In the turbulent voyage of music across oceans, the infectious rhythms born from African and Afro-Caribbean roots found their way to New York’s dancefloors. DJ Dave Mancuso, amidst the chaotic beats of the city, unearthed the hypnotic gem “Soul Makossa” by Manu Dibango in 1973. From Mancuso’s Loft parties, the intoxicating groove permeated the global soundscape, igniting a wildfire of imitations and variations in Italy.

Vinyl package

Between 1973 and 1978, tribal influences infiltrated Italian soul-funk and early-disco productions, morphing into a kaleidoscope of sonic wonders. From Jean Paul & Angelique‘s psychedelic-tinged “Africa Sound” to Albert Verrecchia‘s Afrobeat-inspired club anthem “Kumbayero,” the movement embraced groundbreaking Afro-cosmic creations like Chrisma‘s “Amore,” co-penned by Vangelis and infused with the rhythms of Ghanaian-British Afro-rock band Osibisa. The intoxicating journey reached its zenith with floor-fillers like Beryl Cunningham‘s “Why O,” a reimagining of Nat King Cole‘s “Calypso Blues” arranged by Paolo Ormi, its percussion breaks foreshadowing what would later be baptized as techno.

Digipak CD

These productions, fueled by feel-good vibes, driving rhythms, and experimental synths, defied the disco-dominated era, sowing the seeds of Italy’s later cosmic scene. A brief but rich period in Italian music history unfolded, beckoning rediscovery with a touch of love.

For those embarking on this sonic pilgrimage, both LP and CD formats serve as gateways adorned with the captivating artwork of Kathrin Remest.

Peer into this musical vortex with the insightful liner notes by Pierpaolo De Sanctis and Elena Miraglia, guiding you through a time when the beats were wild, rhythms untamed, and the dancefloor an uncharted cosmic realm.

In the customary fashion, Four Flies Records solidifies its grip as the keeper of the groove, navigating the sonic wasteland with the finesse of top-tier gourmets resurrecting auditory delicacies from the abyss.

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Discoholics Anonymous doesn’t ask for cookies. It slips them into your pocket while you’re not looking, the way clubs used to slip flyers into your coat lining at 4:37 in the morning. Some of them are harmless — the house keys. They keep the lights on, remember who you are, stop the whole thing collapsing when you hit refresh. Without them the site is just a room with no door. The others are curious little spies. They want to know which mixes you stayed for, which ones you ghosted, whether you