Disco's dubious reputation has much to do with its primarily faceless presentation of studio producer craft; kinda like The Archies for the nightclub set. But, if disco created very few classic acts of endurance - Donna Summer and Chic are all that I can come up with on the quick - it's a genre full of classic moments that have, little by little, managed to smooth away the camp nostalgia aspect of its place in pop history and stand tall as the classic records that they are. Jackie Moore's awe inspiring version of "This Time, Baby" is one of those records and it has remained an anthem over the past twenty-nine years because it became one from the very first moment a stylus hit the vinyl. It has all the trappings associated with standard disco fare - cow bell, anyone - but retains the roots of its Philly Soul beginnings as an O'Jays' album track. Its strength is in its restraint and in the beautifully tasteful vocal delivery. That anyone who has ever loved anything haphazardly can identify with the lyric is icing on the cake.
The first time that I heard it was blasting through the always on kitchen radio at my father's house. WKTK - Baltimore's premier disco station for the year that it lasted - must have had a piece of action on it because it seemed as though it was played on the hour, as predictable as the news, weather, and sports report but far more interesting. Two blocks down the road from was an old lodge facility that KTK began to use to host dance parties and I finally found a way in via a doorman who happened to be the friend of cousin's friend who once knew the ex-husband of my aunt or something as equally stretched. Walking up to the door and announcing myself, the guy rolled his eyes at the sight of my unconceal-able youth and said, "Stay away from the bar, Junior, and meet me back here in fifteen minutes if you wanna go smoke a joint" - a suggestion that suggests that he must have been a friend of my uncle, now that I think about it. Fortunately, when the fifteen minute mark came to pass I was too busy dancing to "This Time, Baby" with a couple who had decided to make the most of the Studio 54 charade; she, dressed only in platform heals, tights, and what appeared to be three or four sheer scarves that did nothing to conceal her glitter covered nipples and he, looking like Jimminy Crickety with a cock ring. Thus began my dance club career...
"This Time, Baby" was played the night that I went to a gay bar on my own for the first time. Keeping the stereotypes alive was a guy wearing skin tight way too short shorts and a mustache that could have swept the floor, beating a tambourine while his exposed testicles jumped to the thump. I was thoroughly impressed with his ability to encompass absolutely everything that I never wanted to be.
I've seen drag queens mangle it, boys make out to it, lesbians fight through it, and Jackie Moore herself lipsync to it. It has traveled with me through out my adult life and I've danced to it in DC, Philadelphia, New York, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, San Francisco, LA, Savannah, and, of course, Atlanta, where one night I was actually convinced to dance on top of a table although what some people claim to have seen happen next didn't really happen because I'm not that sort of fellow and I wasn't that drunk. The farthest it's traveled with me is to London where it got a juke box spin one night in a wonderfully cramped pub with a postage stamp sized dance floor. But the weirdest place that I heard it was when it came roaring out of the sound system of my preferred grocery store: I was sure that I was either dreaming or that a most excellent episode of "This Is Your Life", starring me and a mirror ball, was about to commence.
By far the best time that I heard it was at the closing party of Altanta's 1995 River Raft Weekend in a fantastic club with a name I can never remember and that's long since gone. The disc jockey seemed to be playing all my old records all night long and I was sure I was on my way to heaven when the cold ending of Cheryl Lynn's "Got To Be Real" led to that familiar thumpity thump that I've loved for so long. I was so amped up by the sound of it that I made a rare shirtless appearance on top of a bank of speakers, trying to scale the heights of that string line while the crowd cheered me on. I have no idea of what sort of fool I resembled and it doesn't matter because I was so full of joy that afterwards, after coming down from wild abandon, I said to Dan, "Well, at least I wasn't waving a glow stick", to which he replied, "Baby didn't need a glow stick - Baby was a glow stick".
And history has shown that no one can ever put me in a corner when Jackie Moore is singing "This Time, Baby".
As Pride Month comes to a close, I tip my Pepsi to the long road traveled, and to all who have paved it, as I look forward to the long way yet to go. I say a special "Cheers" to John Luongo and Michael Barbiero who mixed a seven minute record to such perfection that nothing is redundant and everything makes the journey so much more fun.
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