The history of house music begins with the death of disco. As is the case with every trend, the synth-y beats of disco showed signs of malaise as the '70s waned, but Chicago shock jock Steve Dahl wanted it out the door sooner rather than later. To aid this effort, Dahl organized Disco Demolition Night at Comiskey Park during a Detroit Tigers–Chicago White Sox double header in 1979. An infamous night in music and Chicago history, the riot and fallout that ensued all but amplified the subtext of the evening: even if disco wasn't dead yet, it wasn't welcome anymore.
But disco didn't really die, it just went underground — specifically to the Warehouse, a Chicago nightclub where DJ Frankie Knuckles stripped down the beats and applied a more mechanical, electric sound, thereby creating "house" music. As the popularity of the subgenre grew, mainstream artists like Madonna and Marky Mark incorporated the sound into their records, and just as quickly as it came, EDM swallowed up house music (as it was then) whole.
The fall of disco and rise of house music comprises several moving elements, many of them fascinating and ripe with stories desperate to be told. Director Elegance Bratton, returning to his documentary roots after 2022's The Inspection, focuses his gaze on Vince Lawrence, an early pioneer of house music who co-wrote and produced "On & On," the first house song pressed to vinyl.
Lawrence serves as our guide in Move Ya Body: The Birth of House, recounting growing up in Chicago in the '60s and '70s and the racial tensions that existed throughout the city, as well as his early love for music. The producer attended the Disco Demolition Night, providing a helpful primary source to reflect the severity of that evening and how it affected him personally, including a traumatic run-in on his way home. With Frankie Knuckles having passed in 2014, Lawrence assumes the position as the one best suited to give first-hand insight into this cultural shift.
The stage feels perfectly set for a rousing, gritty and enticing film — not unlike the music itself — and yet, Move Ya Body is a stale retelling that lacks life and a sense of purpose.
Bratton moves through the sequence of events with uninspired organization. Unlike Lawrence and Frankie Knuckles, Move Ya Body follows the beat of most other documentaries that came before it, using a mixture of talking heads and archival footage with little to no artistic license. The only cinematic artistry apparent arrives in the form of cheesy reenactments of Lawrence's life that could have believably been made for an A&E '90s era true crime documentary.
What's most frustrating about Move Ya Body is the potential within it. Lawrence's story and his place in music history deserves a greater pedestal to celebrate his contributions and achievements. The racial elements involved in disco's exit and house's entrance, not to mention yet another example of white artists co-opting Black culture, are touched upon but never richly discussed — for all its shortcomings, Little Richard: I Am Everything provides a far more intricate conversation, albeit in a different era.
Perhaps the biggest misstep, though, comes from the lack of music itself. The relatively sombre tone of the film feels like it's leading up to a crack of thunder — the release of oppression, the security found in the safety of the Warehouse, the '80s optimism we know is rearing its head — but it never comes. Move Ya Body we do not.
The documentary does inspire interest in the topic, it's just unfortunate that that interest will be directed to finding another way to absorb the information, hopefully in a way that brings the sounds and vibe of house to life.
The Calgary Underground Film Festival 2025 takes place from April 17–27 in Calgary. Find details, including information about tickets, at the festival's website.