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Playing favourites: Vince Aletti
His recent book The Disco Files collecting his weekly columns at Record World is an invaluable piece of music history. RA plays some classics to one of the first disco journalists, Vince Aletti.
Dance music is almost impossible to keep up with. That's one reason that you might be reading these words. Books, magazines, websites, blogs: They're all invaluable ways of learning more about the music that we love. Back before you could find forms of music journalism just about everywhere you looked, though, there were only a few places that realized the worth in cataloguing, describing and debating the massive amount of tracks that were being released. And, as any bitter dance music fan will tell you, most of those words are being written about rock & roll.
The prescient Vince Aletti realized this in the late '60s, and decided that he could carve out a comfortable niche covering R&B. As the decade turned over, and the music progressed, Aletti soon became infatuated with the strands of R&B that favored the R and found himself at clubs in New York dancing to what soon became termed disco. Reporting on the genre in a 1973 article for Rolling Stone—in what many claim is the first feature ever written about disco—Aletti documented the importance of DJs in breaking records to underground audiences months before they hit radio, taking the then-hit "Soul Makossa" as a prime example.
As disco continued its ascent, Aletti went on to write a weekly column for Record World called The Disco Files, which—along with Tom Moulton's column for Billboard—were essential reading for any disco obsessive wondering about what records were hitting and what records were bombing in New York clubs. Recently, the good folks at DJHistory.com convinced Aletti to collect the more than four years of columns, as well as other Aletti-penned work, into The Disco Files. Along with Tim Lawrence's Love Saves the Day and Bill Brewster and Fank Broughton's Last Night a DJ Saved My Life, it is one of the most important written documents that we currently have of the time period.
That's why we caught up with Aletti in his New York apartment earlier this month to chat about the book, some of his favorite records and why he often left clubs at 4 AM—just as the night was getting going.
RA and DJHistory.com are pleased to team up to offer £2 off for all RA readers when you buy The Disco Files direct from DJHistory.com before the end of July. Just type "RA" into the coupon box in the checkout to claim the discount.
Arthur Russell
"Let's Go Swimming" (Walter Gibbons Mix)
Let's Go Swimming, 1986
This is the Walter Gibbons' mix of Arthur Russell's "Let's Go Swimming." There's been a lot of attention paid to Russell over the past few years. Did you know him very well?
Not really. "Is It All Over My Face?" is the Arthur Russell record that made an impact on me and is the one that I heard constantly. Larry Levan was playing it all the time, and that was where I was going. It became such a weird underground record and it was really welcome at the time it came out. Well, at least by me. Things had just gotten so big and so polished, so it was great to have a record which was just insane and felt so homemade.
Did it feel completely at odds with everything that was coming out?
Not entirely, but generally yes. Certainly with the hits. What I loved about Larry and the places that I was going was that they would play oddball records that would be unlikely to get onto some radio chart, but totally changed the texture of the evening. There were other things that would have this effect. I'm just trying to think of what else. "Dirty Money." They were just oddball records around that same period. It was the kind of thing I loved at the beginning of disco. They were strange little records that DJs took up and would play for their crowd and probably not get much further, and that was just fine.
Did you meet Arthur?
I met him briefly. I have very few memories at all from this period—except for some high points. It's been interesting for me to re-read some of my columns. I haven't read many of them since I wrote them.
Really?
Yeah, why would you? I did one every week, and would move on.
Are you rediscovering records that you completely forgot about?
To some degree, but often I am reading about things and thinking, "I have no memory of this record at all." Some things come vividly back to me, but others don't at all. What's interesting to me often is to see how enthusiastic I got about a record which never went anywhere. I was glad in the end that the Arthur Russell record could have been something like that, but that it also had a bigger life and there was a career behind it. I'm only really hearing a lot of Arthur's music now because of all the reissues that have been done. A lot of those early things that hadn't been released at the time...
The Strikers
"Body Music" (Larry Levan and François K Remix)
Body Music, 1981
This is a remix of The Strikers' "Body Music" by Larry Levan and François K. You were talking about Larry earlier. When did you first meet him?
I am very bad on dates. I remember hearing about Larry before I met him and probably speaking to him on the phone before I met him as well. He had quite a reputation by the time I heard about him. He was friends with David Mancuso who was my friend at the time and the DJ I was spending most time with. So I think I met him first, very causally, through Mancuso and then more likely when he opened the Paradise Garage and I started hanging out in the booth. I don't think I saw him very much outside of that situation.
I remember reading that you would often go before the night really got going, so you would be able to spend quality time with the DJs.
I liked going at the beginning of the night, partly because I really like the music DJs are playing at that time—the warm-up. Mancuso had a really beautiful way of building to something at the beginning of the night. It was always really leftfield stuff, jazzy things that they would probably not play later on in the evening but were nice to set the mood. Often, it was a time they could test records for themselves when there were like five people in the room. It was also a time that I could bring something that I was curious to hear, and they might put it on to see what it sounded like on their system.
I really like being there at the beginning and watching the floor fill up and watching that whole thing get started. By the time that I left, it would be packed and there would be no more room to dance. I'd be exhausted, and it would be 3:30 or 4:00 AM, and all of my other friends would be arriving at that point. They were on the circuit. Most of the people I was really close in that scene were promotion people. So it was their job to go from one club to the next.
So they would go from club to club bringing records to the DJs. Would they always end up at the Garage?
It was a popular place to end up because in that period it was hot. They had one of the largest booths, so there was lots of space for people just to hang out. It was big, it was comfortable and it was reliably fun.
Sylvester
"You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)"
Dance (Disco Heat), 1978
Sylvester. It's a classic now obviously. When you first heard it, did you immediately think that it would be?
No, but I already had some history with Sylvester. He started out with this group called The Cockettes. I had seen them in New York, their first performance in city. A friend had photographed the whole troupe. Their visit to New York was kind of an event.
Why was that?
There was a lot of attention. Although maybe it was just the people I knew that were interested in them, and because of their gender-fuck reputation. Their performance here was kind of momentous, because it was particularly bad. I think a lot of the New York drag queens were only too glad to seem them fail.
They were from the West Coast.
They were from San Francisco and, in fact, they didn't fail. They were just not what anyone expected. They were just really rag-tag. It was kind of fun, but it was not really well done and they couldn't sing...
It was very playful and people were hyped up for something more polished. The only thing that impressed was Sylvester because he could really sing. He was amazing. I don't remember what he sang; I think it was cover version of something. But he was, for me, the height of the evening because he was the only one who could really carry off a performance.
Before he had "Mighty Real" and the disco records, he put out a really good R&B/gospely record and it was great. I was writing about R&B at that time, so I was very interested in him and in that eccentric voice he had. And, of course, the fact that he was cross-dressing. Not obviously at that point—because he was trying to crossover and make more of a pop record—but he was clearly not the usual black performer.
It was huge when it came out, but again it was the sort of thing which could have just stayed a club record because it was so eccentric. The fact that it went further than that was really exciting and, in terms of the gay liberation quality of it, exciting for anyone who was gay to see it get out there and make some kind of statement. I saw him perform at the Garage a number of times. He really enjoyed being on stage.
Cloud One
"Disco Juice"
Disco Juice, 1977
This is a Patrick Adams production.
Patrick Adams, right. Patrick Adams, Bohannon. Those were the things like Arthur Russell, leftfield R&B things, very New York, not particularly pop but very eccentric that I really loved and found myself being one of the supporters of the column because I liked those kind of odd-ball records Patrick Adams is always coming up with. Some of them were more crossover than others. Bohanan was one of those figures from that period that I think needs to be looked at again.
Bohannon and Patrick were reliably strange. They had a sound which was an offshoot of R&B, but not really typical disco at all. I would love to hear that again. I wish someone would put out a best of Bohannon. Maybe there already is one? He was kind of playing off MFSB and the symphonic thing, but it was much more weird.
Obviously it was very easy for you to get records from Warner or other big record labels. But for smaller independents—like I assume Bohannon was recording for. Were you able to easily find those?
At that point, I was writing for Record World. They were like piling records up for me and I didn't need to ask for anything. I had never been in such a good position in terms of getting records before. I had been writing for about five or six years about R&B at Rolling Stone and a number of other smaller music publications. So I did get a tremendous number of records from the big labels and could call up and ask for anything I wanted. But once I was writing for Record World, I didn't need to ask for anything except when I heard about something before they were ready to send it out.
Bohannon was on Dakar. It was a small New York label, but they had their promotional people too. They knew they had something interesting and that it was aimed at this disco market—whatever that was at that point. I was a huge fan. He had a sound that was totally his own and that nobody was copying, and was not copied from anybody. I liked that kind of eccentricity and I thought was really important to support.
"I was more likely to quote a DJ
because they were the people
I was writing the column for."
Did you ever meet him or talk to him?
I don't think so.
In reading the book, I saw that there were a lot of reviews, but very few interviews.
It wasn't what I thought the column should be about. I think it was probably my way of keeping all these things separate. I was more likely to quote a DJ than I was a performer because I thought they were the people I was writing the column for—and they were key to what was going on. I think there may have been cases that I interviewed people and did profiles elsewhere, but not at Record World. I thought the column should be dedicated strictly to the records, and to the clubs. I wasn't particularly interested in meeting the producers except when they were thrust upon me. Not all of them had interesting things to say about what they were doing.
I've often found they are the last person you want to talk to about the records they make.
Words are not their medium, and so I don't expect that. That's fine. "Go ahead and make another record."
"That's what you do best."
Loleatta Holloway
"We're Getting Stronger"
Hit and Run, 1977
Speaking of songs with a message, this is Loleatta Holloway's "Getting Stronger." It was on the mix that Nicky Siano put out a number of years ago on Soul Jazz. Did you go out to the Gallery much?
No, I was there just a few times. It was happening at the same time as Mancuso's loft parties and that was where I was going during that period. The Gallery was a little wilder and younger, and I was loyal to David. I know I went once or twice, but I didn't know people there in the same way and couldn't count on just being able to walk in the door. So I didn't hear Nicky playing that often.
But Loleatta. I think she has one of the great voices, period. Certainly one of the great disco singers. It just seemed wrong she didn't become bigger. It had to do with many factors, but the fact she was not a cute, thin girl didn't help her. She was working with Dan Hartman at one point and I liked the material he did with her. It was one of the careers that I thought should have been a lot bigger—and was huge in the clubs—but didn't quite translate.
There are hundreds and hundreds of those stories it seems.
Yeah, it's true, but I think she was one of the bigger talents. Maybe it was because she was branded with the disco tag and just didn't go further.
Were there a lot of people in your experience that got branded that way and were unable to shake it?
There were a lot who survived. They would move them in an R&B direction and not call them disco anymore. It's probably wrong to say that many people couldn't get past that. She does seem to be one, though, who got stuck and didn't go further.
 The Paradise Garage membership of Vince Aletti
Oh yeah, there are tons of people. That became one of the scandals of the business in a way—that so many people tried to jump on that bandwagon and made really embarrassing records. Ethel Merman…it was everywhere. In a way that gave disco a bad name because it became some cheesy brand that anybody could do. Most of those records were really horrible, and it wasn't true that anybody could just use a formula and go somewhere. But the business thought at different points that they could.
By the time I started writing about it, there were clubs all over the country that I was calling and, by the time I stopped, there were twice as many. There's always this tension, this push-and-pull in disco between the people wanting success and attention and people wanting it to be their own, underground. Once a record became really big and a radio hit a lot of DJs were just not playing it anymore. They didn't want to because it was already out there and they were already onto the next underground thing.
And they had it on promo for months before it would hit anyway.
Yeah, they had probably been playing it for six months, but that time period closed down once DJs like WBLS' Frankie Crocker was hanging out at the Paradise Garage. You would hear a record and it would be on the air the next day.
I imagine that played into making Larry really big as well.
Yes, certainly. It made the Garage a key club, and it meant that he was an important DJ for promo people. If they could get to Larry, they could get to Frankie. It's easier to make that connection. That was what was partly exciting about the period. You could hear a record, and watch it happen just like that. You could hear it happen one Friday and watch and track it.
Larry's become such a legend over the years, but I've read he had plenty of moments where the floor wouldn't respond to what he was doing.
Larry could be very erratic. It was one of the things that I liked about him, he wasn't that smooth of a mixer all the time. Things could just stop and there would be a little bit of dead air.
One of the great quotes from the book was something to the effect of "a second of silence on the dance floor is like an hour in real time."
That's true...it's like "Oh, my god. It's dead." I was used to that, though, because David Mancuso was not a smooth mixer at all. He could be very abrupt; there would be a break and then just stop. It wasn't so much of a surprise, and you knew something would happen. But Larry was willing to take risks like that; it wasn't the end of the world.
Although it might have felt like it.
RA and DJHistory.com are pleased to team up to offer £2 off for all RA readers when you buy The Disco Files direct from DJHistory.com before the end of July. Just type "RA" into the coupon box in the checkout to claim the discount.
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Published / Tuesday, 21 July 2009
 9 Comments
Photo credits /
Header: The estate of Peter Hujar
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