VA - Disco Sessions - Celebrating A Legendary Era In Music [2CD Set] (2003)

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VA - Disco Sessions - Celebrating A Legendary Era In Music [2CD Set] (2003)

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DISCO SESSIONS features 2 CD’s of classics from the genre. Unlike the majority of Disco compilations it also features a number of lesser known classics from the same period which helped shape the sound of the scene, together with early 80’s club floorfillers that continued to fly the flag long after Disco had become a by-word for naff stateside. The overall result is two very danceable CD’s that should help soundtrack any party you care to throw.
Distilling an entire genre, style, era, or even scene down to one representative compilation is almost always an impossible duty. The people who put together these Sessions discs, through the U.K.-based Union Square, know this. These people also realize that what they're doing has been done hundreds – if not thousands – of times over, but most of the discs that came before have failed in providing something more than just another quick cash-in. Like all of the other volumes in the Sessions series, Disco Sessions takes up two discs, alternating well-known favorites with less-recognized underground singles. The inclusions are often provided in their 12" mixes, as they were meant to be enjoyed; most disco compilations cram as many single edits onto one disc as possible, figuring that the sheer number of tracks will be the key selling point. The Bee Gees, Gloria Gaynor, Chic, and KC & the Sunshine Band are not featured. Instead, there's Pam Todd & Love Exchange ("Let's Get Together"), Vaughan Mason & Crew ("Roller Skate"), New Jersey Connection ("Love Don't Come Easy"), and AM-FM ("You Are the One") – groups whose songs continue to be spun by keen disco/house DJs. Al Green, Heatwave, MFSB, the Fatback Band, and the Whispers represent the instantly recognizable sect of contributors, making the set more attractive for those who aren't necessarily looking to pick this up to fill tiny gaps in their disco collection. Another benefit is that Sessions doesn't view disco as a style with a strict beginning and end; in their eyes, it's more of a continuum.
It’s late summer 1984 and the time to leave the family home is fast approaching. There are still a few days and nights left, enough to say some goodbyes and then I’m headed for London. In the course of the farewell’s my old friend Dave hands me a cassette, “thought this might see you right until you find your feet” he murmurs and I’m grateful. Excitement reigns supreme but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little anxious. There’s stuff on the tape I know and love, The O’Jays epic “Put Our Heads Together”, Glenn Jones’ “I Am Somebody” and J. Blackfoot’s “That’s The Way Of The City”. But most are new to me. C.L. Blast, Bobby Story and L. J. Reynolds, some recent Womack and a few nuggets from a couple of years back that passed me by. No surprise there because when you get caught up in a scene like I had it’s easy to miss out. Being a mod and keen on dancing I’d kept a handle on developments in soul music but the preceding two years had seen my obsession with 60’s and Northern Soul, not to mention clothes, soak up most of my meager income. Dave wasn’t that worried about clothes. Like his elder brother he just dug music. New music especially as long as it was soulful, danceable or better still both. A few years before he’d even got me writing about it for a short lived fanzine entitled Rat Rappin’. But all that seemed a distant memory now.

My first night in London and I’d bailed out of the local bar pretty quickly, convinced it was full of wasters and retreated to my room. In time my opinion would change but ultimately those first impressions were lasting ones. The reality was simple, I knew no one in London and no one knew me but for the moment, as I sat alone contemplating the seemingly not so bright future it was Dave’s cassette, which kept the homesickness at bay. The tracks I knew brought back a smile, even the odd dance, whilst most I didn’t recognise had me reaching for the inlay card. Some were impassioned ballads, others pleas for an end to social inequalities. Some were just out and out glorious dance records. But they all shared two things in common. Their overall sound owed a huge debt to disco and without exception all boasted a whole lot of soul. Imagine the best from a Robbie Vincent, Greg Edward’s or Peter Young radio show from the time and you’d be part of the way there. Add a Friday evening or two at a local ‘soul’ night like the one at Pantiles on the A40 or a hundred others across the country and your getting close. By 1984 disco might have long been a byword for naff in America but the dancing on this fair isle had continued pretty much unabated, which given events across the water at the end of the previous decade was pretty remarkable.

It was July 12th 1979 when between games at Chicago’s Comiskey Park DJ Steve Dahl’s personal anti disco crusade came to its explosive head. His campaign had been fermenting for sometime and that afternoon as a mass of ostensibly male football fans joined him in a chant of ‘Disco sucks!’ it would come to fruition. As the noise from the crowd grew, Dahl already center stage, set light a huge box of disco records soaked in fuel. But the drunken riot that ensued not only spelt the end for the football that day because of a trashed pitch but also brought the curtain down on disco stateside. Emanating from almost every corner of America the vicious tide of hate Dahl’s call provoked was staggering. Not least because a mere two years earlier John Travolta and co. had been quite literally the toast of the town. The film Saturday Night Fever had packed cinemas throughout the US and Europe whilst the accompanying soundtrack simultaneously topped record charts. So what happened?

In reality disco had actually been the architect of its own destruction some years earlier when nightclubs like Studio 54 began opening and their existence would help explain America’s response Dahl’s call. Not unlike the British establishment’s vilifying of punk during 1976 and ‘77, America’s reaction to disco in 1979 owed a great deal to simply being scared. Like punk rock, which initially looked like threatening the very political and social foundations of Britain with its anti-social behaviour and anarchist agenda, disco by virtue of its broad appeal similarly threatened both the social and political fabric of middle America, albeit for very different reasons.

As a genre which clearly had its roots in 60’s soul music and 70’s funk,
disco was, at the start at least, essentially a black music phenomena.
Socially its roots came from the ideals of freedom and equality but equally significant was disco’s foundations in the gay rights movement of the late 60’s and specifically the Stonewall riots of 1969.

The Stonewall Inn, New York attracted a racially mixed crowd of black,
Puerto Rican and white gay men at a time when racial tensions and segregation was still very much a part of everyday American life. These men happily ignored the venue’s poor facilities because with the help of a few ‘back handers’ to the local police, the Stonewall was the only place in the city they could dance together. The jukebox boasted Motown and soul ballads and when a police raid was likely a white light would flash signalling that the dancing should stop and ‘legal’ gay bar behaviour should commence i.e. just talking and drinking. But that summer an unannounced police raid sparked a series of high profile demonstrations which set the ball in motion for more tolerant laws not just in New York but other major US cities. Within a year David Mancuso had launched his much celebrated Loft parties and in doing so provided a template for new gay dance clubs including the Flamingo, Infinity and Le Jardin. Musically the selection on offer at these nights mixed up pretty much anything that was danceable and uplifting: James Brown classics would rub shoulders with Rufus & Chaka Khan, Motown and the latest, spiritually uplifting epics from the Philadelphia International label; MFSB, Archie Bell & The Drells, The O’Jays, The Jones Girls. Indeed just as Motown had lead the way for much of the 60’s, Philadelphia International would road map much of the 70’s inspiring artists both black and white. With Kenny Gamble, Leon Huff and Tom Bell at the helm the label released a series of masterpieces that reflected their beliefs in community, equality and love. Socially relevant yet non-confrontational lyrics were one regular trademark, swirling strings another. Musically more polished than funk, the effect was often akin to being knocked out for the count by a silk-gloved opponent. It was all rather a long way from the ostensibly rock obsessed, white American mainstream despite Philadelphia International’s desire to appeal to all, regardless of their colour.

Here in the UK there were both similarities and great differences with the
US scene. Britain had by virtue of its’ Mod culture embraced most forms of black music and in particular soul since the early 60’s. All night Mod clubs, where dances changed almost weekly to fit with the latest US import records had helped characterise ‘Swinging London’ but they had all but disappeared from the capital with the on-slaught of Psychedelia . More significantly, by the time the decade came to a close, what was left of the UK soul scene was geographically split. Broadly speaking, the south of England tended to support the new developments in American black music, i.e. funk, and the smoother ‘Philly’ soul disco sounds, but in the north a preoccupation with the faster older beat as characterised by much of Motown’s mid-60’s output had manifested itself in the form of the Northern Soul night. For a while some DJ’s on that scene, most notably Ian Lavine did champion new records as well as obscure oldies, but ultimately they gave way to those specialising purely in uptempo oldies perfect for the scenes particularly athletic dancers. It left everyone else to get on with it so UK soul clubs in general, like their American counterparts, tended to reflect all the new developments in American dance music. A typical set list from 1974 might have included some James Brown funk and related Godfather productions, a healthy selection of Philly International releases, some Barry White and Love Unlimited material, Earth Wind & Fire, The Commodores and a heap of minor releases on independent labels by lesser-known acts.

Back in the states as the term disco started to take hold another characteristic emerged as a slew of female stars began appearing. It would eventually lead to the coining of the phrase ‘disco diva’. Gloria Gaynor, Chaka Khan, Donna Summer, Linda Clifford to name but four all made empowering records that celebrated feminine independence, challenged male counterparts to measure up. Which made the goings on at Manhattan’s Studio 54 all the more disappointing. Females were often only granted entrance after giving staff sexual favours. Celebrities were encouraged through the clubs doors whilst real fans and dancers were often left outside. Indeed it shamelessly promoted exclusivity and once inside anything went. Unparalleled hedonistic behaviour was encouraged whilst drug use - mainly cocaine and quaaludes took place on a grand scale. On one level it promoted total freedom but it was only for a very select few. In doing this Studio 54 and clubs like it betrayed the very music that had given rise to its existence. The communal ideals that had so informed much of Philadelphia International’s output couldn’t have been more removed from such clubs. Ironically Chic whose debut single Dance, Dance, Dance and Everybody’s Dancing singles had become anthems for the club proved to be one of the best examples of just how far down the dumper the scene had gone. When the group’s creative forces, Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edward’s arrived for a Grace Jones hosted party at Studio 54 they were kept outside for no apparent reason. After a few hours they gave up and decamped, somewhat ruffled to Rogers’ nearby apartment and began jamming with guitar and bass and shouting obscenities, “fuck Studio 54”, “fuck those scum bags”, “fuck ‘em”, “fuck off”. Having let off sufficient steam they realised that the track they’d been jamming on whilst cursing the club was pretty good and by the morning the basis for their massive hit Le Freak was in the bag.

Studio 54 closed in December 1978 after an IRS raid secured a copy of the Club’s ‘real books’ and a reputed million dollars, hidden behind false walls and within the club’s ceiling. Some attempted to continue in the same vein but Steve Dahl put paid to that less than a year later. That the American authorities pulled the plugs on Studio 54 was without a doubt a Godsend. But that America chose to rubbish disco so completely for so long was more sinister and a signal of what to expect from the Reagan administration. It’s reasonable to suggest that they were scared by disco because at its best, it challenged the very heart of America. It said yes to racially and sexually mixed dance floors. It celebrated the empowerment of women. It allowed gay men and women to be open about their preferences like never before. It was inclusive, communally orientated and didn’t adhere to the same mental, physical and creative boundaries many in America had attempted to enforce for so long. Under Reagan a great many freedoms and tolerances would be removed but whilst disco slipped from the radar, musicians and dancers took their passions under ground and the seeds of House music would soon be sown.

Back in the UK the dancing continued. For a short while the reduced number of disco records made it necessary for DJ’s to dip back in time for some long forgotten soulful cut or funky seven but appropriately that was how it had all begun. And it’s why Disco Sessions mixes up classics from the genres height with earlier and later tunes that could never be described as strictly ‘disco’ records but did fill dance floors before, during and after middle America said enough was enough.