(Music in the background) Welcome to Rhythms of Progress, where we explore
how music and artists are the unsung heroes of
political movements and social advancement. I'm
your host, Shozzett, a .k .a. Lizzard Silva. With
me is my all -time favorite co -host and engineer,
(Cat purring) (Cat mews) Stoney Boney. Say hello, Stoney Boney. Oh, she's
so cute. Today we are exploring the world of
disco and how this electrifying 1970s genre became
a cultural movement that united marginalized
communities, not only on the dance floor, but
also through fashion. Disco music created a space
for people to express themselves, but it also
became pivotal to the LGBTQIA plus community
and movement. Was it the music? The fashion?
Or was it because disco gave people the courage
to dress up and be playful while fighting oppression
with a really good baseline? To help us explore
this journey, Stoney and I are thrilled to welcome
PhD student from the University of Delaware,
Jeff Illes. Jeff grew up during the disco era
and experienced the movement and social change
in the queer community. Welcome to the show,
Jeff. Hi, thanks for having me. So disco emerged
in the early 1970s. How do you define disco,
and how did it become intertwined with the LGBTQIA
plus community? Wow, what a great question. Thank
you. I think the way that I defined disco music
is that particular beat. And I'm not a musician,
and so I don't know what the technical term is
for that particular number of beats per measure.
But it certainly, most disco music had that particular
same beat. And then there were a variety of tracks
that were overlaid, vocal tracks, instrumentals,
et cetera, that all went on that. But it had
a particular rhythmic quality to it that was
very different from rock or jazz, what we think
of as traditional sort of ballad, sort of soft
music. And so it had that driving beat, sort
of a heartbeat. And that heartbeat really did
become a very big part of what I'll call the
gay community from that time period, because
that was the term that I used the most during
the 70s and 80s as we started to move forward.
Obviously, we added all those other great initials
to represent the full kaleidoscope of the community.
Yeah, the gay community identified very strongly
with disco and disco music because it was a social
music. People got together, as you said, it had
to do with fashion. They dressed up, they wore
particular clothing, but it was really people
getting together in spaces to experience that
beat and music in a social setting. That became
sort of the heart of bars and nightclubs in and
around the gay community and all communities,
really, in the country. You mentioned the beats,
but what about the atmosphere made you feel safe
to express yourself? That social aspect of safety
in numbers. It was in these places, these, you
know. gathering spaces, nightclubs, after -hours
clubs, private clubs. You know, at that time
period, gay people didn't dance with each other
anywhere else. The only place you could sort
of hang out and be with your people was either
in a gay bar or a private club or a gay nightclub.
At that time in my life living here in Delaware,
there were very few spaces where it would have
been socially acceptable or safe. for two men
or two women to dance together on the dance floor,
you know, unless you were at an old -fashioned
wedding and, you know, you were family members
or cousins or something crazy like that. So in
the 1970s, you grew up in Delaware. I was a new
student at the University of Delaware in my first
trip to the university in 1975. So, yeah. Can
you describe a bit of the political climate during
that time? Well, the political climate was not
very accepting. There wasn't a lot of tolerance
of homosexuality in general during that time
period. So everything was very much, you know,
very much on the down low. People led double
lives. They led secret lives. You were one way
most of the time. And when you could go to those
safe places or safe spaces, then you could be
who you really were. And in Delaware itself,
there were not many places like that. Fortunately,
nearby Philadelphia, a much bigger city, which
had a lot of venues where you could either get
together just to hang out with other gay people,
where there was, you know, always... music in
the background, even if they didn't have a dance
floor. And I would say 99 % of the time that
was disco music. But there were also just nightclubs,
private clubs. One of the biggest in Philadelphia
and most popular in, I'd say, in the early or
mid -70s was a club called Equus. But there was
Rainbows. There was a private club called the
DCA. Later, there was a club called the Catacombs.
a much more progressive private club called the
Black Banana, which played many, many forms of
interesting rhythmic music, not necessarily just
that standard hardcore disco song beat that you
think of, but they would have had funk and house
and very early other forms of music that generated
from rhythm. that brought people into association
with one another. Comparing the disco era to
now, do you think there's still oppression for
being who you are? Where do you think we are
politically and musically with all of this? That's
a big question, frankly. So let me try to address
it in a couple of ways. Personally, as a white
cisgender male, who identifies as gay. There
is much more inclusion and tolerance, and the
stigma of being gay and being out is pretty non
-existent. And I think that's the case. Most
people would probably say that's the case. I
don't think, if you asked most gay people. or
people from the queer community across the range
of the alphabet, that everyone would feel that
way. Because there are certainly just as many
efforts to oppress people from across the spectrum
of the queer community today as there were then.
The difference is I think they were much more
institutionalized. in a much broader sense. Those
powers had much more control in local, county,
state, and federal governments than they do today.
There are more protections. There is more tolerance.
There is more visibility. There is more understanding
within families, you know, that there are differences
in orientation. among folks. And so it's not
quite like it was. The hardest part for me as
a person from this community now is to see the
transphobia and to see the push to recriminalize
certain individuals based on them embracing their
authenticity. and trying to live their lives
in authentic ways. And it feels more like what
it felt like then in the 70s and 80s to be in
the fight, to be recognized that you had the
same rights to be who you are as anyone. I feel
like that is the same fight. It's an extension
of it. Frankly, I hope more and more people get
behind the trans rights movement. And if you
ever need help, here are two resources. More
are linked in the episode notes. thetrevorproject
.org is 100 % confidential and free to LGBTQIA
plus young people. And transequality .org where
you can find legal resources. Rhythms of Progress
is not sponsored by these organizations, but
you deserve to know what is available for you.
And seriously, you are not alone. I know it may
feel that way sometimes, but you are not. And
if anyone says otherwise, send them our way.
Stoney wears many hats. She has a PhD in psychology.
But first, they must have a snack. Then the therapy
begins. Speaking of... Being oppressed in the
1970s, there was a disco demolition night, which
is a way of oppressing a community and many communities
in Chicago with radio DJ Steve Dahl. And the
disco demolition happened at Kaminsky Park. You
remember hearing about that and how it might
have made you feel? Absolutely. Frankly, I thought
a lot of it had to do with racism because one
of the, interestingly enough, you know, the music
industry and disco itself, there was just an
amazing number of Black musicians and performers
that were creating that music. Musicians at every
level, producers, singers, writers, you know,
all sorts of folks. The backlash, I feel like,
was in some part caused by the crossovers like
the Bee Gees, KC and the Sunshine Band, and a
couple of other acts that then dominated mainstream
radio. Once that music that was, you know, sort
of the Wonder Bread version of the disco that
my friends and I were dancing to in clubs hit
the airwaves, and that's all you ever heard when
you turned on the radio. the whole Saturday Night
Fever, et cetera, experience. That is when I
think DJs and other, you know, fans of music
were like, get this off my ears, get this off
the airwaves. And it started that sort of backlash.
But I do, whether it was conscious or unconscious
racism, I do believe there was sort of a weird
connection between all that. Yeah, because a
lot of the vinyl records were predominantly of
people of color. So all music has its anthems.
Is there an anthem, a specific song or songs
that really resonate with you from that era that
you say, if I think of the 70s or that time,
this is what I hear? You're making me, I'm having,
you know, like cinematic memory flashbacks. You
know, one of the very first disco songs that
I ever danced to in a public space was a song
by Silver Convention called Fly Robin Fly. a
speakeasy somewhere in Wilmington, sort of one
of these bars that opened up and then sort of
disappeared very quickly afterward. But it was
the first time I ever danced with, like someone
asked me to dance. It was my first like kiss,
I guess my first public display of affection
from the person that asked me to dance. And then
that person asked me out on a date. So, you know,
Fly, Robin, Fly will forever be in my memory.
Another is Evelyn Thomas had a disco hit called
High Energy. And High Energy was a quintessential
big nightclub sort of anthem. When I envision
that, what I see is myself surrounded on a giant
dance floor in the after -hours club called the
DCA in Philadelphia. with the best -looking,
best -built men dancing shirtless in a giant
crowd to this pulsing beat, high energy. that
musical rush that happens through the musicianship
of it, taking me higher, taking, you know, high
energy, taking me higher and higher, and sort
of that pulsing beat where everybody is dancing
in the same moment, all the heartbeats are in
sync. So I have to assume, you know, when we
go to the theater, for example, and you're watching
a play, all your heartbeats and your respiration,
the audience, all... happens to get in sync.
I don't know where these studies are, but I know
they exist. I've heard them talked about. Well,
imagine that with 800 people on the dance floor
and that rhythm pulsing like that when you are
inches apart and having that sort of experience.
So those are two of them that stand out. The
other two big ones, right, you can't not talk
about Donna Summer. And Love to Love You Baby,
which I think probably has as much airplay today
as it ever did when it originally came out. You
know, just an incredible performance. And it's
funny now because it was so controversial. I
think even Donna Summer disavowed it at one point
in her own career because she was simulating
the sounds of lovemaking. Just listen to how
the song is mixed. But, you know, that was unheard
of at that time. you know, incredible breakthrough.
And the other person from that era who really
defines disco for me is Sylvester. And Sylvester,
trans performer who could sing anything and came
from sort of a gospel choir background into music,
San Francisco, and his music, big hits, disco
heat, I think, do you want to funk with me? There's
a bunch of them. The one that stands out most
to me, because San Francisco was always a symbol
for, you know, beyond New York City, sort of
freedom and acceptance and tolerance, was the
song he wrote called Take Me to Heaven. I always
saw San Francisco as a beacon, as a place where
gay people could go and be who they were, who
they are and were 24 -7. You didn't have to live
one life during the day and another at night.
You just were. So I always associate Take Me
to Heaven and San Francisco and Sylvester together
because that's where he performed in clubs. And
it also played on my then Walkman. As I was landing
on my first solo trip to San Francisco, it felt
like a great invitation to come to the city,
which, you know, still holds a really important
place in my heart. For those who don't know,
a Walkman was a small plastic box about the size
of a thick sandwich with buttons that looked
like Legos. And you'd press one of those buttons
and it would open. And you'd pop in a cassette.
Another smaller plastic box about the size of
a deck of cards. And in that special magical
plastic box was a brown ribbon. The ribbon was
as wide as your average shoelace. And in that
magical fantastical ribbon, there was music coded
in it. Remember those clunky buttons that look
like Legos? They used to make me feel like a
spaceship pilot. You'd push one to listen to
music, or rewind or fast forward to relive your
favorite part. And when, not if, but when, that
ribbon got tangled up and decided to... And you'd
fix it with a pencil. That special branch you
found when you realized that nachos are always
a great idea. So a Walkman was a portable music
box, but more importantly, it was a test of character,
but way more dramatic. Oh, moment. Stephanie
just handed me a note, and it says... Enough
with the history lesson, human. It's time for
my dance party. Aww. I'll be right back. Hi.
Do you find yourself yelling about bathrooms
like they're a forbidden portal? Do rainbow flags
make you foam at the mouth? Does someone else's
fashionable expression feel like a personal attack?
Oh my gosh, you're wearing that? No wonder nobody
respects you. Uh, yeah, I just pulled you from
a burning building and I'm actually a U .S. military
sergeant. If you find yourself experiencing these
symptoms, you may be suffering from strategic
fear amplified by religious talk and scapegoating,
also known as SFARTS. SFARTS. a condition triggered
whenever politicians distract you with culture
war soundbites instead of releasing their encyclopedia
of criminal records. Luckily, there's a revolutionary
mouthwash called THER-a- FACTS. THER-a- FACTS, a treatment
that detoxifies your brain from fear -mongering
soundbites. Unlike picketing outside donut shops
over pronouns, THER-a- FACTS. actually helps and has
been shown to increase your quality of life by
not taking yourself so seriously. Side effects
may include realizing that some politicians exploit
the same psychological dynamics of abusive relationships,
like manipulation and gaslighting, shifting blame
and scapegoating to distract you from their crimes,
instilling fear with fun words like factory,
religion, immigrants, and us versus them, love
bombing and threats, like you're the chosen one,
the real Americans, real people, isolating you.
The media and everyone else is lying to you.
Only I tell you the truth. Using the words left
and right like they just discovered directions.
In clinical trials, patients reported whistling
while grocery shopping, drinking more water because
apparently that's a thing. The immense regret
of joining or supporting an ISIS -like group
called ICE that kidnaps U .S. citizens and people
of color while calling it patriotic. Uncontrollable
toe tapping while playing air guitar and belting
I will survive. Using the word fabulous. Setting
boundaries without apologizing first. The epiphany
of using critical thinking skills and realizing
potholes don't get fixed by yelling at drag queens.
Apologizing to grandma for using mustard to write
the word radical on her kitchen table when she
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may also experience accidental washboard abs
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that the use of a toilet is not a national crisis.
No longer shouting radical at squirrels for planting
you a tree. The worst side effect that has been
reported is knowing things will take time to
solve. But it starts with voting with your dollars.
Talk to your doctor today about breaking free
from sparts. Because joy isn't dangerous, but
politicians using trans lives and people of color
as props definitely is. This message is brought
to you by the Society of Grandma's Kitchen Tables.
Reminding you, it knows all your secrets. I didn't
know that Sylvester was a trans performer, so
thank you for that education. I know we looked
at him in our class. Clearly I forgot that very
important part. I think the, you know, it's like
all of that thinking, the descriptions of how
people portrayed. and how they were portrayed
by others. But I think it's, you know, it's pretty
accepted at this point. So being in Delaware,
listening to rock during the day, then finding
your haven in Disco, and then going to San Francisco,
what did that transition feel like while you're
in Medellin and then landing there? Because we
changed our physiology to... you know, based
on certain situations. That's how we stay safe.
What is that like to feel as San Francisco is
a place where you can be yourself? Yeah, I mean,
it's so empowering when you leave a place where
you are a subset of the whole and you suddenly
become the whole. You become the, you know, I
mean, it seems too easy just to say. You're in
the minority and then you become the majority
because there are other things that go along
with those terms that I don't necessarily think
about in this context. But you are. You're sort
of everywhere instead of being some places. Like
you can be here and there. You can be who you
are here but not there. And when you hit San
Francisco, you are who you are regardless of
where you are. It doesn't mean that there aren't
people in San Francisco. who may not feel comfortable.
Or, of course, sure, there are people like that
everywhere. But the social fabric was the opposite,
say, of what it was like here. New York certainly
had incredible community as well. I didn't spend
as much time in New York. New York seemed more
daunting to me personally. But I know that...
People felt that same way, for example, living
in New York during those time periods in certain
areas. I don't know that we could describe all
of New York as the same feel as the way you can
think of all of San Francisco City proper. What
makes one place feel like a haven for you where
the other one doesn't? That's a great question.
Does the music play a part in that? You know,
I don't know that I can really generalize. At
least for you. For me, here's one thing I will
share with you. The only big street parties I've
ever been to in my life have been in San Francisco.
I was in San Francisco one year for New Year's,
which was one of my favorite times of the year
to go there on New Year's Eve. And on Castro
Street, for example. Everyone in every bar, and
there are bars and discos all over that area,
but every restaurant, anything that was open
and wherever people were, the entire population
poured out into the middle of the street and
had a spontaneous dance party at the stroke of
midnight. Drag queens with giant 50 -foot boas
were... unwinding them and stringing it across
the street and blocking traffic. People jumped
out of their cars and started dancing in the
street. And it was disco music they were dancing
to that was pouring out of somebody's boombox.
I've also been, it's the only place city I've
ever been to where they would take a giant, you
know, like 50, I don't know, 25 foot across disco
ball. and hang it from a giant crane in the middle
of an intersection and put Klieg lights on it
and have spontaneous dance parties. A big shout
out to our brave queer ancestors who fought for
our rights. Thank you for doing the challenging
work. Let's honor them by picking out the right
shoes, stretching down the street to a bottomless
brunch and celebrate their fabulousness. Yeah,
so it was... It's a frolic, you know. People
were reveling, even in sometimes their sadness.
They would get out and revel because this was
their town and it was their music. Let's bring
that to Delaware. Wouldn't that be awesome? You
mentioned about reveling, even in their sadness.
Is there a way that disco comforted you in your
sadness? Do you gravitate to it to help you cope
with any? Yes, it's a memory trip. You know,
olfactory senses will take you on a memory trip.
Music is that way also, I know for myself and
a lot of people. If I listen to certain songs,
I am immediately, as I said, transported to a
time and a place. In Ghost Cards, I write the
story of one of my friends, Michael, and Michael...
And I used to go dancing. In fact, all of, you
know, in my life as an out person when I left
Delaware, moved to Philadelphia and lived out
openly. Even though I was out in Delaware, I
was not out to everyone. But once I got to Philadelphia,
I was out everywhere all the time. And we went
dancing at least two nights a week, sometimes
more. But we also, Michael and I, would go to...
dance and he loved a song which drove me crazy
at the time by Laura Branigan. Gloria, again,
gets a lot of airplay today. And, you know, whenever
I hear that song now, I'm transported to how
many times, whether I liked the song or didn't,
we were on a dance floor together dancing. Wow.
Either in San Francisco, New York. I know we
were in New York at least once. Dragged me onto
the dance floor. Fort Lauderdale, Philadelphia,
somewhere in New Jersey, at least, I'm sure.
You know. So it was that kind of thing. It was
also kind of a glue. You know, when a song was
hot, you could go from one city to another and
become instantly part of your community. That
energy sort of connected everybody. We don't
often think about the communities that it builds,
how it makes us feel less alone or seen. And
music is just incredibly powerful. It is a glue.
But do you still hear disco in some of the songs
that, you know, modern, do you hear the influence?
Absolutely. Well, I mean, the sampling that goes
on from, you know, one musician to another, I
mean, the rhythm, you know, the bass guitar in
Oogie Oogie Oogie, it's in at least a dozen other
songs that I can think of. just pieces of that
that came out because one of the producers from
that time period, Niall Rogers, who worked on
some of the biggest, you know, disco, if you
want to call it, or dance hits, worked with David
Bowie, worked with him on his Let's Dance album,
for example, worked with tons of other artists.
So the influence of that time period. Giorgio
Moroder, who, you know, worked with Donna Summer.
Now, was Giorgio a producer? Who was Giorgio?
Giorgio Moroder, I may actually also have a writing
credit on Love to Love You, Baby. He may have
written the music for her. And I don't know to
what extent Donna Summer wrote music or if she
was involved in it, you know, collaboratively.
But Giorgio Moroder, I believe, produced and
played on, you know, a number of those. Certainly
wonderful to discover new names. Do you see any
takeaways from disco that still resonate? Yeah,
I'm trying to love, lust, sort of that primal
rhythm, that beat, when, you know, all of your
senses are firing and you're in proximity, you're
in community. Yeah, I mean, I think all of that
is still very much with us. EDM went from, you
know, trance music. All of that, I think, stemmed
out of that. Disco was led by black, Latinx,
and queer artists. Gender and identity fluidity
were celebrated. It put women at the center of
the music scene. It shifted music tech and dance
culture. It challenged racism and homophobia.
It taught America to dance together. Not only
America, but... The world. Disco. Do you think
it will always resonate with the queer community?
Yeah, I think so. I think so because, but I think
that the fun part, because people like to dance.
What cracks me up is that there are political
campaigns, for example, that are using the village
people and using their music because it's become
such a... woven into the fabric of our culture,
and they have no idea where and why this music
existed and what is behind it. And some of those
same people want to deny the people who created
it and that first listened to it their rights
and their existence. So it's really kind of funny
to me that it's transcended its own sort of niche.
How many weddings don't have somebody playing
that at some point? I find it really amusing
when I see what used to be a symbol of a particular
group of people at a particular time in history
suddenly being just part of something that seems
completely anathema to it. Well, thank you, Jeff.
Is there anything else that you would like to
add to this? Thank you so much for asking me
to talk with you about music, but disco music
especially. It's been the soundtrack to a big
part of my life. Disco will live on. In fact,
some of your favorite songs and defining moments
in music are straight from disco. Here is Steve
Grohl talking to Pharrell Williams about it.
The Nirvana record. I pulled so much stuff from
the Gap Band and Cameo and Tony Thompson on every
one of those songs. All that. That's old disco.
That's all it is. Can I not hear that? Nobody
makes the connection. That's straight up Gap
Band. I told Tony Thompson that I came to my
house for a barbecue with somebody. And I was
like, man, I just want to thank you because,
you know, I owe so much. I've been ripping you
off my whole life. He goes, I know. Whoa. Thank
you for hanging out with us. And of course, Stoney
and I are celebrating all the artists from the
disco era by knocking this glass of water into
a plant. Do it, Stoney. Yeah. Ooh, there's also
glitter. Fun. We're going to have a dance party
with our plants. Until next time, go check out
some music. Have a dance party in whatever way
is accessible to you. This episode was produced,
mixed, and recorded by Shozzett Silva. Transition
music, parody commercial, and soundtrack was
by them as well. And remember, Honor Your Rhythm.