If you haven't figured out by now, I am charmed and fascinated by artists who come from nowhere, go somewhere--for a little while--and then who seem to return to obscurity, leaving us only what may have been the peak of their life's work or may have been just the product of a single instance of fruitful synchronicity (or drugs).
I bring you another: son of Blue Island (but, yah, he grew up out in Palos), SAIC dropout, diligent multi-instrumentalist, unexpected funkmeister, #1 Top New Male Single Vocalist (1978), first-ever certified gold 12-inch single awardee, unassuming disco icon, Madonna-nicknamer, MTV VMA nominee (1985), what's-hot-in-pop adopter, tinnitus sufferer, web designer, one-hit wonder.
(And now I know where a lotta guys in Logan Square are getting their look.)
I remember this song.
Labelmate Betty Wright backing up, it's meticulously arranged disco. Assembled from a boxed puzzle: whooshing strings, signature bass line, scratchy guitar riffs, four-on-the-floor, a back-up lyric that's not part of the body of the song, and a general lyrical premise that proposes someone (a woman) just let go and dance. It's just all very--sterile. There's no passion in it. Out-of-the-box.
This track, however, is not. Gruffer, rougher, longer, stronger. This will keep you on the dance floor even if those new spike heels have your dogs barking.
I rarely read or acknowledge Youtube comments, but I love the second one, from "drumrman1:"
"FO SHO. back in the day, i used to bump the shit outta this in the
clubs. no longer a deejay, however i'm driving beats on the kit like
paul bunyan now and sometimes i try to replicate these grooves. getting
close...feel me HOLLA"
The first song was made for the radio, to neatly layer between . The second song was made for the club, the club, the joyous, messy, hot club. Feel me HOLLA.