Do you also have dreams of being a disco god? Walzing into some glittery club, decked in paisley and gold from head to toe, chest hair drawing in an inferno of sex stares from every lady in the place, as champagne corks hit the ceiling. Your killer handlebar stache is only rivalled by the flowy dream of hair that sits up top, and your musk resembles what you think a bear would smell like after running through the woods for three hours and then rolling in pine needles. There’s something deeply organic and masculine about the disco alpha male, something that was lost decades ago, only to be replaced by gym bros and late-night sleazeballs. The disco man had no need to invest unhealthy amounts of time and money into his muscles or work on his “game,” he had his clothing and his stache and most of all, his un-paralleled dance moves to pride himself on. He could simply walk into a room, and everyone knew pure sex had arrived. Now, clubs are filled with dudes in tight v-necks, nursing a vodka soda, and scouting the dance floor like vultures, waiting for that quality woman to notice their incredible idling skills.
I once had dreams of being a disco god, but could never pull off the attire without getting laughed at and wedgied by my two older cousins Frank and Lynne and my great grandmother Franklin. Growing up on a buffalo farm meant work came first, then drinking, then eating, then watching television in silence, then speeding down dusty roads in a pickup, then everything else. There was no time or place for disco in my youth, but I always had this fantasy of myself spinning Donna Summer and David Bowie records at some club in LA, wearing big sunglasses and hitting the crowd with coloured lazers as some waitress showered me in gold dust. Unfortunately the days for this dream to become a reality have since passed, but I still feel the disco fire that burns deep within my soul when I hear Young Americans. What happened to disco? It got out-muscled. The masculinity of the disco god was too much for boozed-out rockers and tough guys to handle. They were intimidated by such a display of virility, and out of fear of being crushed, they drove disco to the ground.
But you’ve heard Daft Punk, and you’ve heard Fonkynson, and now you’re about to hear Todd Terje, so case in point that disco is not dead. A very select army of European producers, mainly French, have found delight in the disco sounds of the 70’s and have done wonders to bring it back. Norwegian producer Todd Terje has been cranking out spacey disco tunes for roughly a decade, and every single one has gone straight to dance-floor-champion status. Hooking dangerously addictive synth riffs over crisp momentous beats, his latest dance tune, Delorean Dynamite is almost too good. With drippy arpeggios, massive swooshes and just the right amount of reverb, this song is one of the most powerful disco tunes I have heard of late. With his debut album It’s Album Time on the way, Todd Terje has given us a sneak peak into his beautifully mastered world, that is sure to change the electro disco game in an instant.
And then there was that time he teamed up with Bryan Ferry and released this stunningly aching track, full of emotion and spacey guitar. A complete departure from his usually up-beat disco tunes, this cover of Robert Palmer’s Johnny and Mary, will show you that Bryan Ferry is still at the top of his vocal game, amongst other things.
Ron Johhnson 