What a pity Donna Summer has died. I wrote a few weeks ago about how 24 Hours had been a punk-times band's attempt to sound like her (we all listened to different music + The Velvet Underground in The Chefs and she was my fave). Carl even gave me her album as a present.
It was something about those minor melodies, as though she was weaving an escape rope in the most odd way she could in order to climb out of the machines she was stuck inside, big and loud and throbby and bloopy. A little lady in a space ship, being pursued by clanky robots!
As for Love to Love You Baby, what can I say? Didn't bear any resemblance to any sort of physical relationship I was having, nor, probably, anyone else; but what a magnificent meringue of sugary fake lust. You could just imagine the bass-player staring out of the studio window and taking an occasional drag at a joint, looking at his watch every so often as he waited for the bloody track to finish.
Roll on the decks, standing on the fridge in wait for all that Donna to parade out of the box under the kitchen table for Autumn's disco kitchen experience!