From Niche to Mainstream: Disco and House music
On July 12, 1979, the Chicago White Sox hosted a double header matchup against the Detroit Tigers at Comiskey Park in Chicago, Illinois. However, this was no typical night at Comiskey Park. The owner of the White Sox collaborated with radio DJ Steve Dahl on a promotion they called “Disco Demolition Night,” in which the notoriously anti-disco Dahl would provide anybody who brought in a disco record would be granted admission to the double header for just 98 cents. Why would Dahl want all of these disco records? Because with the permission of the stadium, Dahl planned to stage an on-field demolition of every disco record brought to the stadium between games. What he didn’t expect, however, was the turnout. The stadium’s 50,000 seats quickly sold out the night of the double header, and there were 20,000 additional people left waiting outside with disco records in hand. At the end of the first game, Dahl took to the field and commenced the demolition of thousands of disco records, the size of the pile big enough to rip a hole in the field. Then, thousands of fans rushed the field, and the 20,000 fans outside began to rush the entrance. In other words, chaos ensued. Needless to say, the second game of the double header had to be cancelled (Lugen).
When I learned of this story and this event, I was immediately, and disturbingly, reminded of book burnings that took place in Nazi. I wasn’t alone either, as musicologist Simon Reynolds stated in his piece, Generation Ecstasy, put it: “The "Disco Sucks" phenomenon recalls Nazi book burnings or exhibitions of Degenerate Art. Modern-day spectacles of Kulturkampf like Comiskey were impelled by a similar disgust: the belief that disco was rootless, inauthentic, decadent” (p. 15). Needless to say, disco music was not mainstream. In fact, it was mainstream to not like disco. Disco music and the nightclub scene began as a place for people who were widely ridiculed and rejected by society, specifically people of color and people who are homosexual, to come to in order to feel safe, accepted, and free. Accordingly, disco music featured many latin and african influences, from swing music to heavy, rhythmic basslines as well as complex rhythm structures. This music was inherently niche, and interestingly, despite less access to technology at that moment in time, featured many microcelebrities that were able to gain popularity and success within the nightclub and disco scene, without ever crossing over to the mainstream. In her piece, “You May Know Me from Youtube, (Micro-)Celebrity in Social Media,” Alice Marwick attributes the ability of creators and artists to amass enough of a following and enough success to gain “celebrity” status to the advent of social media in the digital age. However, the popularity and musical influence of people like Farley Funk and Frankie Knuckles within their niche, disco, proves that even without the internet, celebrity was still attainable. The nightclub provided a space that was safe and welcoming for the niche’s audience to come and enjoy the microcelebrities’ content, much in the way that fans feel safe in their own rooms, watching vines or TikToks.
And the influence of these microcelebrities was real. Frankie Knuckles hosted a weekly set at a members-only “social” club that became a sign of the elite within disco culture. In fact, so much so that he won a grammy award in 1998 for one of his remixes. Additionally, as cheaper forms of music making began to become more widely available due to technological advancements, his music began to be imitated, but limited to the functionality of simple synthesizers. This phenomenon birthed house music, which also initiated in the same niche nightclubs. At the same time in europe, Giorgio Moroder introduced the world to the four-on-the-floor drumbeat, a simple drum pattern in which only 4 drums are played on each beat of a techno song. As Reynolds described it, Moroder originated this style as an attempt to “simplify funk rhythms in order to make them easier for whites to dance to” (p. 16). He was correct in his assumption, and American record executives quickly took notice. Much in the way that Devon Powers describes in her journal, On Trend, house music followed the path she described, as its popularity went from “the periphery to the center and from marginalized, oppositional groups to dominant, compliant ones” (p. 62). Quickly, artists began producing and releasing songs that appealed to the larger, white american audience, and those people began to flood the same nightclubs. The safe space of the nightclub was no longer, and the trend continued even further. Eventually, house music “celebrities” arose, and their reach was mainstream. People like David Guetta and Calvin Harris became household (no pun intended) names in house music. Both artists, in addition to their musical image, were seen as heterosexual icons, and both white.
Eventually, house music’s influence moved even further to the center, as world-famous superstars began showing signs of influence from disco and house music. Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” features similar thumping, rhythmic basslines and Kiesza’s hideaway features diva-style vocals that originated with disco legend Loleatta Holloway. Even as I’m writing this today, Justin Bieber sits at #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 with his hit, “Stay,” which features the same 808 drum machine that allowed many original house and disco artists to make music in the first place. Additionally, many of its synthesizers reference old disco hits and styles. These connections, however, are only aesthetic. In other words, these references do not appreciate the culture and subculture surrounding the music in that moment, the struggles those audiences had to go through just to make and listen to that music, and what it meant to members of that culture. Songs that took from old disco and house music were often played in the very environments that rejected the people who initially listened to the music. The culture has been appropriated by the mainstream and moved entirely into the center, leaving out those who grew up with it in their veins. Much of this has to do with the technological availability of many of the sounds as well as the ease of music production, and as Walter Benjamin asserted, the aura of these sounds and disco music has nearly disappeared in popular culture. So much of disco and house music was so closely associated with the environment in which it was consumed, and so little of that is recognized today.
Works Cited
Lugen, M. (2021, July 12). The day disco died: Remembering the unbridled chaos of "Disco
demolition night". EDM.com - The Latest Electronic Dance Music News, Reviews &
Artists. Retrieved December 1, 2021, from
https://edm.com/features/remembering-disco-demolition-night-1979.
Marwick, A. E. (2015, October 30). You may know me from YouTube: (micro‐)celebrity in Social
Media. Wiley Online Library. Retrieved December 1, 2021, from
https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/9781118475089.ch18.
Powers, D. (2019). Thinking in trends. On Trend, 42–61.
https://doi.org/10.5622/illinois/9780252042874.003.0003
Reynolds, S. (2016). Generation ecstasy: Into the world of techno and rave culture. Routledge.
On July 12, 1979, the Chicago White Sox hosted a double header matchup against the Detroit Tigers at Comiskey Park in Chicago, Illinois. However, this was no typical night at Comiskey Park. The owner of the White Sox collaborated with radio DJ Steve Dahl on a promotion they called “Disco Demolition Night,” in which the notoriously anti-disco Dahl would provide anybody who brought in a disco record would be granted admission to the double header for just 98 cents. Why would Dahl want all of these disco records? Because with the permission of the stadium, Dahl planned to stage an on-field demolition of every disco record brought to the stadium between games. What he didn’t expect, however, was the turnout. The stadium’s 50,000 seats quickly sold out the night of the double header, and there were 20,000 additional people left waiting outside with disco records in hand. At the end of the first game, Dahl took to the field and commenced the demolition of thousands of disco records, the size of the pile big enough to rip a hole in the field. Then, thousands of fans rushed the field, and the 20,000 fans outside began to rush the entrance. In other words, chaos ensued. Needless to say, the second game of the double header had to be cancelled (Lugen).
When I learned of this story and this event, I was immediately, and disturbingly, reminded of book burnings that took place in Nazi. I wasn’t alone either, as musicologist Simon Reynolds stated in his piece, Generation Ecstasy, put it: “The "Disco Sucks" phenomenon recalls Nazi book burnings or exhibitions of Degenerate Art. Modern-day spectacles of Kulturkampf like Comiskey were impelled by a similar disgust: the belief that disco was rootless, inauthentic, decadent” (p. 15). Needless to say, disco music was not mainstream. In fact, it was mainstream to not like disco. Disco music and the nightclub scene began as a place for people who were widely ridiculed and rejected by society, specifically people of color and people who are homosexual, to come to in order to feel safe, accepted, and free. Accordingly, disco music featured many latin and african influences, from swing music to heavy, rhythmic basslines as well as complex rhythm structures. This music was inherently niche, and interestingly, despite less access to technology at that moment in time, featured many microcelebrities that were able to gain popularity and success within the nightclub and disco scene, without ever crossing over to the mainstream. In her piece, “You May Know Me from Youtube, (Micro-)Celebrity in Social Media,” Alice Marwick attributes the ability of creators and artists to amass enough of a following and enough success to gain “celebrity” status to the advent of social media in the digital age. However, the popularity and musical influence of people like Farley Funk and Frankie Knuckles within their niche, disco, proves that even without the internet, celebrity was still attainable. The nightclub provided a space that was safe and welcoming for the niche’s audience to come and enjoy the microcelebrities’ content, much in the way that fans feel safe in their own rooms, watching vines or TikToks.
And the influence of these microcelebrities was real. Frankie Knuckles hosted a weekly set at a members-only “social” club that became a sign of the elite within disco culture. In fact, so much so that he won a grammy award in 1998 for one of his remixes. Additionally, as cheaper forms of music making began to become more widely available due to technological advancements, his music began to be imitated, but limited to the functionality of simple synthesizers. This phenomenon birthed house music, which also initiated in the same niche nightclubs. At the same time in europe, Giorgio Moroder introduced the world to the four-on-the-floor drumbeat, a simple drum pattern in which only 4 drums are played on each beat of a techno song. As Reynolds described it, Moroder originated this style as an attempt to “simplify funk rhythms in order to make them easier for whites to dance to” (p. 16). He was correct in his assumption, and American record executives quickly took notice. Much in the way that Devon Powers describes in her journal, On Trend, house music followed the path she described, as its popularity went from “the periphery to the center and from marginalized, oppositional groups to dominant, compliant ones” (p. 62). Quickly, artists began producing and releasing songs that appealed to the larger, white american audience, and those people began to flood the same nightclubs. The safe space of the nightclub was no longer, and the trend continued even further. Eventually, house music “celebrities” arose, and their reach was mainstream. People like David Guetta and Calvin Harris became household (no pun intended) names in house music. Both artists, in addition to their musical image, were seen as heterosexual icons, and both white.
Eventually, house music’s influence moved even further to the center, as world-famous superstars began showing signs of influence from disco and house music. Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” features similar thumping, rhythmic basslines and Kiesza’s hideaway features diva-style vocals that originated with disco legend Loleatta Holloway. Even as I’m writing this today, Justin Bieber sits at #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 with his hit, “Stay,” which features the same 808 drum machine that allowed many original house and disco artists to make music in the first place. Additionally, many of its synthesizers reference old disco hits and styles. These connections, however, are only aesthetic. In other words, these references do not appreciate the culture and subculture surrounding the music in that moment, the struggles those audiences had to go through just to make and listen to that music, and what it meant to members of that culture. Songs that took from old disco and house music were often played in the very environments that rejected the people who initially listened to the music. The culture has been appropriated by the mainstream and moved entirely into the center, leaving out those who grew up with it in their veins. Much of this has to do with the technological availability of many of the sounds as well as the ease of music production, and as Walter Benjamin asserted, the aura of these sounds and disco music has nearly disappeared in popular culture. So much of disco and house music was so closely associated with the environment in which it was consumed, and so little of that is recognized today.
Works Cited
Lugen, M. (2021, July 12). The day disco died: Remembering the unbridled chaos of "Disco
demolition night". EDM.com - The Latest Electronic Dance Music News, Reviews &
Artists. Retrieved December 1, 2021, from
https://edm.com/features/remembering-disco-demolition-night-1979.
Marwick, A. E. (2015, October 30). You may know me from YouTube: (micro‐)celebrity in Social
Media. Wiley Online Library. Retrieved December 1, 2021, from
https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/9781118475089.ch18.
Powers, D. (2019). Thinking in trends. On Trend, 42–61.
https://doi.org/10.5622/illinois/9780252042874.003.0003
Reynolds, S. (2016). Generation ecstasy: Into the world of techno and rave culture. Routledge.
Josh, I really appreciate your reflection on the transformation of disco and tech music from the outskirts to the mainstream of the American musical landscape. I had never heard of the story of the “Disco Demolition Night,” but I similarly found this tale to be odd and disturbing. Musical preferences are not something to feel violently impassioned about, which does point to the likelihood of other underlying influences, such as racism and/or homophobia. However, I think an inclusion of a discussion about the exclusion of women from the music scene, especially in the disco tech and DJ realms would have strengthened the argument. It would further reinforce the reality that music from the fringes is often co-opted and incorporated into the mainstream without giving the original creators due credit. Hopper asserts that believing that it was the responsibility of women to break into the scene “was a faulty reasoning that disregarded any hierarchy but theirs, disregarded the fact that women had been putting out works of virtuosic genius since the dawn of recorded music” (Hopper). Even in the parallels drawn between the origins of house music and the stardom of David Guetta and Calvin Harris, there is a mention of the role of heterosexuality and whiteness in their icon status. While both of these topics are important in discussing the ostensible meritocracy of entering the music world, the sexism of the industry remains just as paramount. The power of allyship across groups that have been marginalized from the industry only strengthens the possibility for real systemic change to be imagined and actualized; the music industry could be a place where we can unitedly dismantle whiteness, heteronormativity, and patriarchy. – Allison Santa-Cruz
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