<\/p>\n

It was 79 degrees outside when local DJ Steve Dahl set fire to a crate of disco records in a publicity stunt so hot, it scorched music history. Disco Demolition Night happened in Chicago on July 12, 1979. But in many ways, the event doesn\u2019t feel too distant. <\/span><\/p>\n

Blowing up records was supposed to boost ticket sales for White Sox games. Higher-ups at Comiskey Park were looking for ideas to get butts in seats, and rock-radio personality Dahl pitched this: If patrons sacrificed a disco album at the door, they could get in for 98 cents (about $3.50 in today’s money). On a good night, the ball park could attract 15,000 to 20,000 people. That evening, Dahl attracted almost 50,000 individuals \u2014 all eager to see a genre created by and for women, queer people, and people of color go up in flames.<\/span><\/p>\n

Even now, talking to progressive people of that generation, I\u2019ll hear that disco was music of the elites. I have to understand, they insist, that disco was about an urbane cosmopolitanism, and that\u2019s really <\/i>what Disco Demolition Night was rebelling against. Disco was driven by electronic sounds, not \u201creal\u201d instruments, and it\u2019s vapid plasticity was embodied by Studio 54: beautiful celebrities, expensive clothing, and a bacchanalian excess that was alienating to \u201cordinary\u201d people. <\/span><\/p>\n

Never mind that Chic\u2019s \u201c<\/span>Le Freak<\/span><\/a>\u201d<\/span> \u2014 which ranked number three on Billboard\u2019s top singles of 1979 \u2014 is an ironic celebration of the nightclub; its refrain comes from being told to \u201cfuck off\u201d (which became \u201cfreak off,\u201d then “freak out”<\/a>) by Studio 54\u2019s doorman. Sometimes even the \u201celites\u201d didn\u2019t fit into their own scene, and that element of exclusivity was part of the charm. In that sense, \u201cLe Freak\u201d proves the ultimate expression of disco as a space where anger and joy coexist, especially for those at the margins. That sentiment is rooted in the genre\u2019s anti-fascist beginnings.<\/span><\/p>\n

As Peter Shapiro describes in his book Turn the Beat Around<\/em>, the music can be traced back to a small French club called La Discoth\u00e9que that operated during German occupation. Even though Hitler considered it beneath \u201cgood\u201d citizens, he did little to slow France\u2019s famous nightlife, believing it would keep Parisians too distracted to resist German control. While popular clubs like the Moulin Rouge adapted to cater to Nazi officers, holes-in-the-wall such as La Discoth\u00e9que used cultural contraband like jazz music to identify themselves as safe spaces for plotting against the Third Reich.<\/span><\/p>\n

Under Nazi rule, large public assemblies and dancing were forbidden. This made underground clubs (which were often, literally, in basements) necessary sites for political organizing \u2014 but also for laughter and fun. When WWII ended, La Discoth\u00e9que and similar spots endured because they continued presenting an escape from the repressive forces of daily life. Europe was taking strict austerity measures, and radio broadcasts were treated as public services that disseminated news and cultural ideals of music. To hit a place like La Discoth\u00e9que meant experiencing moments of revelry and soundtracks not prescribed by the state.<\/span><\/p>\n

In the post-war years, La Discoth\u00e9que\u2019s club model \u2014 screening clientele, foregoing live bands for curated selections of recorded music, and offering something out of the ordinary, even bordering on decadent \u2014 trickled across Europe and was eventually adapted in major cities across the United States. In 1970, a gay man named David Mancuso who\u2019d been hosting record-playing parties since the mid-60s began hosting invite-only events in his apartment. Part of his goal was to provide a community for gay men to dance and socialize without fear of police violence \u2014 what the Stonewall riots had responded to a year before. Crowds flocked to hear his state-of-the-art audio equipment flood the space with rhythmic, soulful music, often with Afro-Latinx roots. Eventually, his apartment was christened The Loft.<\/span><\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

As audio engineer Alex Rosner recalled in Bill Brewster\u2019s Last Night a DJ Saved My Life<\/em>, \u201c[The Loft] was probably about sixty percent Black and seventy percent gay…There was a mix of sexual orientation, races, [and] economic groups. A real mix, where the common denominator was music.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Mancuso helped DJs pool music for hosting dance parties, and the sound and vibe of his parties spread across New York, getting appropriated by private parties as much as dance clubs. It\u2019s worth noting that, during this time, New York City was not unlike much of Europe after WWII. Infrastructure was weak, crime was high, and the city was verging on bankruptcy. American culture was also nursing a cultural hangover from ’60s idealism. Hip hop and punk are often referenced as disparate responses to shared conditions, but disco should also be seen as a reaction to systemic failures. Who bore the brunt of New York\u2019s social problems? Queer, Black, and Brown communities. Some of them just danced their troubles away.<\/span><\/p>\n

This is what\u2019s coded into disco music. Listen to some of its most popular tracks: \u201cI Will Survive\u201d<\/span><\/a> is about Gloria Gaynor finding joy and strength<\/span><\/a> despite her most challenging moments<\/span>, and it became a rallying cry for AIDs activists. Legendary gay group Village People wrote “<\/span>YMCA<\/span><\/a>“<\/span> to celebrate the organization<\/a> for providing affordable, temporary, single occupancy rooms to <\/span>people experiencing homelessness<\/span>. The subtext was, if you\u2019re gay and on the streets, don’t despair: It\u2019s fun<\/em> to stay at the YMCA. Amii Stewart\u2019s album Knock on Wood<\/i> and the video supporting its title track<\/span> are stunning examples of Afrofuturism. Though a cover, Stewart\u2019s version of \u201cKnock on Wood\u201d is the best known one, and it survives as a gay anthem. <\/span><\/p>\n