The godfather of house passed away last week. I didn’t talk about Don Blackman and George Duke who passed last year and who are such huge giants and influences over music and myself.
But Frankie is different. I started to listen to house music early 2000s, kind of part of me discovering any type of music and electronic music was still quite obscure. I didn’t even know it was noted as gay music. I had listened to some early house, far in the night on the radio station (1991’s Crystal Waters’ Gypsy Woman had been huge here in Europe) but I thought it was kind of repetitive.
Ha! That’s the thing. You repeat. You forget. You vibrate. And then you dance.
I hadn’t been into dancing before that I just knew mosh pits, the opposite of synchronizing your body. House music made me learn to take my time and not care, just groove until the morning or until my pasta is ready. It’s an important message, still.
Later on mid 2000s I learned about the disco demolition night, the refuge that house music provided to minorities, especially homosexuals who needed some love in a world that just couldn’t stand one of them. In that, to me house music was democratic, bringing together my straight ass, girls booty and gay dudes and lesbians on the dance floor, how many music genre can do that that well? Only one.
RIP Frankie, and thank you for pioneering an entire world. Also please fellow black people, lay off the damn sugars y’all dying from this shit.