Before the haters tried to dim all the lights on disco, it was the sound of a global phenomenon. It was the sound of ’70s gay liberation, women’s liberation, and Black liberation, and that might be why, according to the astutely observant PBS docuseries Disco: Soundtrack of a Revolution, some people couldn’t take it.
However, at least one person interviewed in this three-part series argues that rock fans simply hated disco as a matter of musical taste, irrespective of any socio-political undertones. And anybody alive and conscious at the height of disco fever in 1979 reasonably could have just reached their limit.
As the series, produced and directed by Louise Lockwood and Shianne Brown, chronicles in briskly-paced fashion, the music genre arose out of New York’s underground party scene to quickly take over the country’s radio airwaves, sales charts, movies, TV, and fashion.
By the time disco achieved worldwide cultural saturation, and the novelty records started to roll in — from “Disco Duck,” to the Grammy-nominated Sesame Street disco album, featuring tracks like “Disco Frog” and “Me Lost Me Cookie at the Disco” — the backlash had galvanized into a fervent Disco Sucks movement.
On July 12, 1979, Disco Sucks had its day at Chicago’s Comiskey Park, where the feature presentation for the White Sox-Tigers doubleheader was a massive disco demolition derby held between games. The Disco Sucks demolition notoriously devolved from a mean-spirited album-burning into a flaming riot that resulted in the cancelation of the day’s second game.
The footage is still shocking, a sharp contrast to the scenes of peace, love, and inclusion set to a scintillating beat inside David Mancuso’s seminal underground dance spot The Loft, or DJ Larry Levan’s cathedral of house music, Paradise Garage.
Thorough and informative, but not exhaustive, Soundtrack of a Revolution pinpoints milestone figures and moments in the genre’s evolution from soul and R&B offshoot to four-on-the-floor phenomenon, to gasping its supposed last breaths. But disco didn’t die. The sound survived oversaturation, corporatization, and Disco Sucks.
Disco lived on, as the series concludes, in New Wave and house, in gay club DJs Levan and Frankie Knuckles, then rave and EDM. “House music is disco’s revenge,” declares feminist scholar Francesca T. Royster.
The filmmakers assemble a knowledgeable, engaging roster of interviewees — music experts, genre originators, DJs, producers, and all-time disco divas like Gloria Gaynor and Thelma Houston — relaying insight about subjects both expected and obscure.
Loaded with songs and clips, the series, of course, covers the ostentatious glamour of Studio 54, and the cultural phenomenon of Saturday Night Fever, the reign of Disco Queen, Donna Summer. But it finds true gold uncovering under-exposed history, like singer Candi Staton explaining how her upbeat hit “Young Hearts Run Free” was inspired by the night she had to flee a jealous husband who almost threw her off a balcony in Vegas.
Vicki Wickham, Pattie LaBelle and Sarah Dash in 1975 – Photo: PBS
Drummer Earl Young — the Philly-based music pioneer credited with inventing the disco style of drumming on the 1973 Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes R&B hit “The Love I Lost” — breaks down how he constructed the beat. And DJ Nicky Siano shows how he first looped the break in MFSB’s “Love Is the Message” to originate a dance floor classic that, to be sure, someone, somewhere is voguing to right now.
Because love was, and is, the message. Disco arose out of marginalized people wanting space to be themselves together, and dance in that freedom.
The series honors their story with a fair and focused reconstruction of the past, and a well-curated representation of the nu-disco generation grooving to Scissor Sisters, Dua Lipa, and Beyoncé’s Renaissance. If you ever cared about disco, or just want to relive hating it the first time, Soundtrack of a Revolution should ring your bell.
Disco: Soundtrack of a Revolution (★★★★☆), episode one, airs June 18 on PBS, episode two on June 25, and episode three on July 2.
All three episodes are available to stream on June 1 on PBS.org and the PBS app. Visit www.pbs.org.
"You've gotta be ready to be noticed if you're wearing Bob Mackie." Ain't that the truth, spoken by one who'd know, Vicki Lawrence, in the revealing new documentary about the legendary costume and fashion designer, Bob Mackie: Naked Illusion.
Directed by Matthew Miele (Always at the Carlyle), the film, available to rent or purchase on Prime, thrives on fabulous clips and sketches of Mackie's decades-long parade of iconic creations for the likes of Cher, Diana Ross, Elton John, Tina Turner, Barbra Streisand, Mitzi Gaynor, Bette Midler, and Beyoncé, supported by candid interviews with performers and muses who have worn his sequined, beaded, and embroidered designs.
Putting the v-a-i-n in vanity project, writer-director Steve Balderson's Sex Love Venice might set records for solipsism in a queer indie protagonist, a category with an epic list of contenders.
But the film's hero Michael (David Bateman), lovelorn in L.A., takes the cake among gay movie leads whose entire world is presented as a series of interactions centered solely around him and his search for romance.
To friends Liza (Suzanna Akins) and Dave (Zaramok Bachok), Michael expresses his frustration with his life of casual hookups, revealed in flash-cuts to frank nude scenes, usually depicting a lack of enjoyment in one party or the other.
At what point does a concept become a movie? I don't mean in the literal sense -- "when it has a director and a cast and a production budget" -- but on a more abstract, mysterious level.
Anyone can come up with a neat movie pitch: What if a shark attacked people in a resort town? What if a kid could see dead people? But there's an ineffable quality that a filmmaker must summon to make a concept actually pop on the screen, with characters and visuals and ideas working in tandem to transport the viewer somewhere else.
This question occurred to me while watching Love Me, which resembles a cute concept in search of a movie. Imaginative and tedious in equal measure, the sci-fi romance unfolds over a span of billions of years yet feels puzzlingly small -- like a 20-minute short stretched to fill a 92-minute runtime.
These are challenging times for news organizations. And yet it’s crucial we stay active and provide vital resources and information to both our local readers and the world. So won’t you please take a moment and consider supporting Metro Weekly with a membership? For as little as $5 a month, you can help ensure Metro Weekly magazine and MetroWeekly.com remain free, viable resources as we provide the best, most diverse, culturally-resonant LGBTQ coverage in both the D.C. region and around the world. Memberships come with exclusive perks and discounts, your own personal digital delivery of each week’s magazine (and an archive), access to our Member's Lounge when it launches this fall, and exclusive members-only items like Metro Weekly Membership Mugs and Tote Bags! Check out all our membership levels here and please join us today!
You must be logged in to post a comment.