Daily Blague

The top was Rupert Holmes's "Who What When Where Why." This was covered by Manhattan Transfer at some point, but I prefer the original, which appeared on Mr Holmes's first LP, a treasure from my radio days. (We routinely received the odd pop album, which every now and then wasn't so odd.) This was followed by Donna Summer's "MacArthur Park" Suite - twenty minutes or so of pound. "YMCA." "Jack and Jill." "Don't Leave Me This Way." "Boogie Oogie Oogie." Linda Clifford's fantastic "Runaway Love," no longer available since a conversion experience of the singer's. Not one but two beltings by Olivia Newton-John. Does anybody remember Olivia Newton-John?

For the most part, the tracks sounded as good as they had on LP, and almost as good as CDs. There were exceptions. "Night Fever" by The Bee-Gees" sounded muffled and muddy, as indeed I expected the entire tape to sound. The crystal clarity of the whole, though, will have me trying to make a mini-disc of each side soon, and perhaps even a pair of CDs. (The tape is a 120.) I can't believe that this time capsule has been resting in the bosom of my tape collection for twenty-five years at least.

The conjunction of a spring day - after an afternoon thunderstorm, the air reeked of rebirth - and a long-lost disco tape was irresistible. Parked at the desk, I tried half-heartedly to find an excuse for sitting there without doing any work. I didn't feel irresponsible; I felt as though the idea of responsibility hadn't been invented. Why disco, I thought. Well, there's the steady, non-percussive beat. That's very "classical." It's heartbeat, not hormones. There's the extravagance of the charts, the soaring violins and cheeky electronic bites of ear candy. Fleetwood Mac fans would probably be outraged by my having included Christine McVie's "You Make Loving Fun," but this song embodies everything that's delicious about disco. And there's the retro angle, so brilliantly executed by August Darnell in the immortal "Cherchez la femme," a big-band Latin number that's built on Paul Whiteman's mega-hit of 1918, "Whispering." Music doesn't get more learned than this. A lot of disco was brainless, but the stuff on my tape has advanced degrees out the whazoo. "Cherchez la femme" would have driven sophisticated fifteenth-century Burgundian courtiers mad with pleasure. Fatally.

Spring break? I can think of worse respites for my beleaguered body. Listening to this stuff, I am once again about thirty, too old to be paying attention but old enough to know how to have a good time. Now, of course, I am grateful that I can listen to it without any obligation to have a "good time." I can just enjoy the hell out of it.