The Touch – Raymond Castronovo (reviewed by Dave Franklin)

I am just about old enough to remember that time in the late seventies when the long-haired, guitar-wielding community felt so threatened by the emerging disco scene that they deliberately bought the records so they could have public record burning parties. The result was increased sales for the disco artists, thousands of dollars of damage to a baseball stadium, and more than a slight whiff of the Third Reich hanging in the air. Sonic fascism? I reckon so. I mean, what were they even afraid of, …groove, melody, exercise…having a good time?

Well, thanks to Raymond Castronovo (of Streetwise fame), disco is back. We have had nu-disco revivals before, but “The Touch” feels more in touch (pun intended) with those earliest New York days, when places such as The Loft, Paradise Garage and The Continental Baths ruled the roost, than anything claiming the name in more recent times.

And of course, it ticks all the boxes, it’s instant and infectious, leads in with sweeping cinematic sonics, plays with wonderful dynamics, coming on soft initially and then, as the chorus kicks in, it becomes the most groovesome track imaginable, not so much inviting you to get physically involved but seductively yet strongly demanding you do so. And if Raymond Castronovo is the man behind the tune, it is Ada Dyer‘s vocals that really make it.

But the main thing I love here is the subtlety. It would be very easy for a modern artist to hit hard, pour all the recognizable hi-octane disco moves and beat-driven dance grooves into a song, and create something big, bombastic, energetic, and obvious. But the reason “The Touch” works so well is that, in its cinematics and sensational flow, in its subtle and seductive sound, it sounds so brilliantly reminiscent of what disco actually sounded like. This isn’t a reminder, it’s a renaissance!

You can picture the glitter balls spinning, you can feel the heat of the strobe lights, you can see the bodies sway and sweep and strut and spin, hear the platform shoes click-clacking, the hands clapping in time to the beatific beats….man, this isn’t just the sound of someone reminding us of disco’s delights, it’s a veritable time machine.