.
Not just being famous, being on stage, dancing, singing, performing, an entertainer like them.
Her mother was a recognized concert pianist in Canada, who later worked in Hollywood as
(02:27):
Billy Wilder's assistant.
Warned her constantly, showbiz was unstable.
Entertainers are a dime a dozen, but this little girl didn't care.
In her heart, body and soul, she was already committed.
They lived in the middle unit of a modest three-unit condo building in North Hollywood, California.
Just her, her parents and her older sister Wendy.
(02:50):
Her background was a rich blend.
Jewish on both sides with Russian and French roots from her Canadian-born mother, and Syrian
and Brazilian ancestry from her father, who happened to be a cattleman who worked for area
feed lots.
And though she never quite looked like anyone else, that would later become part of her magic.
(03:11):
By seven, her parents divorced head shaken her world.
She craved something steady, something to channel the chaos.
While her friends took ballet classes, she sat on the sidelines, watching, absorbing, aching
to join.
At home, she gripped the kitchen sink like a ballet bar, practicing what she'd seen.
(03:31):
One day, at the studio, a teacher noticed her feet moving in rhythm and asked why she
wasn't in class.
The young girl didn't hesitate.
She didn't complain.
She made an offer.
What if I clean the mirrors, the floors, the bathrooms?
Could I earn my lessons?
The teacher said yes.
And within months, her natural ability and work ethic pushed her into the advanced class,
(03:55):
but it came with a sting.
One teacher called her short and squatty.
She ran to the bathroom in tears, but something clicked.
She wasn't going to let her body or anyone's opinion of it define her limits.
From that moment on, she decided nothing would stop her from doing what she loved.
Later, by the way, she found out the teacher actually hadn't finished the sentence.
(04:20):
If she'd stayed in the room, she would have heard the sort of backhanded compliment.
She has short, squatty legs and arms, but she executes better than all of you with your
long, graceful arms and legs.
Around that same time, she began training with Dean Barlow, a tap master and early father
(04:40):
figure.
He didn't just teach her rhythm.
He taught her work ethic, musicality, respect for the art form.
They drilled technique until it was muscle memory.
And years later, when she had the platform to pay it forward, she would.
By middle school, she earned a scholarship to the idle wild school of music and the arts.
(05:01):
A prestigious summer program near Palm Springs, California.
Mornings were ballet.
Afternoons brought jazz, and in master classes with Bella Lewitsky, a visionary choreographer
known for fusing technical rigor with radical expression, this girl learned how to push past
steps and into storytelling.
She was intense, immersive and serious.
(05:24):
She loved every minute.
Around this time, she began training at Joe Tremaine's Los Angeles Studio, where she earned
a scholarship spot by working behind the scenes.
His style was fast, sharp and performance first.
He helped shape her into a dancer who didn't just hit counts, but hit with presence.
(05:44):
Mr. Tremaine became like a big brother to her.
And by 14, she was already performing.
She landed a lead in junior high school, a musical short film where she danced and sang her
way through lockers, hallways and teen drama.
It wasn't just another gig, it was proof.
She wasn't just dreaming, she was doing.
(06:06):
Van Ayes High School was a whirlwind, class president, head cheerleader, first chair flutist,
even with fainting spells from a weakened windpipe.
On paper, she was thriving, but under the surface, she was pushing through limits.
Physical, emotional and otherwise, with the only strategy she knew, work harder than anyone
(06:26):
else.
By 17, she was in her first year at Cal State Northridge, studying broadcasting and dance,
and working as an instructor at a cheerleading camp.
It was there that a few fellow instructors told her they were heading to audition for the
Laker Girls.
She laughed it off, no way she'd fit in.
(06:47):
Two short, two dark, two different from the tall, blonde ideal, but they kept pushing and
finally, she gave in.
She showed up at the forum in Englewood for the Open Call, number 742, with a bag full of
costume changes.
Although she noticed no one else had a bag, she didn't come to play.
(07:08):
First try?
Cut before she even danced, so she ran to the bathroom and got ready for her second try.
She tied her hair back, changed outfits and re-entered under a new name.
This time, she danced, but still got cut.
Her friends were out too.
They told her they were heading home.
She asked them to wait for her.
(07:29):
She still had one more change of clothes.
They took off and left her behind.
So she ducked into the bathroom one last time, slipped into a red and white chevron striped
Jane fondle guitar, blue leg warmers, hair half up.
A new look?
A new name.
And this time, everything clicked.
She danced, she hit hard, she turned heads.
(07:51):
Out of thousands of women, only 12 were chosen.
She was one of them.
Within four months, the team's head choreographer left and she was promoted.
Barely 18 and she's the one in charge.
And she didn't just coach a few sidelines.
She changed the entire look of the Laker Girls.
(08:12):
Gone were the pom-pom heavy, high kick routines.
In came, layered formations, intricate footwork, syncopated hits, storytelling attitude, a blend
of jazz technique, club energy and musicality ripped straight from the golden age of movie
musicals, but made for a sports arena.
She raised the bar and the industry noticed.
(08:35):
Then came her first film break, private school.
She choreographed the aerobic scene and appeared uncredited as a cheerleader.
For someone barely 20, landing a choreography credit on a Hollywood film was no small feat,
clear proof that her drive, discipline and instinct for movement were already years
(08:56):
ahead of their time.
Then she got the call.
The Jackson's had seen her choreography at a Laker's game and wanted to know who was behind
it.
While they were asking her to choreograph their newest music video, she was stunned to say
the least.
The song was torture off their victory album.
(09:16):
She had no agent, no resume really, just raw instinct and a movement style that turned
heads.
She said yes, packed her bags and flew to New York.
The shoot was a circus, special effects, wax dummies, Michael Jackson not even on set,
but her choreography stood out.
Her music style, she made the dancers look good.
(09:40):
She knew how to work fast, saw problems and deliver and that one job changed everything.
Because of torture, she landed a second call.
This time, the victory tour.
She was no longer just choreographing on instinct.
She was choreographing for the biggest pop family in the world.
Then the snowball rolled.
(10:01):
A&M records came calling.
They wanted her to shape the look and feel of someone they thought had promised.
Janet Jackson.
And not just another album, but the control era.
Control wasn't just Janet's third album, it was her breakthrough.
Until then, she'd had chart appearances, but no major hits and no real identity as a solo
(10:24):
artist.
Our girl didn't just land the job, she helped sculpt Janet's entire public persona.
She worked with Janet to develop movement that personified the album's message, independence,
fierceness, unapologetic self-expression.
In a little old apartment she was sharing with some Laker girls, she choreographed Nasty
(10:46):
in about 30 minutes.
With no floor length mirror, she choreographed it in the bathroom and relied entirely on
musical instinct to shape Janet's signature swagger.
Then came the iconic "When I Think of You" video.
It was a technical marvel, nearly shot in one continuous take with dozens of dancers,
(11:08):
moving set pieces and seamless transitions.
She co-choreographed it with MGM legend Michael Kid, one of her childhood idols.
She later called it an honor to work with someone who "understood" what we were trying
to do."
Together, they fused old Hollywood craft with a new pop language.
(11:28):
The impact was immediate.
MTV spotlighted Janet's choreography.
Nasty won the 1987 Video Music Award for Best Choreography and she was sure to mention
all the dancers names in her acceptance speech.
She had the foresight to bring club moves like the East Coast snake into the world of music
(11:49):
videos, but she didn't stop there.
She layered those street elements with precision, storytelling and musicality, and suddenly
fans weren't just watching, they were learning.
These routines hit clubs, classrooms, living rooms.
They became cultural shorthand, but it wasn't just about steps.
This was narrative dance.
(12:11):
She gave Janet power in motion, turning her into more than the Jackson's youngest.
She turned her into a role model, a queen, a voice, a movement artist whose routines propelled
her into mainstream stardom, and after control, this choreographer's phone did not stop ringing.
She was being interviewed on television shows solely due to her work as Janet's choreographer.
(12:35):
This sort of recognition for a choreographer is simply unheard of and just illustrates the
cultural impact her work was having.
She was suddenly the name behind the most exciting movement in music videos, and artists across
genres wanted a piece of that magic.
She choreographed for ZZ-Top, Durand Durand, Inaccess, Aretha Franklin, The Pointer Sisters
(13:00):
and Luther Vandros.
George Michael brought her on to choreograph his Faith World Tour, a massive 100 plus date
production that spanned continents, artists like George Michael loved her because she understood
how to craft steps around what they could do naturally and then build off of that.
She was still in her early 20s, but she moved like someone with decades under her belt.
(13:26):
Directors called Label's Listened and She Delivered on tight schedules on first drafts on instinct.
In film, she started racking up credits.
She choreographed the cheerleader sequence in Can't Buy Me Love that quirky offbeat party
routine everyone tried to imitate at school dances then came coming to America.
(13:47):
She was hired to choreograph the film's opening wedding procession, a scene that set the
tone for the entire movie.
The ask?
Create something that felt African inspired but still cinematic, stylized and syncopated.
This was pre-youtube, pre-internet altogether so she hit the libraries, pulled reference
(14:09):
materials and sketched motifs by hand.
Director John Landis was skeptical at first until he saw the final result.
What she delivered was bold, rhythmic and layered.
Hardcore, she later called it "intensive rehearsals non-stop movement" but the payoff was unforgettable.
(14:29):
And to this day it's one of the pieces she's most proud of.
She worked on the Tracy Olman show, a critically acclaimed sketch comedy series that helped launch
The Simpsons and defined late 80s TV comedy.
Her job, choreographed fast paced character-driven numbers with pinpoint comedic timing.
It wasn't just dance, it was storytelling through movement and it earned her an Emmy.
(14:53):
She was already one of the most in-demand choreographers in the business but then came the
pivot no one saw coming.
She didn't just choreograph stars, she became one and she brought dance with her.
Her debut album, Forever Your Girl, dropped in 1988 and made history.
(15:13):
For number one singles, again from a debut album, no woman had ever done that.
But what also made it revolutionary, she built a pop career around choreography.
Her videos weren't accessories, they were the main event.
In straight up, she flashed her tap roots, opening with an acapella rhythm sequence that
(15:35):
showed off her timing and athleticism.
(15:56):
Not in black and white, a visual concept she came up with herself, it set a bold new tone.
Suddenly dance wasn't just a backdrop, it was the hook.
Then came Cold-hearted, a darker stage, a tighter lens, her fussy homage, gritty sensual
all angles and intention.
Inspired by, take off with us, from all that jazz, but not a replica, she pulled from it
(16:21):
yes, but she also pushed, made it sharper, pop forward, entirely her own.
It was a statement, she wasn't borrowing from the greats, she was in conversation with
them.
And in opposite attract, she made that conversation literal.
She danced with MC SCATCAT, an animated sidekick inspired by Jean Kelly's groundbreaking
(16:42):
duet with Jerry The Mouse in Anchor's Away.
It looked playful, but behind it, serious reverence.
She sent the video to Kelly.
Three days later, he called, invited her over for tea, they talked choreography, craft, storytelling
through movement.
Soon after, Diet Coke came calling, with a concept even more surreal, digitally pairing
(17:07):
her with Jean Kelly in a recreated version of Anchor's Away.
They took the original scene where Kelly danced with Frank Sinatra and replaced Sinatra
with her.
She wasn't just referencing history this time, she was stepping into it.
Kelly gave her his blessing, and more than that, he gave direction.
(17:28):
She rehearsed in his living room, with Jean Kelly personally shaping her steps.
They stayed close.
In the last years of his life, they met weekly, mentor and mentee, full circle.
Opposence in Tract wasn't just a clever gimmick, it won a Grammy for best music video, beating
out icons like Madonna and Phil Collins, and it reminded the world.
(17:52):
She didn't just dance alongside legends, she earned her place among them, selling over
60 million records on that debut album.
And even after she became a pop icon, she kept choreographing.
Her work helped shape crucial moments in some of the most critically acclaimed movies of all
time.
(18:12):
She was a real slow-motion cheer in American beauty, a visual metaphor for obsession, and
that iconic end-zone celebration in Jerry McGuire, giving Cuba-gooding juniors big moment
it swagger.
She won an Emmy for her American Music Awards opener, seven minutes of nonstop choreography
on a moving platform still hailed as one of the greatest dance intros ever staged.
(18:37):
She shared that win with her longtime mentor, Dean Barlow.
The tap teacher who trained her as a child, she brought him in on the job, a full circle
moment decades in the making.
In the dance world, her name was never just a credit.
It was a badge, a signal you've worked and trained with the best.
(18:57):
She never stopped, that teenager hustling for gigs never left.
She became a pop star, yes, but also one of the original judges on American Idol and
later appeared on So You Think You Can Dance, mentoring dancers with the same fire she once
had.
She still touring into her 60s, still hitting the stage, still pushing.
(19:18):
The industry dance awards recently announced an award named after her, given to women reshaping
the field just like she did.
She might be most famous for the chart-topping hits, the reality show judging, the animated
cat, the Grammy, but the real legacy, it's in the movement.
But in the quarry, copied in clubs on playgrounds in bedrooms by pop stars and students around
(19:44):
the world, moves that didn't just follow the trends, they set them.
And still do.
Her name, Paula Abdul.
And now you know the rest of the story.
(upbeat music)
(upbeat music)
(upbeat music)
(20:06):
(upbeat music)
[music fades out]
Popular Podcasts
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
Dateline NBC
Current and classic episodes, featuring compelling true-crime mysteries, powerful documentaries and in-depth investigations. Follow now to get the latest episodes of Dateline NBC completely free, or subscribe to Dateline Premium for ad-free listening and exclusive bonus content: DatelinePremium.com
CrimeLess: Hillbilly Heist
It’s 1996 in rural North Carolina, and an oddball crew makes history when they pull off America’s third largest cash heist. But it’s all downhill from there. Join host Johnny Knoxville as he unspools a wild and woolly tale about a group of regular ‘ol folks who risked it all for a chance at a better life. CrimeLess: Hillbilly Heist answers the question: what would you do with 17.3 million dollars? The answer includes diamond rings, mansions, velvet Elvis paintings, plus a run for the border, murder-for-hire-plots, and FBI busts.