Recollections from The Land: My Feet Keep Dancing

 “My Feet Keep Dancing: Chic”

Drum, guitar bass tight,

Dance groove rock funk masters

Damned disco label. -- 1977

R&B group Chic was the brainchild of guitarist Nile Rodgers and

bassist Bernard Edwards to put retro Hollywood chic style together with rock,

 pop and funk rhythms on black vinyl.

 Photo courtesy: Atlantic Records.

I heard the single, “Dance Dance Dance (Yowsah, Yowsah, Yowsah)” by a group named Chic in November of 1977. When I discovered the music of Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards, it changed my life—I idolized them because there was no band like Chic. I bought everything they released; it was a love affair that was consummated and never abandoned. Why? Because I’d never heard music like theirs—orchestrated, funky, rock-tinged and danceable.  Not even after the nation collectively spewed out its anger against ‘disco’ in Chicago’s Comiskey Park by burning vinyl disco records did I stop buying music categorized as disco.

Disco sucked and now it was dead. With its burial went the jobs of black songwriters, singers, producers and musicians. Record labels folded and there went the jobs of record promotional men, A&R men, radio on-air personalities, and even record label secretaries. Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards with Billboard hit records and sold-out venues were stuck with the albatross disco tag that affected their music, their finances, and threatened their legacy.

As a black writer, I too, was saddled with the ‘disco’ label. Although I covered more genres of music than any other staff reporter, because of the disco tag, I lost my weekly column and review space on the pages of Scene Magazine. Other white male writers were able to move as popular music evolved after 1979 when arena rock and New Wave became hot. The anti-disco backlash was a bitch. So, Nile and Bernard’s fight was my fight—the battle not to be labeled and to be free to write about whatever I wanted.

“There's a subtle racism in the production end of the music business that says it's all right for black acts to have white producers but resists the idea of white acts having black producers.” – Richard Harrington, The Washington Post 1981

The same subtle racism existed for black music journalists. Many of the acts I covered hit their peak during end of the 70s and beginning of the 1980s. This is how I was able to have a column and cover stories. But some of these acts like Donna Summer, Gloria Gaynor, and Chic were labeled as disco acts. Little did I know, record sales generated advertising dollars from labels; but content built a publications’ reputation. The magazine I worked for rode the wave of disco for a moment, but the tide turned. So before white rock critics and radio personalities pulled the plug, I danced and had a good time. I didn’t know the hammer was going to drop. Chic’s demise was emblematic of what happened to black music—they were wiped out by disco backlash and the birth of a new genre of music—Rap music.

            Where white folks dressed up to go to the opera or the symphony, in Cleveland, we hit I-271 South to Highland Heights to the Front Row Theatre to see Chic. The pimp and his whores, the gamblers, the mechanics, the students, the mothers, even the grandmothers—all dressed up to see Chic because they all considered themselves to be unique. And not since singer Barry White and his Love Unlimited Orchestra had black folks danced to violins.

There was a time when on every Sunday morning, I was coated in sweat, and cloaked in anonymity as I gyrated in a crowded club—my church. The synchronicity of strings and vocals rose to the depth of my soul. I thought these heavenly sounds could heal whatever ailed me. I was never out of breath, my feet kept dancing because it felt good dancing to the music of Chic and I knew the worshippers on every club’s dance-floor felt the same way. Yet every time, no matter how high they took me, I never got to say, ‘at last I am free’. —1978

Chic had one of the best rhythm sections in popular music during this period—a heyday of musicianship which saw the emergence of the black guitarist, bass player and drummer.  I was judged by what I reviewed and whom I interviewed. I had to defend my hip by association shtick by deifying the groups I believed in. That peer pressure battle which I lost in high school certainly wasn’t going to defeat me again. I was a professional journalist who grew as a writer right in front of the eyes of my family and friends who didn’t understand what being on a magazine meant to me. Writing gave me an identity. I didn’t really have peers because I didn’t know any black writers in Cleveland and Jane Scott at the Cleveland Plain Dealer was the only other female covering popular music. And I’ll leave that alone for now. I cranked out three or four reviews a week, and my name was slightly known around the region.

 If I saw a guy or a girl on Coventry at Record Revolution or the Record Exchange picking up their copy of Scene and they nodded or waved to me, I cringed. I felt a loss of anonymity. Sure I wanted to be known, but not by being recognized, instead by having people read my work. Most people thought ‘Charlotte Morgan’ was a white girl. Realizing that a short black girl with thick glasses wrote the cover story of the region’s most popular music organ was probably amusing. In this town we had a white woman covering rock and roll for the Plain Dealer, Jane Scott. So no one was seemed surprised that there was another girl in town writing about music. So the clerks at record stores, bookstores, and magazines etc.—helped me do my job. It was okay if they knew who I was.

My job required looking for the next new sound and that meant hunting trips to local record stores and magazine racks to find new artists.  Sometimes we went to the Music Grotto on 24^th in Euclid, Record Rendezvous which was in downtown Cleveland, or even Peaches which was on the west side of town.  We even went to “The Pleasers”, a ghetto record store where the own got on a loud system and scolded you if you weren’t buying records:  “Lookers and waiters can step outside.”

Along the way you made friends who helped you with their recommendations. Mostly, it was the psychic-like instinct that led me to music.  I almost missed it when I judged Chic by the cover of their first album—the now classic shot of a white girl and a black girl, blowing whistles. But everything always worked out for the good.  One of the people in my small network of resources worked for Atlantic Records—the group’s label.

Craig Martin worked at Record Revolution, a legendary Cleveland Heights record store on Coventry Road. It’s where serious record collectors shopped for music. The store sold vinyl records, and tapes; as well as music magazines. They also sold bootleg recordings—domestic and imported ones. The bootleg was an unauthorized recording of a band. Or unreleased studio recordings. Collectors loved to get music that no one else owned. Collectors also loved to shop where they could buy British and Japanese imports. Often labels released albums with different track listings than on the American version and Record Revolution was a place where kids could find these kinds of records wrapped beautifully in thick plastic.

It was also a head shop—you got your drug paraphernalia there too. I bought a carved wooden jewelry box from the boutique to store my marijuana and Blanco and Negro cigarette papers.

If Rolling Stone, CREEM, NME, or Melody Maker wrote about the act, it was stocked in the bins at Record Revolution. These were some of the magazines of record; their pages written by the music journalists I admired, no worshipped. They were young white males who played god when they decided by banging the keys on their typewriters, what was in and what was not. 

“The key to Chic's entrancing sound is Nile Rodgers ' guitar work and Rodgers /Bernard Edwards' sweeping production. This team's devotion to detail was not apparent on Chic's cliché-hit, “Dance, Dance, Dance (Yowsah, Yowsah, Yowsah),” but with “I Want Your Love,” possibly Chic's greatest tune, Edwards & Rodgers ' craftsmanship hit its stride. “I Want Your Love” is an auto-erotic song produced with elegant touches -- cascading strings, Spectorish bells, a percolating guitar -- so suggestive that it melts into ultra-chic porn.”

– Robert Hull, The Washington Post, 1978

The first floor of the store on side featured the head shop and boutique merchandise; the other side of the store had bins where rock and imports were showcased. There were two display windows on that side of the store. There was a cash register on that side and a staircase, which led to the basement where the cutouts were sold. Cutouts were discounted albums and 12-inch singles. When you sold your albums to the store, they wound up down in the basement bins. Many gems were found down in the basement, which is why record collecting was time consuming—there were lots of records to comb through. There was a cash register down in the basement and it too sat on a glass case, which might display some kind of collectible music set. 

The store hired kids who knew their music and each one had a personality that reflected their tastes in music. They wore their idols on their chest—colorful t-shirts and buttons. For example, Warren was into Parliament Funkadelic. Warren wore the bands’ t-shirts and spoke in their rhetoric—‘that free yo’ mind and yo’ ass will follow’ spiel. He probably used drugs because the band he idolized did. Warren carried it too far to suit me. I may have idolized bands, but I didn’t buy into anyone’s rhetoric. Clerks like Warren wanted you to know that they got promotional material and he’d ask if you had any; like he was privileged or something. This used to piss me off; made me not want to go into the store. But when I went down the stairs to the basement, I heard some Funkadelic playing which meant Warren was behind the cashier.

He was a thin brown-skinned kid with glasses. Reminded me of a mole, but that’s not nice. But he did. He was a musician I learned. He came up beside me while I flipped through cutouts.

“You’re that Charlotte Morgan from Scene? I knew you were black. Did you get the new Funkadelic from Warner”, he asked?

“Yeah, I got it Tuesday,” I replied. I never stopped looking for records.

“I got mine from the white Warner dude,” he’d say.

“I got mine from work,” I replied. I was a writer; I didn’t have to compete with Warren for product. It was one of the perks of the job—getting free product.

“Yeah, I got the “Hardcore Jollies” shirt and some other stuff,” he added.

So I stayed out of the basement for a while because Warren got on my nerves. Shopping for records was a job—not a hobby. And I didn’t get high to do it. I looked at product and magazines to stay up on what was going on in the industry, not to see who was hipper.

Anyway, back to what made Record Revolution great--the store’s funky aesthetic appealed to visiting musicians and record marketing staff. For musicians from New York, the store reminded them of Greenwich Village—the whole of Coventry did in fact. The Revolution took pride in their display windows. Record labels lobbied to get their product in one of those four windows.

When bands came to town, a record promotion person escorted them to a local store. This was an incentive for the record store to push the artist and sale the product. Some times, there were staged in-store events where the record buying public got an autographed LP or better still, a photo with the artist. Radio stations not only played the product, they sold spots on the air to promote the act and even advertised the events to get people to come out, buy the record, and meet the band.

As a result of these in-store events, the high white walls in Record Revolution featured hieroglyphics—signatures and drawings from some of the biggest names in rock music. My visits to the store did not go unnoticed by other clerks. Craig was another black kid who waited on me, guided me to music I might not otherwise be interested in—that was his job. He didn’t annoy me like Warren. And I didn’t realize he knew who I was. I took his word because he wore cool t-shirts and I related to him—he loved all kinds of music and all the right music.

“Yeah, I like your stuff,” he said as he rung up my purchase. I think he had on a Lou Reed t-shirt. The register sat atop a glass case and was tan and the price appeared in black squares with white block numerals. “Twelve dollars and twenty cents.”

“Thanks,” I replied awkwardly. I had over twenty dollars worth of cutouts and a copy of Rolling Stone.

“You know I got a gig with WEA (Warner-Elektra-Atlantic) doing shipping,” he said.

“Okay,” I replied. “See ya’.”

“Come in Tuesday, it’s new release day,” he informed.

 I thought it was an odd conversation. However, what I did not know was that Craig had a plan that would outlast even our relationship. He wanted to send me boxes of albums and 12-inch singles.  When I went back on Tuesday, he explained his plan.

“You give me your address and I’ll send you product and promotional stuff,” he promised.

“Sure,” I said.

Therefore, once or twice a week, a brown UPS truck played Santa Claus and brought boxes of records. Craig marked the shipments so that I knew which boxes to discreetly bring back up to the store. I was so naïve that I never considered what he did as criminal, I thought is was my job to find great music. I could never have enough records.

What was great about getting more music was getting all kinds of music. Craig didn’t send me the R&B product; he sent me whatever was released that week. This began a relationship with the label which benefited me in other ways. But more about this later.

Although I got the Chic’s 12-inch single from work, I got the Chic album from Craig first. It sat in a slanted stack of several hundred records down in my basement—right next to the entertainment center which housed my television and Technics turntable. I amassed quite a collection. There was no organization to my work. I brought my purchases home and placed them in the front of the stack with no care. I knew this is how I missed the Chic LP.

Chic, disco's technocrats of trance, have always been absorbingly danceable, if a bit too bloodless and uptown. – Denny Thomson, Boston Globe 1980

Part of my job consisted of reading album covers. You found a lot of information on the back of an album; details which you used to write the review. And during the disco era, producers were the stars. Producers released projects, not groups. For example, French composer, Jacques Morali’s Can’t Stop Production Company actually ‘cast’ the Village People like you would cast a movie. And you recognized that producer’s sound. So when you were in a club and you heard a song called, “I Love America”, and you looked the song up in Billboard Magazine, you discovered that it was an artist, Patrick Juvet, produced by Jacques Morali. Every producer’s sound was distinct—Giorgio Moroder’s work with Donna Summer, for example. I built a knowledge base by reading the backs of LPs.

The production credits on the first Chic album featured names I knew—Luther Vandross, Robin Clark, Alfa Anderson, and Diva Gray among others.

Production credits made the world of difference to me as a music reviewer. When I saw the NYC crew on an album, I bought it. The NYC crew consisted of New York singers I came to know from reading album covers. They worked frequently with dance music producers like Jacques Fred Petrus, Gregg Diamond and then Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards. Later they would lend their voice and their style to rock acts like Duran, Duran, Roxy Music, Robert Palmer, David Bowie, The Police, Talking Heads and others.  It was guaranteed that if the music sucked, there would be that gospel chorale that turned me on and inspired my momentary escapes from reality. So I made mental note of these singers, many of whom never achieved individual success with the exception of Luther Vandross. He helped put Chic and other productions on the chart with his vocals. He was rarely however used as a front-man—because of his personal appearance. But Luther got the last laugh.

In the disco era, this was especially important. Most ‘groups’ were studio productions—there was no real group per se. If the song was a hit in clubs and made it onto the Billboard Magazine charts, then the producers scrambled to find singers to hit the road. I felt my job was to glamorize the background singer when they were good and vilify them when they wasted my time and my money. So I knew the great ones from the era—Jocelyn Brown, Ullanda McCullough, Leroy Burgess, Fonzi Thorton, Michelle Cobbs, Tawatha Agee, Roz Ryan, Cissy Houston, Ava Cherry, David Lasley, Melissa Morgan, Lisa Fischer, and so many others.

  The enigmatic cover for Chic’s self-titled debut album threw me—it shouted ‘anonymous disco album’.  During this era of music, the album cover served as a signifier to the group’s discourse—you saw gay men on the cover, you knew this was club music for that particular audience. Of course, the Village People featured iconic gay male figures on their album and won the heart of dancers of all types. But the Chic album cover typified what was wrong with dance music.  The cover masked the potential of the band and nearly turned me off.   The style of the group was nowhere to be found on this album except for in the vocals. While appearing to be a studio album—meaning there was no real band but a collection of session players performing the music for hire—this was actually the birth of one of popular music’s most ingenious groups.  The quality of the music caught my ear. I was encouraged by a black editor to write about Chic.

In the spring of 1978, I sat in the living room of my editor Charles Thomas. We were in an apartment on East 89^th off Hough I believe. We met there on Sundays, our meetings not at all as I imagined—they were juvenile. We sat around, ate snacks, and talked about music—Charles had no vision for the magazine outside of making himself a star. I brought high school journalism colleagues to the magazine. My mistake.

I do not know where Charles came from—but he knew of me from Scene Magazine. Charles offered me a chance to write for the Cleveland Entertainer, another in the growing number of black music magazines in the mold of L.A.’s Soul Magazine. And because I loved seeing my name in print, I agreed to work for free. And of course, it was a bad move on my part.

If you understood the mentality of many black men in the industry, you would know that the pimp schema—work for me for free mentality—was the norm. Many guys treated women in the industry like dirt; I found this out by working with guys like Charles. My talent was worth money and here I gave it away which doomed me. Wasn’t it bad enough that I learned that reviewers were often given all kinds of gifts to ensure a positive review, which I imagine translated into record sales? I learned that jobs were held in the balance if reviews weren’t printed. Years later I learned about all the graft sent my way which my editors never gave me. My first inkling of these kinds of arrangements came from Charles had a deal with Atlantic Records to buy advertisement in The Cleveland Entertainer if articles were published. He had a telephone friendship with label publicist, Simo Doe. So I wrote about Chic.

The Entertainer was a black and white magazine. Designed to be a monthly, the publication featured a lot of doo-wop groups because Charles was really into male vocal groups like The Dramatics, Harold Melvin and The Bluenotes, The Temptations—groups whose time had passed by the late 70s. No one was eager to cover these groups. Arguing with Charles about editorial content was a waste of time—he had no ear. He knew nothing about what went on in the business. His magazine went nowhere. But before I got canned, I wrote about Chic.

What I loved about this first album was the fact that it featured some of my favorite background singers. I wrote that the product was a high quality east coast production that would yield another album down the line.  I hoped they would because I enjoyed the featured strings on most tracks. Sure, there were other dance producers who used strings, but not like this ‘group’ did. The strings played the melody—that part you sung. And the strings played counter to the melody, enhancing it. I adored this because I loved classical music; in fact I took a class as kid at the old Supplementary Center in downtown Cleveland to study how to deconstruct music. I was a black writer and at the time my editors did not understand that I could write about all genres of music. My new editor Mark Holan often called to give me an assignment. I was one of the few journalists would could interview a 60s music legend like Brook Benton or a fledgling new rock or pop star like Leo Kotke.

So the discovery of the music of Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards in 1978 introduced to me to two black men who changed the music industry—opened doors for blacks to produce mainstream rock acts.  The New York musical duo became synonymous with the sound of the era—disco.  However, musically speaking, they found the label confining.  Moreover, in the politics of disco, unimaginative critics never admit they are wrong. And I didn’t know of many black music critics except J. Randy Tarborelli and Steven Ivory, both of Soul Magazine. They wrote about mostly R&B and not dance music. So I had no lead in this area of writing. Whereas white male writers from Rolling Stone wrote passionately about rock music, you couldn’t find black writers who enjoyed dance music. After Chic scored hits, then people jumped on the band wagon this was clearly something much more highly evolved than mere feel good disco music.  And it required more than a casual listen to grasp what was going on in the music.

I didn’t debate people about the music of the disco era. You either got it or you didn’t. Everyone danced in some kind of club, but not everyone danced in ‘discos’.  During the 1970s and early 80s, dancing was a drug, a means of escape for people.  The recording industry was at its peak during this time selling millions of copies of vinyl records. And the versatile duo of Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards made R&B and pop music that you could dance to—that kept your feet dancing.  Every Sunday morning, I was coated in sweat, and cloaked in anonymity as I gyrated in a crowded club—my church. The synchronicity of strings and vocals rose to the depth of my soul; I knew these heavenly sounds could heal whatever ailed me. I was never out of breath, my feet kept dancing because it felt good dancing to the music of Chic and I knew the worshippers on every club’s dance-floor felt the same way. Yet every time, no matter how high they took me, I never got free.

 So I developed a ritual of listening to music as much as possible.  I played music while I read because at this time, I had to read the trade publications and for pleasure there were books by non-fiction writers which captured my attention. I listened to music while I watched

Photo Courtesy: Chictribute.com.

television to see if I felt inspired. There was this feeling that over took me and transported me some where other than my home. I recognized this power was in Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards’ music. They had stumbled upon a formula for making music. Their very chord changes were beautiful. This wasn’t your average black band. Their music was crafted using the era’s best technology, to sound great on a high-end system and to inspire you to have a good time dancing or listening. Eventually, Rolling Stone wrote of the send album, C”EST CHIC: “Chic are the disco band to which rockers, soul fans and funkateers all give props, and for good reason: Guitarist Nile Rodgers, bassist Bernard Edwards and drummer Tony Thompson comprised one of the tightest and most influential rhythm sections of the last thirty years.”. If imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, then that explained why rock bands like Queen framed one of their biggest hits, “Another Bites The Dust” on a bass line of Bernard Edwards. R&B groups like Change (they were pretty faceless) blatantly copied Chic’s arrangements and even had former Chic vocalist Luther Vandross to sing vocals on early LPs.

Their debut album featured an instrumental entitled “Sao Paulo”, a smooth Bosa Nova number that had nothing to do with “Dance Dance Dance”.  Then there was the album’s signature tune, “Est-ce que c’est Chic” which asks the question, is it Chic?  Honestly, we didn’t know the answer. If it were not for the style—the sophistication—of their arrangements, one would hardly know the same musicians penned the songs.  However, I believe this was the point—to initiate listeners to the versatility of Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards.

             Our country was immersed in the disco culture. The anti-sentiment is building towards the genre because it threatened mainstream popular music—rock, pop and R&B. Everyone was forced to produce and release ‘dance’ music. Even entertainers long renown for their work on Broadway got into the act. The great Ethel Merman, star of stage and silver screen released a ‘disco’ album. That put the nail in the coffin. Neil Bogart’s Casablanca Records was home for singer and television star, Cher, who released a hit ‘disco’ album and kept her career going. Yes, I frowned on the term because the cultural connotations—this was music Blacks and gays danced to—was inaccurate. Why? After the decade of the 70s ended, there remained a subculture of club goers

New York’s Studio 54 was a cultural phenomenon—the world’s most famous church. The icons of fashion, music, literature and art all made their way past the velvet rope into the club where the music, booze, sex and drugs were god and the dancers were all worshippers praised their way out of ordinary lives if only for the night. The band Chic enjoys chart success but in New York, they are not given street credibility.  The story is, Nile and Bernard went to Studio 54 on New Year’s Eve to attend a party for model Grace Jones but they could not get in—their names were not on the guest list and no one recognized them as the band “Chic”.  So they went home and write “Le Freak”.  It was the big hit off their second album, C’EST CHIC.  And it was a peak hour track that inspired DJs who knew dancers wanted the best music played over and over during the peak hours—those hours that build the night towards close. This is when the best anthems of era were spun. Now everyone knows who Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards are.  The industry labels them as a disco act and their label, Atlantic Records, does nothing about it.

I went clubbing most nights of the week to dance. I loved to hear the music blared loud over superior sound systems. There was a time when on every Sunday morning, I was coated in sweat, and cloaked in anonymity as I gyrated in a crowded club—my church. The synchronicity of strings and vocals rose to the depth of my soul. I thought these heavenly sounds could heal whatever ailed me. I was never out of breath, my feet kept dancing because it felt good dancing to the music of Chic and I knew the worshippers on every club’s dance-floor felt the same way. Yet every time, no matter how high they took me, I never got to say, ‘at last I am free’

The standout guitar work of Nile Rodgers is stellar on every track on this second album.  We become familiar with his slashing strumming style and his banjo slapping style.  He flips from rhythm to lead with ease and I cannot get enough of his guitar.  Nile becomes my favorite guitarist.  By this point, I cannot believe Bernard Edwards’ bubbly thick bass.  I love when Nile and Bernard play syncopated grooves like on “Chic Cheer”.  “If you’re ready for Chic, consider yourself unique”, the anthem goes.  Clearly, everyone was ready.

            Those who hated disco music missed the beauty of the craft of analog record making. While many of the era’s recordings sound horribly dated by today's' audio standards, there are many that employed cutting edge technology and recordings like those of Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards possess such a high quality that they still sound good today.  I listened to “I Want Your Love” another great track from the C’EST CHIC album.  Jose Rossy’s tubular bells take the track to an elegant place rarely found in black music.  While orchestrated music was a hallmark of the disco era, their music had soul coupled with style.  I found the settling in of a music core wonderful. There was Raymond Jones on Fender Rhodes piano and now Luci Martin and Alfa Anderson on vocals.  Diva Gray and David Lasley are on background vocals.  Soon vocalists, Fonzi Thorton and Michelle Cobbs would become known as part of the Chic vocal sound.

By 1979, the year of some the greatest black music made, Chic drops its best album, Risqué and the hit single, “Good Times”.  With only seven tracks, time wise, this is a short album.  However, there is enough time for the legend of Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards to be cemented.  Their concept of a stylish black band in the mold of something retro and European is magnificently presented in the song, “My Feet Keep Dancin’”.  Fonzi Thorton, Michelle Cobbs and Ullanda McCullough support the vocal work of Luci Martin and Alfa Anderson in a soulful chorus.  Nile takes his place as the rhythm guitarist while Bernard almost plays lead with his bass and then there is the Tony Thompson.  He comprises the cornerstone of this rhythm section.  Thompson’s drums are so well miked and so perfectly recorded that you cannot miss them in the mix.  As a child who grew up listening to Buddy Rich, even getting excited when the “Ed Sullivan Show” featured Rich doing his drum solos, I knew all about great drummers. I saw Billy Cobham, Narada Michael Walden, Buddy Miles, Tyrone Lampkin, Tiki Fulwood, perform live with their respective groups and I rated Thompson as one of the best. Why? Tony Thompson was a great drummer who stayed and played right in the pocket—a phrase I heard my father say on many an occasion of a good drummer.  As the sustained keyboard chords climb coated by the rhythmic strings, and led by Bernard Edwards’ bass, we know this is a classic song.  We know black music has changed.  When I first heard “My Feet Keep Dancing”, I nearly cried at the songs’ perfection.  Who were these young men?  I wanted to hear this music performed live.

            I wanted to meet these guys because their music was so beautiful. I wanted to meet them because they were black men who made music like they didn’t know they should. This is how the game was played: If you reviewed the album, you got dibs on seeing the show and getting an interview.

            I would have my opportunity to meet the band. And Charles Thomas didn’t help. I reviewed their concert for Scene Magazine.

By 1980, they were producing other acts like Sister Sledge, a girl group of sisters out of Philadelphia.  The single, “We Are Family” was a hit on both the pop and R&B charts. They had many other projects in the works at this point because the industry had begun to recognize how talented they were as producers. I took my mother to the show with me. She brought an orange juice container with vodka, juice, and ice. We poured short drinks into Dixie cups throughout the show.

I remember sitting in a dressing at the old Front Row Theatre on Wilson Mills Road.  The band had sold out three performances and they were high with the energy musicians have after a good show. As with most of my interviews, I seemed unprepared.  I could never read enough or listen to the music enough before an interview.  I always tried to ask what I wanted to know believing it was what readers wanted to know.  I just wanted to know these people made such beautiful music.

I remember being escorted backstage through a door past a rack of clothes.  Chic was different in that they were always dressed in high fashion.  Seeing the clothes on the rack, I was reminded of so many black and white films I watched.  Echoes of Bette Davis and Katherine Hepburn came to mind.  Theirs was a well-crafted image that caused their fans to dress in after five wear for their shows.  Going to a Chic concert was an event.

I found the fellows to be as warm as friendly as their music.  Vocalists, Luci Martin and Alfa Anderson invited me into their dressing room to talk about clothes and touring.  They were petite women who landed a job with a band that exploded on the musical scene—they clearly had no idea Chic was going to be so big.  They were both kind and sweet and willing to make friends with strangers on the road—they used their gypsy discernment to figure out who was “cool” and who was not.  However, as the work they created in New York’s Power Station was released, it became clear to them that they were a part of something special.

I sat in the lounge area of the Front Row taking photos with background singer Fonzi Thorton.  He and my mother were having drinks and a good time.  I met the keyboard player Raymond Jones.  We talked into the wee hours of the morning.  Soon there was a small crowd around me as I told stories about my adventures at the Front Row.  Raymond and I are still friends to this day.  The photographer from Scene Magazine came backstage finally to photograph me with Nile and Bernard for my column.  We started our conversation with the obligatory discussion of their beginnings. 

Before “Dance, Dance, Dance” became a Chic hit they were just hanging around the city, according to Bernard. The two had done a stint with New York City, a group that had a hit “I'm Doing Fine Now” and subsequently goes to tour all over the world with the group.

“What happened was we were working around the city”, explained Edwards,” and some friends of mine from New York City had this record but they did not have a band. They needed a guitarist and a bass player. We toured with them from '72 to'75. We broke up in '75 and Nile We wanted to start writing our own things but we could not do it before because did not want to break up the band. So when it happened, it was just me and Nile and I seriously started thinking about getting our own band.

“We met Tony Thompson who was working with Labelle and he left them. He needed a go so the three of us started doing club dates together. This was around '76 or '77. In September of '77 is when “Dance, Dance, Dance” happened.”

It was hard for me to concentrate. They were so down to earth, like guys I knew in high school. Nile

had a gap in his teeth, and his hands were so ordinary. I didn’t know why I stared at them.

 This was two years since the idea and concept of Chic told shape.  In '77, when the record took off, they still did not have a group, just an idea.  What they knew was they wanted a commercial sound and a unique look to the group.  They hired high-fashion model-looking vocalists to front the band. 

“We still had this dream of having strings and mixing various forms of music”, Bernard, a funk fiend says.  He cited James Brown as a major influence and wanted to employ it.  And Bernard’s funky bass was in keeping with the era’s greatest bass players like Bootsy Collins, Larry Graham, Stanley Clarke and Cordell Mosson of Parliament-Funkadelic.

“We worked for two years playing gigs, talking about the concept of the group,” said Nile.  “We wanted to be different but have mass appeal at the same time. We did not want to come out wearing leather.  We did not want that real funky image time because we saw a lot of those groups were starting to fall on their faces. And we certainly didn't want to be copycats.”

The duo took pride in being like everyone else, but at the same time, they knew they were sitting on something special even if it had not taken shape on record. 

“Our first concept was to do rock 'n' roll; we were trying to be a black rock 'n' roll band. This was not accepted at the time so we stopped and went into disco. With that, we changed our whole image. At the time, everybody was starting to dress up and be fashion conscious again. They were not wearing jeans and t-shirts to concerts anymore; they were wearing suits and ties.  So we thought if we could really catch on right away, we could ride the disco movement if we create something special,” Nile said.

“We went to a lot of the record companies with our ideas but we didn't have any money at the time and nobody wanted to risk their money on us. So we took the money we made off “Dance, Dance, Dance” and put together the band.  And it was more expensive than we thought.  We hired something like 13 people--something unheard of for a new band.  We bought all the equipment and went out on the road,” Bernard said.

            The first lineup featured Norma Jean Wright, a vocalist from Elyria, Ohio.  Alfa Anderson replaced Norma Jean and Fonzi Thorton and Michele Cobb have replaced Luther Vandross. They had to replace on string player and moved Luci Martin to lead vocalist.

            Chic was unique in that nobody knew what they looked like.  This was in part due to the fact Nile and Bernard were involved in a six-month legal battle over the rights to the name. Kenny Lehman who appears on the first album playing woodwinds contends that he has rights to the name.  During this time, vocalist Norma Jean leaves the band.

            After the legal hassles are straightened out, finally, Nile and Bernard are free to make appearances and try out their concept.  The non-descript first album cover led fans of the music to wonder who was in the band and what they looked like.  And they certainly disappointed no one.           The second Chic album, C'EST CHIC, proved that their idea worked.  They posed a la a high fashion magazine and people understood their concept.  It did not hurt that the great single, “Le Freak,” which sold something like four million copies was such a great dance track.  The album itself sold two million copies. The second single, “I Want Your Love”, also proved to be a million-seller. The album also continued what is now their anthem; “Chic Cheer” spelled out what Chic expected from their audiences. It gave the group lasting identity as well as their fans identity, and it sets the perfect mood setter for their concerts: “If you don't mind would you please get up out of your seat and repeat 'Chic, Chic'.”

            People attending their concerts know to chant the group's name after every song or when they do something that particularly please them. They come to the shows sporting the latest in fashion fare. Because they know, the group with a self-imposed dress code is going to be stylishly dressed. The concept Nile and Bernard had created was certainly quite catchy and is now prospering on its own.

Between the second and third album, Rodgers and Edwards got a chance to produce Sister Sledge.

Photo courtesy: Chictribute.com

            “We wanted to show everybody we could take any group and make them a success just by writing good songs for them and coming up with good music. Nobody wanted to take us serious as songwriters/producers because felt our music was bubblegum. We chose Sister Sledge because they were far from being a disco group,” explained Rodgers.

            “The Mick Ronson and Jimi Hendrix influenced guitarist went on to say the concept for the album developed as they went on. They wrote the title track, “We Are Family,” “He's The Greatest Dancer” and “Lost In Music”.

            “It gives us more respect as songwriters if somebody else has a hit with one of our songs,” Bernard added.

            The third Chic album was eagerly anticipated. It was supposed to be a double record set but rising album costs foiled that idea. It finally arrived and was title RISQUE. They call it a concept album.

            “What we did for Chic and Sister Sledge was to give them a concept and an image and a way to promote it. With a murder mystery like--that sort of loose concept. We think of it as a murder mystery like Agatha Christie book you know the movie, “Murder By Death”--that's what we had in mind. So, on the cover you have the classic characters, the butler, the made, and the forbidden lover. And when you look at the songs' titles and you see' “My Forbidden Lover,” “Can't Stand To Love You” and “When You Hear This Song Will You Cry?” you see that most of the songs are about broken love and people getting hurt. It's risqué so that's why we named the album such and that's why we have that kind of concept on the album cover,” Bernard explained.

            They both reiterated that they do not go around making moral statements about life. They just write lightweight commercial songs that will appeal to the mass public. Their sole purpose is to make each album different but at the same time contain something that appeals to everyone.

            For the first time they did not use their regular background vocalists Diva Grey and Luther Vandross.

            “We changed the background vocalists because we wanted a fuller sound,” said Bernard. “Plus the fact that Michele and Fonzi are really into the Chic things and our group is like a family and you have to really be into the concept of the group. Luther was with us from the beginning; we played on his solo albums before Chic was formed. Alfa Anderson and Robin Clark, who sang on our first LP, both used to sing with Luther. However, for the concept of Chic, Luther did not fit. He is still our good friend but visually he did not fit the image of the group. Michele and Fonzi did.”

            “We don't really worry about it. We included the lyrics this time with the album because we feel there is a message there. We do write for women, and with women singing the songs in mind. We got tired of dealing with men because it is more acceptable for a women like Barbra Streisand to be singing a big ballad than a man. We know the ladies are much more effective in getting a song across, so we showcase them. When we were working with male singers, that ego thing would come into play. They'd always try to sing louder than we played.”

            They do not have a pat system for writing songs.

            “Sometimes Bernard will already have the music and we write the words together. Or sometimes I will have the song already written and we make a few changes. And other times we sit down and write the words and music together. We do not have a real system. Sometimes Bernard will call me up late at night and tell he has some hip stuff or I'll call him,” said Rodgers.

            Regardless of how they do it someone will soon have to recognize their talents as writers and producers. They will certainly add to their credibility when they produce Diana Ross' next LP.

            “We wanted to go after somebody big to show everyone that we can write hit material for different artists. That is why we went after Diana Ross. The direction will be a commercial sound and success.”

            Other upcoming projects include the next Norma Jean album.  Norma is a singer who was originally from Elyria, Ohio.

            “The last time,” said Nile, “we just wrote the songs and produced it; this time we've already mapped out the promotional plans and everything. She won't be out on her own this time.”

            I wondered what the next single off the current album would be and was told “My Feet Keep Dancing” would be it.

            “We'll probably be including that in the new show and we're all learning how to tape dance. We'll probably work out a feature spot for vocalist Luci Martin who is a serious dancer,” said Rodgers.

            Nile went on to explain how they came up with the idea of having tap dancer come in and do the break.

            “At first we wanted to have millions of them. It was going to a Busby Berkeley type number. But it was not' possible so we got one of the guys who used to be on the “Our Gang” show, one of the Nicholas brothers and a guy by the name of Sammy Warrant. We don't start out with these ideas but they come up if we feel the song needs it.”

By the time of my interview with the fellows, they were making all the right decisions and the proof was in the ticket and record sales.  However, the day that the Sugar Hill Gang released “Rappers’ Delight” no one could have predicted that it would be the death knell for Chic.  Taking the instrument track from the hit “Good Times” and rapping over it was the formula for the first hit Rap single.  Soon, other musicians found themselves being sampled—and without their consent.  Cheaper production costs, new record formats, and the end of the disco era soon followed.  Chic was obsolete.

            However, history proved that they were talented producers and songwriters.  Before his death in 1996 from complications with pneumonia, Bernard Edwards was back on the road with Chic.  He was celebrated along with his partner Nile Rodgers as the 80s and early 90s most influential musicians because their work with Diana Ross, Robert Palmer, Duran Duran, Madonna, the Power Station, Southside Johnny, Missing Persons, ABC, Jody Watley, Nona Hendryx, INXS, Mick Jagger, Hall & Oates, Jeff Beck, the Thompson Twins, Sheena Easton,  and so many others.

            After the demise of the group Chic, their latter albums were weak—slowed down in tempo and missing the classic style and sophistication earlier recordings featured.  Bernard was singing too much and the lyrics were insipid.  I never understood how they got so bad so quickly, but it happened.

            Theirs was simply some of the most beautiful dance music made.  Never has black music seen such sophistication and probably will never experience anything like Chic.