This week marks the 25th anniversary of self-proclaimed “Queen of Disco” Sylvester. I remember walking into one of my first San Francisco gay discos back in 1988, and the DJ playing a homage to the late singer, who had just died of AIDS; a few weeks before he made his last public appearance: being pushed in a wheelchair for a Castro Street parade. But, all images of a grisly and painful death were washed away by the mesmerizing beat of “You Make Me Feel.” It all felt somehow comforting and familiar. As a child of the 1970s, I had been raised on disco. The Village People were a singular influence upon my musical tastes and on how I would later perceive homosexuality and the gay lifestyle. In the 80s, I was peculiarly put-off by the advent of hard-rock and metal hair bands. The one saving grace emerged in the disco-redux genre of dance music, early on, headed by: Laura Branigan, Madonna, and Shannon. By the time I came-out, that had morphed into the Euro-Techno craze of the early 90s. Yet, those old disco songs would always come back. It was almost as if the gay community solely willed the mid-90s disco revival into being. Why?
The classic disco songs of the 1970s had an almost religious fervor about them, they seemed to mix throbbing percussion with the melody of Gregorian chant and Southern Gospel – the penultimate examples being: Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love,” Thelma Houston’s “Don’t Leave Me This Way,” and Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” Every one of those singles starts at a low and deliberate pace, eventually building to climactic chorus of exuberant ecstasy. When I got to see Donna Summer in concert, at a primarily gay attended show in San Francisco, it was more like attending a revival meeting than a musical performance. I would have a similar experience at a Diana Ross concert. These sorts of drag-queen divas held court over their gay audiences whipping them into a frenzy rivaling the Dionysian rites of Ancient Greece. At the time, it was the closest thing I came to organized religion.
Years later, after leaving the gay lifestyle and saying goodbye to my friends, I found a little out of the way Catholic Church which still clung to the traditional Gregorian hymns and chants. Mixed with the overwhelming sensation of the liturgical rites and the incense, I felt transported once again. Curiously, my mind traveled back to those heady days of dancing until 2:00 am. I thought of my old cohorts, and I was sorry for them. Here I am, kneeling in a Church, and the Love of God is enveloping me in a way I could never have imagined. I was not popping Ecstasy, slipping into a dark hallway for a quick sexual encounter, or sweating gallons as I pushed my way through a crowded dance-floor. I was in heaven. I thought of how many ways, and how many roads I had stupidly taken, deceived by the world, looking for the solace, that was always waiting for me. Disco was the gay grasp out towards the transcendent. Its ideals were noble, but sadly susceptible to corruption decay.